Chapter 1: How It All Began

I sat up from the bed groggily upon hearing the now-familiar alarm blare off. My room was small enough that if I reached out an arm, I could open my blinds, which was convenient. The sky outside showed different hues of orange and yellow as the sun was only starting to rise. The alarm stopped automatically a few seconds later.

I had been serving Dylan Hayes for a couple of months now. I wouldn’t say that my life was a lot better than before. However, my master rarely cares about what I do as long as I do my job well, so I would say that I’m luckier than most slaves. Although I did get in a lot of trouble before since it wasn’t easy for me to wake up to the alarm set for me in the beginning, but besides that, I think I’m doing great so far.

I took a quick shower and wore my usual attire—just a plain white oversized shirt that fell until my mid-thighs. As if the collar wasn’t enough, human slaves are also usually dressed as basic as possible, the bare minimum being a shirt and underwear. Luckily for me, even for a human, I was pretty petite, so the shirt given to me covered me up nicely.

“Good morning,” I greeted with a small hesitant smile once my master came into the dining hall with his iPad tucked under his arm. I moved to place his breakfast tray with a plate of sausages and eggs, and a cup of black coffee on the table before returning to my post in the corner of the room.

As expected, he only looked at me grimly. He didn’t smile nor utter a word as he took his seat at the head of the ridiculously long table. Dylan took his fork with one hand as the other busied writing something on the iPad with a stylus pen.

My stomach growled. The sound cut through the silence in the room, making him look up from the screen to raise an eyebrow at me. I blushed in embarrassment and played with my fingers, swallowing back my fear.

“You’re hungry?” he asked me.

Serving someone like Dylan might be less restricting, but he was so unpredictable that it felt like I was always walking on eggshells. He never speaks to me unless it was something incredibly necessary, so I didn’t really know how to respond to his question.

“I-I’m sorry…” I mumbled quietly, still refusing to look him in the eye. For the past few days, he rarely comes home due to work, so I haven’t been given anything to eat.

He didn’t reply. I heard him stand up, the legs of his chair screeching against the marble flooring. Looking up, I saw him nod towards the direction of the kitchen and I immediately followed suit, my stomach lurching in anticipation.

He was finally going to feed me.

He retrieved a packet of ready-made meals from the cupboard and, without even reheating it, dumped its contents into a bowl. It was the same gloopy brownish mixture that I had been consuming since my stay here. Although it had a weird taste that I couldn’t quite describe, I was just grateful that I could finally eat something else besides a block of bland tofu. 

“Thank you, master,” I said as I sat on the cold floor with my legs tucked underneath, just as he instructed me before. He handed me a spoon and placed the bowl on the space in front of me. I wasted no time and dug in.

“I have to go to work now,” he said. “Now be a good girl and take care of the house.”

“Yes, master,” I nodded with a grin, satisfied with my first meal in days.

He frowned at my demeanor but said nothing else and left.

Later that day, I had more energy to do house chores, nevertheless, it was certainly still a struggle. For one, I think I’m the only slave in the household (besides the occasional gardener hired to come once a week), and another thing is that the mansion was just too big that I think it took up almost a block in the neighborhood.

I dusted shelves, vacuumed carpets, and wiped a gazillion windows until the sun was setting. If work did not hold him back, Dylan would be home in around an hour, so I prepped the kitchen to come up with dinner. I wouldn’t say that I’m good at cooking, but fortunately, I found a cooking book lying around one time while cleaning and was allowed to take it, so I made more than decent meals so far.

Humming to the tune of one of the very few songs that I know, I chopped the ingredients. The mansion at night was eerily quiet and I tended to make as much noise that I could to shake off the feeling. I couldn’t imagine how Dylan used to live in such a ginormous home alone before he bought me. I’m not much of a company to a werewolf, but a company still.

Suddenly, I heard a car park in the garage. Although surprised, I quickly washed my hands and ran to the front door. He wasn’t supposed to be home yet, and fear crept up to my throat upon realizing that there was no dinner waiting for him at the dining hall.

“M-Master.”

I held the door open for him with a trembling smile. But as soon as he stumbled into the doorway, my fear subsided, replaced by concern. Dylan could barely stand on his own and his face was as red as a tomato.

He turned to look at me. His golden eyes shone more than usual, his gaze intense but unfocused. 

Raising a hand, he pointed an index finger at me, “You…”

The door closed as I let go of the handle to assist him, placing his arm over my shoulders. Werewolves are generally a lot taller and leaner than humans, so of course, my petite physique was almost no help at all, and I struggled under his weight.

“What’s wrong, master? Should I call for an ambulance?”

“Don’t,” he huffed, his breaths coming short. “I don’t need one.”

He obviously needed one. It must be his pride as an alpha that was keeping him from seeking help. But I didn’t dare insist further.

“I’ll take you to your room, then.”

With the little strength that I have, I guided him to his bedroom. We would stumble every now and then, but I would always urge him to keep walking. As I craned my neck to check his state, I noticed how his eyes were drooping and his body was also emitting an insane temperature that even through his layers of clothes, I could still feel the heat. If a human had a fever like this, he would probably die in a matter of hours.

Beads of sweat ran down the sides of my head and back, and my legs were buckling as Dylan was gradually leaning more and more against me. He was staring at the empty space in front of him—it looked like he was going to pass out soon.

We finally reached his bedroom after what felt like hours. I kicked the door open as both of my hands were busy trying to keep the werewolf upright.

“Just a little bit more”

I panted after successfully throwing him onto his bed and flinging a blanket over him. My legs were about to give out, but I pushed myself to at least make it back to the kitchen first before resting. I turned around to leave but was held back when he grabbed my wrist.

“I-Is there anything you need, master?”

“You…” he mumbled. He looked out of it like he was intoxicated. “I never asked for your name.”

“Ah. A mother figure named me Isabella back at the slave house”

I was confused why he was talking about something so trivial when he should be resting and trying to recover. Perhaps it was his stress from the past few weeks that made him so sick.

Werewolves typically heal rapidly with some sleep, so they don’t really have medicines—well, except for the Raudona pill, that is, to aid them during their heat cycle.

“Isabella, huh,” he said as he pushed himself off the bed with his free arm. He then swung his legs over the side of the bed before patting his lap. “Come here”.

“H-Huh?”

I was in no place to question a direct command from my master, but I was just so confused that I ended up staring at him with my mouth agape. Then, he smirked. Through the dimly lit room, his golden eyes shone brightly as he released pheromones from his body. I quivered and my hand flew to cover my nose.

“I said…” his voice deepened into a growl and his pheromones got stronger. “Come here.”

With shaky legs, I took a step forward. “Y-Yes, master.”

The little strength that I have left in my body began to ebb away, like I was a cone of melting ice cream. He seemed to have grown impatient that he just pulled on my wrist and scooped me up to force me to sit on his lap with my thighs on either side of his.

I felt the bulge in his pants.

“M-Master,” I muttered in shock, realization finally sinking in. “Are you perhaps… in heat?”