Chapter 7: A Slave No More

I don’t know how much time has passed when I awoke yet again. I sat up groggily from the bed, only to realize that it was nighttime and Dylan wasn’t sleeping beside me. I vaguely remember him telling me that it was normal for partners to share the same bed, so I just assumed that he would accompany me there.

My backache was gone, but my joints were still stiff, which was no surprise considering that I apparently had been out for a week. I got out of bed and wobbled towards the door. The hallways were cold and all the lights in the manor were turned off, so I could only assume that it was some time in the middle of the night.

“Argh,” I mumbled under my breath upon feeling the chill stinging my bare legs. I was tempted to go back into the room and grab a blanket to wrap myself with, but that would be rude since I was still one of the household’s slaves after all.

My throat was scratchy, and my stomach ached with hunger. With small unsteady steps, I headed towards the kitchen. I’m not allowed to eat stuff that wasn’t given to me by my master, so I figured I could at least do something about my grumbling stomach by drinking a lot of water. I could faintly feel the warmth of Dylan’s pheromones inside me. He must’ve been giving them to me for the past week to keep me alive.

I turned on the tap in the kitchen sink and scooped up some of the cold water into my palms before leaning down to take huge gulps from it. I drank until my stomach felt heavy and the liquid completely soothed my parched throat.

I know that Dylan already told me not to return to the servant’s quarters, but it felt wrong to keep on making myself at home in his bedroom when I knew I was already almost recovered anyway. So, after wiping my mouth with the collar of my shirt, I walked towards the opposite wing of the manor.

As I made my way through the darkness, surprisingly, without tripping, I heard a deep, muffled voice. Craning my neck to the side, I saw a streak of light streaming to the dark hallways through a slightly ajar door. After months of cleaning the same rooms every single day, I pretty much memorized everything like it was the back of my hand.

The room was Dylan’s study. And besides for cleaning, nobody else was allowed to step even a foot inside.

Out of curiosity, I quietly walked on my tiptoes to peek through the open crack in the door. Now, I could hear Dylan’s voice clearer.

“I already told you,” he said exasperatedly as if he had been repeating the same thing over and over again before I came, which was likely the case. He turned slightly, and that was when I noticed the phone pressed against his ear. “I don’t need security guards.”

A man’s voice came from the phone’s speakers, but I couldn’t comprehend what the reply was. However, from his tone, he was obviously just as annoyed as Dylan.

“You know that, besides from the committee, no one knows my location. There won’t be a way for those puny rebels to find me.”

My eyes widened in shock as the severity of my actions’ consequences suddenly fell on me like a bucket of ice-cold water. I’m no fool—my master was being targeted by the human rebels. And I knew then that I had heard something that I definitely shouldn’t have.

Dylan then walked towards one of his shelves to remove a few books, revealing a small safe hidden behind them. From this angle, I could clearly see the series of numbers that made up the PIN. Once opened, I noticed another stack of ordinary-looking documents inside, but given that he bothered to conceal them like that, I doubt that was the case.

"Yes, the documents are well-hidden," he spoke into the phone. "Even if the rebels manage to sneak in here, I don't think they're going to find them."

But for some reason, despite the fear of being punished, I stayed in my spot, straining my ear to listen for more.

“You should be worrying more about the rest of the pack. There’s a possibility that they—”

He didn’t finish his sentence when he turned around once more and found me peeking through the door. I stepped back, tempted to retreat, but thought that running away would make me look guiltier than I already was.

I heard him mumble a curt goodbye before cutting off the call and placing the phone on his desk. Then, with a few long strides, he managed to reach the door and pull it open. The sudden brightness from the room made me look like a deer that had been literally caught in the headlights.

“I-I, uhh…” I mumbled, raking my half-awake brain for a way to appease him somehow. I broke eye contact and scratched my head intuitively. “M-Master, I’m—”

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Not t-that long, master…”

I flinched as he grabbed my wrist to pull me into the room before shutting the door close with his other hand. He gestured for me to sit while I heard the lock click, and in my mind, I was beginning to brace myself for the worst. But instead of a punishment, he shook off his suit jacket and gave it to me, placing it on my lap to cover my legs. I looked up at him in confusion, speechless.

“It’s cold out in the hallways,” he told me. Then, after closing the safe and returning the books to hide it once more, he sat in the space on the couch beside me. “Are you feeling any better?”

I only swallowed and nodded meekly.

Dylan then leaned in and tucked my hair behind my right ear, the tips of his fingers grazing over my mark. And just like it always did, pleasant pheromones flowed through me. My legs had almost gone numb from the cold, but because of his warm pheromones, the chill started to thaw out. I purred, closed my eyes, and melted into his touch.

“Perhaps it’s my werewolf instinct kicking in,” he said in a low voice. “But I don’t like it when you don’t reek of my pheromones.”

So that was why would touch my mark whenever he had the chance. Without thinking twice, I said, “I like this feeling too, master.”

“That’s good. Since you’re a human, the scent goes away a lot quicker, so I have to do this often.”

The line that we had both kept between us was blurring more and more with each passing day. Well, at least that much was to be expected the moment we got intimate. But at this point, I was starting to get beyond confused about my role in the household. Being born in a slave house, I was raised to serve werewolves, thus, suddenly being a werewolf’s mate had thrown me off-guard completely.

In a way, it was like having an identity crisis.

“Master,” I said hesitantly after he retracted his hand. Though comforting, too much of his pheromones could be fatal. “I don’t really feel comfortable staying in your bedroom.”

“Why? Is the mattress not soft enough?”

I met his golden eyes. He looked distressed and frown lines appeared on his forehead. If I didn’t have enough self-control, I would’ve reached out a hand to smooth them out.

“T-That’s not it,” I shook my head. “I like your bed. But… I’m your slave, master.”

His frown deepened. Then, he looped a finger through my collar wordlessly. The contact made me recoil and fear crept up to my throat. With one swift move, the collar snapped and fell onto the floor. I stared at it in shock while my hands automatically touched my bare neck.

“Master! My collar! Slaves aren’t allowed to—”

“Isabella,” he called out. His deep, commanding voice resonated throughout the silent room. I snapped my head in his direction automatically out of obedience. “From this moment on, you are no longer a slave.”

I had only imagined hearing those words my entire life. I wanted freedom more than anything, but oddly, I didn’t feel an ounce of happiness at that moment. It was more like… I’ve been stripped off of my sole character, and now, I’m a nobody.

“What do you mean, master?”

I hoped that he only said such a thing out of impulse, so I asked the stupid question.

“I meant it as it is,” he replied. He then grabbed my wrists once more to stop me from clawing onto my neck, which I didn’t know I had been doing the moment the collar was taken off of me. My skin stung. “Why don’t we start by making you call me by my name?”

I felt my cheeks warming up. All this time, I have been shamelessly addressing him by his name in my mind, but for some reason, actually calling him like so felt awkward. I have never referred to a werewolf by their name—that’s probably why.

“D-Dylan…”

“Good,” he whispered as he leaned in to plant a kiss on my cheek. “You’re blushing, Isabella.”

My embarrassment grew tenfold. Of course, who wouldn’t be blushing at a moment like this?

Dylan then kissed me once more, but now closer to where my lips were. Then, another. And another. Until he was grazing his lips against mine. I closed my eyes tightly, hesitant to let myself get carried by the moment. But when he placed a hand behind my head and snaked an arm around my waist, pulling me and pressing me against him, I knew I had lost. I moved my lips to follow his lead.