Sneak Peek Slave to the Wolf King
1. Call the Reapers
Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity, and in sin did my mother conceive me.
- Psalms 51:5
~ CASIMIR (Pronounced “CAZZ-uh-MEER”) ~
I woke up needing to piss.
One of my toys slept face down with her arm thrown across my chest. The second was curled like a puppy on top of the furs at my feet.
Tossing the fur—and the unwanted arm—back, I turned to sit on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, running a hand through my hair while I blinked my way awake.
The toy who’d been embracing me rolled away with a tiny protest. I watched her over my shoulder for a moment, considering punishing her.
But she only rolled to her back, her beautiful breasts bouncing slightly as she slumped back against the pillow.
The strands of her dark hair that lay over her face fluttered when she began to snore quietly.
I shook my head and pushed to my feet, walking naked towards the bathroom.
Our underground chambers meant there was no morning light. No dawn at the window. No windows at all. Nothing to tell my body it was morning but sheer discipline.
Other wolves might have chosen to give in to the bestial urge to become nocturnal. We were creatures of the dark, after all. But I didn’t will it. And while I didn’t will it, the packs did not do it.
Our wealth was reliant on trade with the humans, who mostly kept what they called office hours. So I had determined that we wolves would, as well.
Of course, almost everyone slept late. Except me. A habit from my youth, at the urging of my father, the previous King.
The wolf of power plans while his enemies sleep.
My rage crackled at thoughts of my father, so I dismissed them.
The only other wolf more disciplined than me was my servant and advisor, Ghere.
Small and slight, Ghere was the runt of his litter. He should have been nose to the dirt—never hold the ear of the King. But in order to make up for his fine frame and delicate constitution, God had given the fucker a mind larger and sharper than any I knew.
And he never failed to step into my room the exact moment that I arose.
I suspected he stood at the door, his ear pressed to the frame, waiting. How he heard me pad across the stone floor every morning, I would never know, but he never failed me.
This morning, though, he scuttled towards me even faster than usual as I crossed the chamber, heading for the bathroom.
“Good morning, Sire.”
“Is it?”
“Perhaps not,” he said quickly, licking his lips in a nervous habit he had that always made my nose wrinkle.
I stepped into the bathroom, leaving the door open for him so he could follow. I was desperate to piss. The man had shadowed me into far darker spaces than this.
“What is making your balls retreat this morning, Ghere?” I asked, sighing with relief as I began to relieve myself into the bowl.
The humans had so many things wrong, but indoor plumbing and electricity were not numbered among them.
“Sire, the Queen is dead.”
I went very still, only for a breath, guarding against the rush of rage and frustration. It wouldn’t do to lash out at Ghere. He was necessary.
I cursed under my breath. “Did she leave a note?”
“Yes.”
Fuck.
When I had finished and turned from the toilet to see him holding a piece of paper, I snatched it out of his outstretched hand. Walking slowly back into the bedchamber, I opened and read it, scanning it quickly. But there was nothing new.
Pitifully weak.
Crying for attention.
Miserable. Depressed. Unable to cope, blah, blah, blah.
Just like the last one.
Fuck.
I crumpled the paper and tossed it at Ghere, who snagged it deftly out of the air, but the tension in his features didn’t ease.
“Sire—”
“She was too weak. Just like the others.”
“Yes, obviously. But— ”
“Call the Reapers.”