Slave to the Wolf King

“Beware those who come to you in sheep's clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves.”

- Gospel of Matthew 7:15

*****

~ JESSE ~

The guards tipped us out into the room like puppies out of a bag.

I landed heavily on rough stone, scraping my knees and palms, hissing against the pain. But they'd freed my hands and ankles before they shoved me in here, so, with my heart thudding in my chest, I scrabbled to pull down the blindfold that was over my eyes and get my bearings quickly.

Dark room. Stone walls and ceiling. Warm lights. Cold air. Damp. Shadows my eyes couldn’t penetrate—and more shadows behind us I wished they couldn’t.

Left and right, women shrieked and sobbed, hitting the floor, some rolling, one planting face-first into the rock and laying there, unmoving.

Behind me, a cluster of guards filled the doorway, with more spreading out along the wall. They didn't carry weapons, but they didn't need to. They were all well over six foot and huge with it. Strong and rugged… feral. Brows and jaws heavy, and bodies that moved in that fiercely controlled way the wolves had that was riveting and terrifying at the same time.

So, when a low voice muttered, “Really? This is the best you could do?” and the guards shrank like they wanted to disappear through the wall, I whipped my head back around to see who was capable of scaring these monsters.

Then I couldn’t breathe.

The back of the room was swathed in deep shadows so that at first it was difficult to make anything out. But as I blinked and tried to breathe, slowly he became clear, walking towards us out of the dark like an apparition manifesting out of hell itself.

He stood easily as tall as the guards, his shoulders just as broad and draped in thick fur from an open vest that fell almost to his knees. His chest was bare revealing warm-brown skin, the wide, flat planes of his pecs, and rippling abs so defined they cast their own shadows.

He stood staring down his nose imperiously at everyone in the room, one side of his upper lip pulled up in smug derision, and yet, somehow the ugly expression only emphasized the razor edge of his jaw, the full lips, and the dark hair that fell in loose waves around his face and to dust his collar at the back.

But that wasn't what made my lungs deflate.

His eyes glowed.

Incredible, stunning eyes, a blue so deep and shining it should have felt like staring into the waters of a tropical ocean. And yet those eyes were coldly cruel. Arctic waters, deep and flickering with shadows. Yet, glowing like moonlight through a sheet of ice.

Like all humans, I’d heard myths about the Wolf King and his packs—mostly the kind that were whispered at sleepovers or around a campfire. But as I watched him materialize out of the darkness, it was suddenly clear that those were not stories at all.

This man was very, very real.

Something deep and primal screamed that a predator was stalking me. Pushing to my feet, ready to run, I was forced to watch him because there was no room to move, stumbling back a step as he advanced on us, the dull, warm light that bathed half the room from lanterns on the walls finally falling on him, cutting hollows into cheeks shadowed by stubble and revealing him more clearly.

In the shadows he looked almost tribal—all leather and fur, with three necklaces at his throat.

But in the light, the perfect cut of his pants became clear, the sheen of soft, durable leather, the thick lushness of the fur around his shoulders, and intelligent disdain in those eyes that scanned each of us with such impatience…

This was no animalistic warrior.

Beast he might be, but he was a King. He exuded a fiercely masculine presence. A weight, as if the air around him was thicker. And a tingling, fascinating glimmer of power, light on the horizon that flickered in the corner of your vision, but disappeared when you turned to see it.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.

And my guts trembled.

The creak of leather and rustle of heavy weights moving behind us told me the guards were all bowing, or offering some kind of acknowledgement to him. But he ignored them, instead scanning each of the women—there were eight of us—his expression growing more and more contemptuous with each passing moment.

“What the fuck is this mess?”

“They’re from the poor neighborhoods, as you requested,” one man, presumably the leader of the guards, offered tentatively.

Male. I had to remind myself, they called themselves males, not men.

Then the guy’s words sank in and I bristled.

Indeed, they were not men. Taking women like commodities, herding them like sheep.

When I’d been thrown into their arms I’d been certain I was about to die.

Or worse.

It had taken hours of pretending to be asleep or catatonic with fear, to catch enough snippets of conversations between the guards to understand that they were wolves. And that I was one of what they called a Reaping.

That none of them would touch us, as long as we obeyed.

Not because they were honorable thieves, or had any scruples. But because we had to be untouched. Because we’d been chosen for the King.

I’d hoped I had that part wrong.

Clearly I didn’t.

A snarl ripped through the room and the King bared his teeth.

The women around me cried out, or sobbed, all of them curling in on themselves, turning back and forth, shrinking from the King, but unwilling to get closer to the guards behind us, either. They turned impotent circles, shaking and crying. One even wailed like a child.

SILENCE.

I jolted as the word echoed inside my skull just as clearly as his voice had echoed in the tall chamber around us a moment earlier, an eerie thrust of power with it.

And the room obeyed.

All of it. All of us. Every one.

The noises from the terrified women stopped as if someone had muted the television.

I’d already been quiet, but I felt the conviction settle in my chest. I would not speak. My jaw clenched of its own accord, and any words on my tongue faded like smoke on the wind.

Then he looked around, those incredible eyes glittering with frustration and something I couldn’t identify, and it was as if the air shifted.

Four of the women were still on hands and knees, bodies convulsing with tears, shaking with terror. Two had made it to their feet like me, but remained hunched. Cowering.

And one still lay unconscious where she’d fallen when the guards dumped her in the room.

The King shook his head slowly, then sighed, as if he carried a great weight.

“There’s no need to cry. You have nothing to fear,” he crooned. And then he smiled and the world tilted.

Power wafted off of him like a rich perfume, rippling as he moved and I felt myself changed.

My body thrilled.

He was King. He was male. He was everything I had ever wanted. The earth answered his voice and the sky stormed at his bidding.

Awed and breathless, everything within me ached to throw myself at his feet.

I wrestled it with the corner of my mind that understood that something was happening, something outside my control. That the thoughts suddenly clamoring in my head, admiring his beauty and strength, hadn’t started in my mind.

And yet… I wanted him. Wanted to slide hands up his torso, curl fingers into his hair. I ached to hear that deep voice hushed in my ear, to feel those hands on my body.

My mind overflowed with images that stole my breath.

Images of him in the dark, our bodies entwined. Images of him in the light, standing over me and staring murder at any that would harm me. Images of him smiling, laughing, sultry and sweet, then dark and demanding, eyes glowing and breath hot—

I blinked, more terrified than I’d been even when the guards took me because while they might have forced my body, this man—this male—could control my mind?

I felt the desire to kneel before him like a hand planted between my shoulder-blades, yet no one was close enough to touch me. I shook with it, watched the woman to my right who’d made it to her feet, drop to her knees, then bow herself, face almost to the floor, as she crawled towards him, eyes shining and jaw slack.

He watched her come, tipping his head, though his expression remained blank. And then she reached a trembling hand toward the toe of his boot, her breath heaving in her chest like she was seeing the face of God.

My knees almost gave, my body wanted to give in. I wanted to tear her away from him and put myself in her place—

Please, I begged God. Please… I can’t…

The King’s sneer returned and he glided back a step, out of the woman’s reach.

And just like that, the spell was broken. Nothing in the room had changed, and yet everything was different.

The women around me all froze, blinking, as if coming out of sleep.

I shook my head, more scared than I had ever been in my life.

That power he held… that compulsion… the intensity of it. Dear god, if he’d held that thrall a few more seconds I would have fallen to it as well.

We’d all heard the stories of his unquestioned authority, of his influence over others. But what I had just seen wasn’t persuasive. It wasn’t even intimidation. That was control.

He possessed others?

A cold chill prickled, like death breathing down my neck.

I looked at the women around me and saw it in their eyes… even as their minds cleared, even as they shuddered and breathed again… they’d stopped crying, stopped struggling. Even as their fear returned, something in them was drawn to him. Their eyes flicked to his face again and again, and they worried at their clothing as if they were suddenly self-conscious. A piece of that had stayed with them. A piece of them now belonged to him.

They had given in.

I began to tremble uncontrollably, my head screaming, my heart pounding so loudly it was all I could hear, drums beating in my ears.

I would not be a puppet to any man—any male—ever.

I could not lose myself to this!

When his eyes fell on me and he smiled so I could see the predator in him. I flinched.

Then he shifted his gaze to the others and I slumped.

“Now that we’re all a little calmer… Welcome to the Sifting,” he said, his voice low and gravelly as he scanned each of us in turn. One of the women sighed. “Before this day is done, one of you will be my mate.”

He sounded like the idea made him want to vomit.