I’m a Witch Who Bought a Strong Werewolf Slave

I bought a breathtakingly handsome and sculpted werewolf slave from the magic black market.

His rock-hard abs were on full display, and his deep V-lines pointed straight down into his tight, low-slung pants.

But once I got him home, it was clear something was very wrong.

A low, suppressed growl rumbled constantly in his throat.

He stared at me with his golden wolf eyes, looking like he wanted to tear me apart and devour me whole. His body burned like a walking furnace.

I thought he had wolfsbane fever and frantically contacted the seller.

The seller was silent for three seconds after hearing my description.

[My dear witch, is it possible he isn't sick, but just...hungry?]

[The kind of hungry...that makes a werewolf want to pin you to a wall and sink his fangs into your neck to mark you?]

...

I blew my life savings on a top-tier werewolf slave from the black market.

The listing was written in bold: Top-tier Alpha bloodline. Cold, strong, and wild.

But what really sold me was the final attribute listed: strong.

That word seemed tailor-made for the disaster that was my potion workshop.

I barely hesitated before maxing out my credit card.

The moment the payment went through, a magical message from the seller popped up.

[Seller: Miss Cici, about the werewolf you've purchased, I must remind you of something.]

[Me: Hm? Is there a problem with the delivery?]

[Seller: No, we have plenty in stock.]

[Seller: The one you've chosen, while of our highest-grade bloodline, is extremely wild and difficult to tame. For a witch living alone like yourself, we usually recommend a more docile Omega, or one that has already been tamed.]

I replied in a flash:

[No, I want this one. A docile one can't do heavy lifting. I need someone strong, durable, and with good stamina.]

After all, my cauldron weighs half a ton. How could one of those delicate Omegas possibly move it?

The seller was silent for a moment, then finally sent a message tinged with a subtle pity:

[Seller: Very well, since you insist. We wish you...a long and happy life.]

Two days later, there was a knock on my workshop door. Standing outside was a tall, overwhelmingly imposing man.

Even though I had prepared myself, the sight of him still made my breath catch in my throat.

They say the black market's werewolf slaves are famous for their beauty and wildness, but this was on another level.

He had rare, silver-white hair, cut short. His shoulders were broad, tapering to a narrow waist defined by lean, fluid muscle.

A pair of fluffy wolf ears rose from his hair, and a matching silver-white wolf tail swished behind him.

And his eyes...they were golden. Cold and sharp, yet smoldering with a deep, bottomless fire.

"Master."

He spoke, his voice deep and gravelly. My heart hammered, and I felt my cheeks flush.

It was a strangely strong reaction.

I cleared my throat, trying to school my expression. "Don't call me Master. It sounds like we're in some kind of dark ritual."

I struggled to maintain my dignity as a witch. "Call me Cici. Do you have a name?"

"Bruce."

He stood there, bound tightly by glowing magical chains that dug into his powerful muscles, restricting his every move.

"These chains... they are tight," Bruce said, his gaze sweeping toward the open door behind me. I couldn't guess what he was calculating.

"Would you release me?"

He watched me closely, his muscles coiled tight.

"Fine," I murmured.

I stepped right into his space and pressed my palm flat against his chest.

Slowly, I dragged my hand down, letting my fingers glide over his hard pectorals.

As I touched him, the chains shattered.

I continued the slide downward, my fingertips grazing his waist before accidentally brushing the sensitive, taut muscle at his hip bone.

"Ngh..." Bruce's body went rigid, and a deeply suppressed groan rumbled in his throat.

The sound was strange, almost pained, and it made my own ears burn. I snatched my hand back as if scalded.

"Sorry! Did I hurt you? "

Bruce lowered his gaze, a complex emotion flashing in his golden eyes. His Adam's apple bobbed as an even deeper growl rumbled in his throat.

"No," he rasped, his voice even rougher than before. "I just wasn't ready."

Seeing he was fine, I stood up. "I need to check everything. I'm taking the rest off."

I grabbed his wrists, and the manacles shattered.

Then I knelt down and held his ankles to break the final chains.

Bruce looked up, his golden eyes wide with disbelief. "You released my hands and feet? Aren't you afraid I will run?"

"Run?" I tilted my head to the side, blinking up at him with wide, confused eyes.

I tapped my cheek thoughtfully."But... I've studied magic for so, so long. If you managed to escape from right under my nose, it would just mean my skills aren't good enough yet, right? It would prove I still have a lot to learn."

Bruce stared at me for a long moment. The wild aggression in his eyes dimmed slightly, replaced by a flicker of something else.

"No," he rasped, his voice even rougher than before. "I won't run."

My eyes lit up, and my heart seemed to melt. What a good wolf!

I looked over his physique again: broad shoulders, a tight waist, and rippling muscles. The more I looked, the more satisfied I was.

He was perfect for the job. I should treat him well.

So I decided to soothe him. "Don't be nervous. Why don't you go rest on the sofa for a bit? We have a lot of important work to do later."

Bruce froze. His golden eyes stared intently at me, his gaze sliding from my lips to my neck before finally settling on my collarbone.

"If you wish," he took half a step closer, his warm breath fanning across my forehead. "We can start now."

"Now?" I glanced around my messy workshop, hesitating.

"Hmm... I guess so. The sooner we start, the sooner we can finish."

"Alright."

Bruce's powerful frame trembled, the low growl in his throat seeming to deepen.