Chapter 4: The Pack Meeting Pt. 1

There is one certain way to sever a bond made through marking, though.

Death.

I shivered at the thought and hugged my knees tighter. Dylan… He’s not going to kill me, is he?

It’s not like he couldn’t, either. He has an entire pack of around a couple hundred werewolves under his disposal, after all. Dylan doesn’t even have to do the dirty work.

“He’s more of a chemist than a medical doctor,” he continued to explain, snapping me out of my terrifying train of thoughts. “But I guess I should call him to come over tonight to tend to your bruises first.”

“Bruises?” I looked down at my body, and true enough, my pale skin was dotted with red hickeys and bite marks all over, most of them showing signs of bruising. Wow, I must've liked it rough, huh? I didn’t even feel pain when he was doing all these last night. My cheeks flushed.

 “Oh, bruises.”

“Yes, I need to have you treated since I don’t want an incapable slave, and also…” he trailed off as if he was hesitating. His voice then came out quieter and deeper when he continued, “I’m at fault.”

My eyes went wide in shock and I turned around slightly to meet his eyes. I waved my arms in denial. “No, master! I’m a part of the blame, too! Please refrain from saying such things!”

Alphas are usually prideful. They would never admit to their wrongdoings, which was one of their fatal characteristics. Most fights among packs would also root from their ego. So even though it was barely an apology, saying that it shocked me would still be an understatement.

His golden orbs shone with amusement, but his frown remained.

After the bath, he gave me one of his shirts to wear. Slaves with owners, such as myself, can only wear clothes given to them by their masters. I don’t know why, but perhaps that’s one of their ways to express how much dominance they have over us.

After mumbling my gratitude, I slipped into the first fresh clothing that I received in the last few months. As expected, the hem stopped mid-thigh, enough to cover me up nicely.

There wasn’t anything out of ordinary for the rest of the day—Dylan went off to work while I relentlessly cleaned the house—until mid-afternoon when I heard the revving engines of multiple cars in the front yard of the manor that slowly came to a stop at the front door. Frowning in confusion and panic, I dropped my broom and dashed towards the door.

When I opened it, I saw adult men and women spilling from their cars and walking towards the door. The man who first reached the front door noticed me standing there with my hands clutching on the handles to keep it open.

“Alas!” he exclaimed. As he walked closer, I noticed his eyes were blood red. “Our dear alpha seems to have finally bought himself a human slave”

“Oh my god,” another chimed in.

Realization sunk in and I immediately bowed in courteous welcome. These werewolves were some of Dylan’s pack members. I moved to open the door wider as they walked in and relentlessly gushed about their alpha having a slave. It must’ve been a long time since the household had one that they just couldn’t help but gossip about it. After all, werewolves usually can’t live on their own without a slave attending to their every command.

A she-wolf stopped in front of me moments later and I stood straight up in attention. She had silver eyes and blonde hair that perfectly complemented her fair skin. Even for the standards of a she-wolf, she was breathtakingly gorgeous, and I found myself gaping at her until she grabbed the collar of my shirt. I jerked forward, not expecting such strength.

“This shirt seems to be new,” she said, her intense gaze boring into me. “You’re not stealing your master’s clothes, aren’t you?”

I meekly shook my head in fear. It was my first time encountering other werewolves, and I got so used to Dylan’s stoic and uncaring character that despite it being common knowledge, the hostility of werewolves towards humans shocked me.

“I doubt that,” she said, her smirk getting wider at the sight of me trembling in distress. She then released threatening pheromones, and I had no choice but to inhale shallower breaths. “What else did you steal, huh? You little—”

“Cynthia!”

Our heads snapped in unison towards the direction of the voice. Dylan stood a few yards away from us, his usual frown etched on his face. He glanced at me before paying attention to the blonde woman holding me up by the collar.

“Let my slave go at once,” he instructed calmly but firmly, to which Cynthia immediately obeyed. “And control your pheromones, you’re suffocating her.”

She did as she was told. “You’re being too merciful, dear alpha.”

“You simply do not have any business with my slave,” he replied, walking towards the door. “The meeting will begin in a few minutes. I presume you can find your way to the mess hall?”

“Oh, Dyl,” she chuckled, batting her eyelashes at him. “Since we have met here, why not go together?”

Without waiting for his reply, she skipped towards him and linked a slim arm with his. Dylan's frown deepened ever so slightly that if I wasn’t paying attention, I wouldn’t have noticed it, but he didn’t bother pushing her away.

When they passed by me, he looked at me from the corner of his eyes before briefly and stealthily brushing a hand against mine. My nerves jolted at the contact and, as if by magic, all the lingering effects of the she-wolf’s pheromones that I had inhaled earlier had subsided. My throat cleared up while my heartbeat slowly regained its regular pattern.

I stared at his back as he walked, clutching at the hand that he had touched with the other. I heard about how partners feel more at ease with each other, but I didn’t know that a mere brush would make me feel better just like that.

My nose picked up a faint scent, and to confirm my suspicion, I brought up my hand to my face and sniffed. Dylan's pheromones smelled of something sweet and pleasant I couldn’t identify exactly.