Were Slave (2010)

WereSlave

Lia Slater

As the Queen of Paqualette, Nayla is forbidden to have a
husband or a human lover. Her life is a lonely and disciplined existence, so
when she's given the opportunity to choose a Were from her dungeon as her sex
slave, she takes a chance. Werewolves, she knows, are nothing but senseless
monsters, but after the one she selects to be her WereSlave turns out to be
more of a man than she's ever known, she must question her beliefs.

As the alpha leader, Mace is responsible for his pack. He'll
do anything to keep them alive, even give in to the Queen's sexual demands. But
not unless he's in control. Turning his enticing captor into the submissive is
the only way to show her he's more man than she realizes. Falling in love is
out of the question...but so is leaving her behind.

An Ellora's Cave Romantica
Publication

www.ellorascave.com

WereSlave

ISBN 9781419924323

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WereSlave Copyright (c) 2009 Lia Slater

Edited by Meghan Conrad

Cover art by Willo

Electronic book publication December 2009

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons,
living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The
characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

WereSlave

Lia Slater

Six years after the great war between Werewolf and
Human

Nothing was settled.

His intense gaze from across the crowded, rancid dungeon
sent a strange shudder down Nayla's back. Why he stared at her so heatedly, she
had no clue. He was her prisoner, a subordinate. Many like him filled the room,
but most lowered their eyes, evading her scrutiny. Most of those remaining
didn't have the energy to make the effort.

But the one with the blue eyes that shimmered from between
the caked-on dirt and god-knows-what didn't even bother to blink when she
looked his way. And she did so now, with curiosity...and a tinge of fear.

Her awareness of him couldn't be helped. He was a peculiar
one, somewhat larger and apparently bolder than the rest of the werewolf pack
her guards had captured just a month ago.

Was he their leader? Were they organized enough to have a
leader?

She cocked her head as she moved toward him, stepping over
the remains of some poor rodent that had dared enter the dungeon. The rat had
probably been a nice treat for the beasts. She pushed the thought from her mind
and tried to ignore the muffled groans and labored breathing surrounding her.
Her stomach churned but she refused to give them any of her pity. A species
that had proven to be dangerous and unpredictable wouldn't get mercy from her.
It was best for the people of her kingdom to keep these savages shackled
and...human. If you could call them that. And she didn't. Wouldn't.

They needed moonlight to change into their animal state and
they certainly weren't getting that in this dungeon. No, here they would remain
until starvation or dehydration took them.

Or until her guards made an example of them in front of the
town's people.

She stopped in front of the blue-eyed Were and met his gaze.
His body shook like the rest of them but instead of lying feebly on the floor,
he sat up on his knees. His broad, muscled shoulders were straight and his
strong chin jutted toward her. Pride? Was it pride she sensed?

Couldn't be. Weres were savages in any state. They had two
sides: kill or be killed. Sink their teeth into an innocent human or run away
with their tails between their legs. She knew firsthand just how brutal they
could be.

How could this one be any different?

"Do you not realize you're about to die?" she asked him,
half hoping he wouldn't answer. Lord only knew if he had enough wits to form an
intelligible response.

"Not..." He cleared his throat, causing himself to cough. "Not
today, my lady." His voice was startlingly deep. The heady masculine tone
stirred something in her belly and sent a surprising surge of warmth and
yearning through her womb and inner thighs.

She sucked in her stomach and straightened her posture,
frustrated and confused by her physical response. "No? How do you know this?"

His gaze swept down her body and back up again. "Because you
don't look like a killer to me, my lady."

She laughed, but even to herself, she sounded stilted. Unsure
of herself. Damn. Would she ever stop feeling like an imposter in her own
skin?Stop it, Nayla. She pursed her lips and quickly reminded herself that her
insecurities were unwarranted. She'd done something good here. A Were pack was
captured and her kingdom was safe for another day.

She met her captive's forceful gaze, unwavering under its
heat. "That's because I'm not a killer. You are. That's why you're here..." She
let her words drift off, realizing too late she'd been looking for a name to
call the beast.

"Mace Quinton." His husky voice echoed against the stone
walls. "Call me Mace. And I'm not a killer, my lady. You've got that wrong."

"I'll call you whatever I please."

He blinked once and his enormous body swayed, proving to her
no matter his level of strength, he was still vulnerable. And at her command.
She'd need to remember that and her reason for visiting this dungeon.

She had to choose one of these beasts as her WereSlave. Her
lover. All of her predecessors had followed this same path and she refused to
be the first to break the tradition, although the thought of a Were touching
her intimately had churned her stomach up to this point.

"Would you like this one, my Queen?" her loyal guard, Saul,
asked over her shoulder.

"Queen?" the prisoner murmured. "You're the Queen?"

Nayla ignored his question. She had a difficult enough time
proving to her people that she was capable of running a country. Why should she
have to explain her age to a Were? Besides, she wasn't a child. She was a grown
woman of twenty-five years.

Old enough to protect her people from these vicious,
volatile creatures. They deserved to be in this dungeon, dying a painful death.

And this one--she looked into the Were's vibrant blue
eyes--this one deserved to be used by her. Just like the Queens before her,
she'd acquire a WereSlave to soothe her sexual needs and help ease the
loneliness.

As the chosen Queen, she would dedicate her life solely to
the country and its people. Doing so meant she'd obey Paqualette law and not
take a husband. The people expected their Queen to offer a life of devotion and
extreme discipline. Nayla wouldn't debate the law that had served her country
for centuries.

There were gray areas between the black and white lines of
the Palequette decrees, though. No, she couldn't have a husband, or even a
human lover. But owning and using a WereSlave was a Queen's right. Much like
wearing the finest gems or living in the largest castle.

A WereSlave was for the purpose of her pleasure alone.

Pleasure from a Were? She let her gaze fall over the
prisoner who kneeled in front of her. Although his naked body was covered in
filth, she could still make out the strong set of his jaw and the cool,
attractive color of his eyes. She noticed the toned muscles on his chest, arms
and stomach. Curiosity had her looking down farther to his long, thick cock
hanging impressively between his powerful thighs.

She hated that her skin heated and the area between her
thighs grew moist. But an attraction was necessary if she was to share a bed
with him.

This Were was a pleasing sight in his human form, no doubt.
She hadn't thought she'd find one amongst the mongrels who wouldn't nauseate
her, let alone make her quiver with anticipation.

"Do you like what you see, my Queen?" he asked as his body
swayed again.

Weak. He was very weak. Good.

"Do not speak unless I ask it of you."

He needed to learn his place if he were to be hers. She
didn't know how this meeting was supposed to go, or how the Queens before her
had chosen their WereSlaves. She only knew that the Were before her piqued her
interest on so many levels, enough to want to touch him. Unable to help
herself, she leaned forward to glide a finger down his angular jaw. But he
jerked away from her and lost his balance, falling back onto his rear.

Hmm... So he wasn't as powerful as he made himself seem.

Masculine but vulnerable.

He'd be perfect.

"Yes, I'd like to take him." Nayla pointed at her new
WereSlave and looked over her shoulder at Saul. "Please clean him, feed him and
then secure him in the transition cell."

"Yes, my Queen."

The Were rose up to his knees again. "Where do you think to
take me?"

She couldn't help but smile. "Don't worry, slave. Just as
you'd guessed, you won't be dying today."

* * * * *

Nayla rushed through her obligatory dinner with the visiting
duke and duchess, holding back a grimace each time they reached for each
other's hands or leaned in for an affectionate kiss.

She'd never have the love of a husband or children and no
matter how often she'd told herself it didn't matter, that her position as the
Queen was so much more important, she still felt the sting of loneliness. She
would live this life on her own.

The Queen before her had left her notes, stating the use of
a WereSlave would alleviate some of her weariness. Nayla doubted it. She
certainly wasn't expecting miracles. After all, he was merely an animal. Sure,
he could speak and he looked and seemed human but he was nothing more than a
barbarian.