The Master's Woman: (BBW Werewolf Erotica) (Smut-Shorties Book 5)

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

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  About the Author

  Copyright

  Copyright 2014 Mina Carter

  Cover Art by Mina Carter

  Published by Blue Hedgehog Press: Oct 2014.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  EBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/).

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Author's note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

  Chapter One

  “I don’t care how good a fuck she is, Veyr. The council will not stand by and allow you to mate a near-human.”

  Veyr, Master of the City and the most powerful werewolf in the room, looked up to regard the men sat around the table in front of him. Alphas from the twelve packs surrounded him, the leaders of their communities. All but one looked back, the bright rings of amber in their eyes proclaiming their status as pure-blood werewolves. Unlike Veyr. Not from the ranks of lycan nobility, he’d attained his position through blood, sweat and being the meanest son of a bitch out. Not born to power, or into an exalted position within any of the packs, he was the son of an attack victim, the born-wolf child of a bitten mother; the lowest in lycan society.

  Not content with such a low rank, he’d made his name and fortune in the fight clubs, rising to own them. He’d been King of the Ring before a rare challenge had given him a shot at the title of Master of the City. A fact that a few of the wolves around the table appeared to have forgotten, as most nodded to agree with Jacob McCauley.

  “Really?” Veyr drawled, resting his chin on his knuckles. His voice was low and dangerous, a clue that had the guards at the door straightening. They were his men, hand-picked by his captain, a wolf from the pits just like Veyr.

  He didn’t take his eyes off Jacob. The man was arrogant and convinced of his superiority. Six months into his role as alpha, he was already throwing his weight about. A fact that annoyed the hell out of Veyr.

  “So, you’re telling me you have decided to tell the Master of the City what he can and cannot do?” Veyr stood, exploding into movement that made Jacob scuttle back, surprise written over his face. Veyr’s voice was still quiet as he resisted the urge to let his claws do the talking, but he didn’t restrict the amber in his eyes to just a ring. Wolfing them out to the max, he let his anger roll from him in waves.

  “Because,” he snarled and slammed his fists into the tabletop. The solid wood cracked under the blow, the sound like a gunshot in the room. “If you want to give the orders, then you can always issue a challenge.”

  Jacob paled. Not as white as a sheet, nothing so poetic. Instead, he turned the white of a man who has just seen the future. One that ended with his intestines around his feet as he tried to scream through a shredded throat.

  “No, no. I apologize, Master,” he was quick to assure. “I forget my place. It won’t happen again.” He ducked his head in apology but not before Veyr had seen the flash of anger in his eyes. Given that and the somewhat unsavory rumors Veyr had heard about the man, he knew Jacob was a problem he would have to deal with sooner rather than later. With violence. Veyr was good with violence when the situation warranted it. It was the reason he was the only fighter to retire from the ring undefeated.

  “I didn’t think so. Anyone else?” Veyr looked around the room, his expression hard. With their ringleader cut down to size, none of the others held his gaze for long. A few seconds at most. He reached the last man at the table, and the silence stretched out as Veyr waited for him to look up.

  Nick Trevais lifted his head to meet Veyr’s eyes. He smiled; his expression strained. It was ever likely to be. The woman under discussion was his sister.

  “McCauley is right,” he said in a quiet voice. Unlike his spitfire of a sister, Trevais had always been the voice of reason on the council. He continued to be so, regardless of his personal stake in the matter. “As Master of the City, you cannot take a non-shifter as your mate. Concubine, yes. Mate, no.”

  His words fell into the silence of the room. Around the table, the other alphas nodded their agreement. Veyr hid his smile when Jacob’s eyes lit with triumph. It was no secret to anyone with half a brain that he wanted to mate his sister to the Master of the City. As beautiful and elegant as Vanessa McCauley was though, she didn’t hold Veyr’s interest. Bred to be the perfect lycan noblewoman, she didn’t have the sass and fire Cyan did, and he wanted every drop, not an insipid partner who agreed with his every word. It didn’t matter that Jacob thought he’d won this battle. Rather than foiling his plans to make Cyan his mate, Nick had provided him a stepping stone to achieving his goal.

  “I’ll take it. I want a Claiming Chase.”

  ***

  Being screwed by the Master of the City had its advantages. Cyan Trevais paused mid-bite, a pastry in her hand as her memory went into overdrive. Veyr had been insatiable. She’d never been with a man with so much stamina.

  Not that she’d had that many lovers. As the non-shifting sister of a pack alpha, her options in the lycan world were limited. No one wanted a mate who might pass on such a defect to their children and since looking for love in the human world didn’t sit well with her wolf side. Stuck between a rock and a hard place. Unwanted in one world, and too non-human for the other.

  But Veyr was something else. Her abilities or lack of them hadn’t seemed to matter to him. Warmth filled her at the memory of his farewell ‘kiss’ before he’d left for a council meeting. It had been hot, torrid and ended up in a hard, fast screw against the wall. The memory, while hot, was tinged with sadness.

  He hadn’t mentioned seeing her again. Why should he? She was nothing more than the midwinter fuck. While another woman, one from a different pack, might hope that such a dalliance led to pregnancy and a mating, she knew better that to wish for such an outcome.

  Although her brother, as pack alpha, was on the council, his vote was one amongst many, and there was no way the more powerful packs would allow such a union. That was even if Veyr wanted it. There was no obligation for the Master to take a midwinter woman to mate even if she fell pregnant.

  As she popped the rest of the pastry in her mouth, her hand stole down to cover her stomach for a moment. The hope she was pregnant swam to the forefront of her mind. At least then she’d have something to remember him. A new horror replaced her misery at the thought of never seeing him again; that of having to attend his wedding, and watch him mate a pack princess like Vanessa McCauley.

  She chose anot
her pastry and demolished it. Who cared if she got fat now? Didn’t seem like Veyr was coming back…

  The door opened, and she paused, coffee mug in hand. Her heart fell as she recognized the tall figure of Veyr’s captain of the guard instead of the man himself. She berated herself for getting her hopes up in the first place. She knew better. No doubt he’d already forgotten her.

  “Good morning, Milady.” The captains’ voice was lower than she expected and gravelly with his wolf. The scent rolling from him betrayed the fact he was an alpha himself, no doubt one without a pack given the fact he was in the Master’s service.

  She nodded in acknowledgement, ignoring the fact that her wolf had snarled at the virile, male scent instead of reacting with interest. Pain in the ass animal. It couldn’t exert itself to let her shift, but wanted a say in who they fucked. So not happening.

  “The Master sends his apologies for missing breakfast; he had important matters to discuss with the council.”

  Yeah, yeah. She got it. Veyr couldn’t be bothered to come and say goodbye himself, so he’d sent his lackey to do his dirty work for him. Her gaze fell on the garment bag draped over the captain’s arm. Yeah, she was right. They were done.

  In a tradition as old as the Midwinter Choosing itself, the Master presented his partner with a sumptuous gown in the morning. Of pure white, shot through with silver, they were expensive, gorgeous…and something she wanted to hate on sight. Asshole thought he could end it with an expensive present. Well, didn’t that just make her feel like a special little snowflake…and a hooker.

  “He has, however, asked me to give you this.” He approached to lay the garment bag across the chair opposite Cyan. He shot her a glance, his expression unreadable as he pulled down the zip. “You are to wear it to appear before the Master and the Council in the main courtyard in an hour.”

  She blinked; his words not at all what she was expecting. The morning after didn’t go this way. She got the dress, and left at her convenience, her expensive prize tucked under her arm and her tail between her legs. All the while she was supposed to be thankful that the Master had seen fit to honor her with a night in his bed.

  Her gaze dropped to the chair, and her eyes widened. The dress was red, not white.

  A red dress meant something entirely different.

  “Shit…”

  He smiled; his face set in grim lines. “Indeed. The Master has called for a Claiming Chase.”

  He withdrew to allow her to change, a feat that took her less than five minutes. The dress was a perfect fit, if it should look like it had been painted on. Cyan grimaced and wriggled, trying to pull the low neckline up to cover more of her ample bust.

  Dark red, and decorated with thousands of beads, it was a gorgeous dress. Trouble was, a deep breath would have her tits falling out to say hello to the world and the tightly corseted waist objected to the extra breakfast pastry she’d consumed in her misery.

  None of that mattered though. Veyr had called for a Chase. Her heart leapt, then did acrobatics in her chest. She’d never seen a chase. The last one had been years before her birth, but she’d heard of them. A step above a midwinter choice, but not quite a mating, a claiming chase meant the Master wanted to keep a woman. For a while, at least. Given Cyan’s status, it was more than she could have hoped for.

  There was just one problem. A chase was public, as was the fucking that came after as the Master claimed his woman in front of the packs.

  Chapter Two

  A crowd had already formed in the central courtyard by the time the captain opened the door to lead Cyan out. Hundreds of eyes turned her way, an oppressive interest that made her pause between one step and the next. Panic tightened her throat. She didn’t want to go out there. Since puberty, and the realization she was never going to be able to change, she’d been the freak that everyone looked at. The one they whispered behind their hands about as she passed. The girl who couldn’t change. As she’d gotten older and curvier, moving away from the lithe and slender ideal of lycan beauty, the whispers had changed. Become crueler.

  Her chin rose, and she smoothed her hands over her hips. Fuck them all. She not only had curves; she owned those curves. They were her armor. More than that, they had attracted the notice of the Master of the City, not a body that was so skinny she might as well have been a boy.

  The captain paused, watching her. His hard expression had softened, understanding in his eyes she hadn’t expected. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. A curt, sharp gesture. “I will be. Let’s rock this.”

  Head up, she stepped from the shelter of the doorway. The red skirts swished around her ankles as she walked. The beads shimmered in her peripheral vision, but she looked straight ahead. The crowd around her buzzed, whispers she ignored. She didn’t care what they said about her. Emotions rolled through her. Nothing mattered apart from two things. She would not embarrass herself and her pack in front of all these people. And Veyr waited for her.

  She let that one thought coalesce, feeling the truth of it settle in her heart even as heat swirled through her veins at the thought of what was to come. Excitement warred with nerves. She’d never been part of a chase. Not even a betrothal one where the pack ran with the happy couple in a public acknowledgement of their upcoming mating. Knowing she’d never have been able to keep up, she’d always offered to organize the buffet and drinks. Two legs were no match for four. Not in a chase, which meant that this would be quick. Veyr might not be from a noble line, but he was all wolf. All alpha. One strong enough to control all the pack alphas to boot. Chasing her would be no challenge at all.

  The crowd opened ahead of her, surrounding a dais. Veyr stood on it, surrounded by the council alphas. Jacob McCauley was to his right, his face almost purple with rage. Cyan hid her smirk. The pack grapevine was abuzz that McCauley wanted his sister mated to Veyr. She’d have loved to have been a fly on the wall in the council chamber when he’d announced his intentions.

  Her brother stood next to McCauley, but Cyan avoided his gaze. Since she was about to get chased and fucked, since there was no way she could outrun Veyr even if she wanted to, acknowledging him would be awkward.

  The presence of the council and the crowd around them fell away as her gaze met Veyr’s. Heat blazed in his eyes, his nostrils flaring as soon as he saw her. He stood in the center of the dais with his hands clasped in front of him and watched her approach. But his body language was deceptive. Despite the indolence of his stance, she saw the tension that arched through him. Saw the feral expression in his eyes as he looked at her. Her heart lurched, stomach rolling with what felt like rioting butterflies.

  He still wanted her. The Master of the City wanted her… Her. Curvy, not-able-to-shift Cyan Trevais.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Veyr didn’t take his eyes off her. “You have been called here today to witness a ritual steeped in history, one not often used in today’s society. As some of you may have guessed from my Lady’s attire, today marks the first Claiming Chase in almost fifty years. Today,” he paused and looked around the crowd, his expression like granite, as if daring anyone to gainsay him. “I claim Cyan, from the Trevais pack, as my woman.”

  *

  Red suited Cyan. Like really suited her. Veyr’s hands clenched into fists at his sides when she came into view. The dress fitted her like a second skin, outlining her curves in a way that had his cock twitching in his pants. It was as if he’d not seen a woman in years, rather than screwed this self-same woman up against a wall less than two hours ago.

  She met his eyes after his announcement and a shudder worked its way up his spine to lodge in the small of his back. Most women would have refused to look up, would have acted the image of the perfectly brought up, knew-her-place-in-the-world, noblewoman. Not Cyan. She matched his look, a challenge in her eyes. She was the kind of woman who didn’t care what society said her place should be. The kind who, once she’d figured out what place she wanted, would stomp and batter her way through un
til she stood there.

  Like him.

  She was perfect.

  “Cyan Trevais,” he addressed her as custom dictated. “Do you accept the challenge of the chase?”

  Her chin lifted; her bee-stung lips pursed in determination. She looked so cute, and hot. He barely managed to stay where he was, the urge to drop off the dais, sweep her off her feet and kiss the pout from her lips was so strong.

  “I do.” Her voice was clear and calm. Firm, but not belligerent. She’d make an excellent mate. Her strength combined with his…they could accomplish wonders. He snapped out of what could quickly become day-dreams of their future to the present. First he had to catch her. Then fuck her.

  His wolf growled its approval of that idea.

  He inclined his head and rolled his shoulders, shrugging out of his suit jacket. Beneath it, he was stripped to the waist, a habit he’d developed in the ring. He’d always known how to play the audience, and he did now, tensing his muscles to show off as a ripple of fur brushed against the inside of his skin. A murmur ran through the crowd, but he wasn’t watching them. In fact, he couldn’t have given a rat’s ass if they were there or not. All his attention was on the tiny woman in red in front of him.

  “Then…” His voice deepened, became rough and harsh with his wolf. “Run.”

  She didn’t scream, just picked up her skirts and fled. The crowds parted as she darted through them, lost in their number within seconds. Veyr grinned. She was clever, his little wolf. Hidden among the massed wolves of the court, he couldn’t see which of the five exits from the courtyard she took.

  With a howl, he leapt from the dais. His feet left the stone of the platform, and he let the change rip through him. He was a big man, but a bigger wolf. Two hundred pounds of lycan hit the ground, massive paws kicking up dust and stone chips as he took off after Cyan.

  The crowd moved, ran to get out of his way, and he caught a glimpse of her red skirts disappearing through one of the arches. A snarl burst from his throat, and he sped after her. She’d escaped into the west gardens, which contained a maze. Built centuries ago by the Fae, its walls were a mixture of stone, hedges and a running stream. Clever. He grinned, pulling his lips back from his elongated canines in the lupine equivalent of a grin. Blood rushed through his veins, his body alive with power and purpose. He hadn’t had so much fun in months.