Beast of Burden

by Alexandra Christian

  BEAST OF BURDEN

  Alexandra Christian

  Published by Purple Sword Publications, LLC at Smashwords

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  Copyright © 2013 ALEXANDRA CHRISTIAN

  ISBN 978-1-61292-080-1

  Cover Art Designed By Traci Markou

  Images Copyright Aleksey Mnogosmyslov 123RF.com, Cynoclub Dreamstime.com, and Unholyvault Dreamstime.com

  Edited By Brieanna Robertson and Traci Markou

  Prologue

  My heart beats out of my chest as I push myself faster. The wind whips around my face in a steady stream of cold clarity. I take a glance over my shoulder and see you, gaining on me, readying yourself to spring and take the lead. You hate to lose, and I love to give chase. You are the alpha, and I just your mate, but making you prove it is almost as much fun as the inevitable conclusion of our game. I smile to myself, inhaling your scent as you come closer. It’s musky and sharp, a smell unlike any other that inflames my senses. My sleek, snowy fur feels heavier the farther we go, my body tiring easily from the exertion. You know just how far to push, and I let out a yelp of anger and frustration. It doesn’t seem fair that I should always be the one to yield.

  Something in the air changes, and when I look back again, I find that you’ve disappeared. I am puzzled by your sudden absence. Surely, I didn’t lose you in the trees. You know these woods, and each and every hiding place within, better than anyone. Not to mention that hiding your towering black frame would be nearly impossible. I crest the hill and stop myself at the summit, starting to panic a little. The air grows cold as I scan the forest below, trying to catch your scent on a passing breeze. I paw at the ground nervously, my mind running over all the things that might have happened to you. Unable to keep my fears in check, I raise my muzzle to the sky and let out a sorrowful howl. If you’re anywhere near, you’ll hear and know it’s me.

  Suddenly, there is a rushing in the underbrush nearby. I squat down on my muscled haunches, prepared to spring toward any threat. The autumn leaves crunch under my feet, and I can smell their decaying odor. I can barely see in the fading light as I try desperately to seek out my prey. He’s close now, his scent pungent. A rumbling growl comes from behind, and my muscles stiffen. I mentally kick myself for being so stupid. This is one of your more basic lessons. Always protect the rear. Others can easily attack from behind, their teeth instantly severing the sinuous tendons across my shoulders, rendering me unable to run or defend myself.

  I try to turn, but it’s too late. Your body lands on top of mine with bone-crushing force. A knowing snarl issues from my throat as I recognize your smell immediately. Your weight presses down against my chest, pushing the wind out of my lungs with terrifying efficiency. Our bodies, clumsy in battle, tumble over the hill and roll over and over until we reach the bottom of the ravine. As soon as we land, I nearly slip from your grasp, using my claws to scratch at your underbelly, but my playful swipes don’t penetrate the heavy fur. Although, it gives me just enough time to loosen your grip. I nearly bowl you over, getting my shoulder under your muzzle. I straighten my body, forcing your head back until you tumble aside. I give a mocking bark and trot back toward the trees, teasing you to chase me, counting down the seconds as you consider. In another instant, you’ve heaved your heavy wolf frame against me, knocking me down and pinning my body belly-down beneath yours. I whine, feeling my ribs crushed against the earth, but you don’t give an inch. You nip at my ear roughly, insisting that I cry out my surrender. But I’m stubborn and only respond with more violent thrashing that nearly sends you sprawling. In the end, you’re immoveable. After another minute of struggling, you let out a victorious howl and bite down into the fleshy curve of my shoulder blade. I squirm and whimper, trying to slip away, but you need to make the blood flow and stain my bright white fur. Only in this way can you force my change.

  My howl of pain becomes a scream as my body twists and contracts back into my human form. My fur becomes pale flesh again. My eyes refocus, the colors screaming back into painful clarity. I pinch them shut, waiting for it to be over. By the time I come back to myself, you’ve already changed, gently pushing my hair back from my neck and kissing lightly at my skin. I can feel the heat of your skin, still warm from the run, caressing my back and keeping me from the cold of being naked. I want to roll over, to look into your eyes, but your body keeps me in place. Though you’ve changed back, the animal still lurks within, and you want to take me like an animal.

  Though my body aches from running and my muscles are stiff, I want you as much as you want me. I can feel the rough surface of your tongue as you lap at the blood that drips down my shoulder. I groan softly, arching my back against your body. You run your fingertips up and down my spine, brushing them over the tiny places where you can still see evidence of the change. I gasp, not quite used to the pain of the shifting yet. You soothe my throbbing with your expert fingers, even though my whimpers excite you more. I can feel your cock, hard and impatient, nudging at the opening of my sex, and I grind myself against it. Your groan of arousal echoes in my ears, too loud for the human mechanism, but it’s the perfect aphrodisiac. Without warning, you slide back and away from me. Cold rushes around my body and I whimper again with the pain of the bitter cold. I try to turn my head, to look back at you longingly, but your hand in my hair keeps me facing the forest ahead. Your hands are rough as you push my thighs apart and guide my head down until it almost touches the earth. I can hear the rumble in your throat as you admire my body, taking in every aspect of my milky white skin, my ass, my thighs, the hidden pink folds of my sex. I can feel myself almost involuntarily nudging backward, desperate to make contact. But you like to make me wait, to prove once again the power you have over me.

  I sigh in relief when I feel your warmth envelop me again. This time your hands wind around my waist, seeking out the smooth curve of my belly, the hood of my sex, the raised scar just over my breast. When the rough callous of your thumb scrapes that tiny line of hardened flesh, it is more pleasurable than if you had suckled at my nipple. It makes me gasp in near abandon, and I arch against you once more. I want you so badly that I can feel my sex opening impossibly wide to accept you. I cry out as you enter me with a single push, your hands on either side of my pelvis, pulling me against your groin. The force of your invasion is almost painful, but I howl in satisfaction. For a moment, you don’t move, letting me acclimate to your size, but soon I can’t wait and raise my body into your next thrust. One hand comes down hard between my shoulders, holding my torso against the ground and forcing my nether region higher in a position of submission. The other hand reaches around, fondling my nipple roughly. When you pinch it between your thumb and forefinger, the sting shoots straight from my breast to the well of heat at my center. It makes me jerk against you again. I groan almost incoherently and you pull my hair, bringing my mouth closer to you.

  “Please,” I beg you.

  It is an empty prayer, as I know that you will acquiesce. With little care for our surroundings or decorum, you pound your cock roughly inside of me over and over. I know that there will be bruises in unimaginable places later, but I care not. Our world is contained here at the joining of our flesh. You are the alpha and I am the omega, the beginning and the end forever
linked.

  My fingers, locked in a claw-like position as I tear at the dirt beneath our bodies, are desperate to hold on to something. My breasts ache, scraping against the rough ground, their burning only adding to my pleasure. You know I’ve always liked a little pain. Your body is the animalistic machine, driving into me harder and faster until both our bodies are tight with the impending climax. When mine is upon me, I scream out your name, no longer able to move against you. I can only lie helpless, shaking beneath you. Your body covers mine, and you bite down on my shoulder again as your warmth spills into me, running like fresh blood down my thigh. Your cry of completion is more of a howling, and the effect is such that I almost come again. Your body slows, and I feel your breath on my neck, cooling the soft sweat that’s collected there.

  “My beauty,” you whisper, flicking your tongue over the scratches and bites brought on by our coupling.

  I crawl into your embrace, comforted that I belong to you. My lover. My mate. My beast.

  Chapter 1

  “‘Ey, Girl! Move yer arse!” Penelope the barmaid warbled from across the room, pulling Sascha out of her daydream. “We ain’t got all morning for you to stare off into space,” she snarled, tossing a moldy rag toward her.

  Sascha glared at the crusty, old toad behind the bar, but held her tongue. The worst part about being a slave was keeping her mouth shut when what she really wanted to do was tell the smelly, old bitch off. “No, Penny.” She sighed, picking up the cloth from the floor.

  Sascha had been a slave at The Golden Goblet Tavern for nearly nine years, ever since her father had sold her to Mr. Longwillow just after her mother’s death. Most of the time, she didn’t mind it too much, but putting up with Penny and Mr. Longwillow’s daughter, Sera, often became tiresome. They were always ordering her around, finding the most horrid things for her to do—scrubbing floors, swabbing out the outhouse, slopping the hogs—all those things that no one else wanted to do. And Mr. Longwillow, while a nice old man, never seemed to catch them in the act of being unkind. Of course, he always believed their lies about her as well. Too many times she’d found herself locked in the broom closet for her imagined infractions. But such was the life of a slave in the village of Kaspar.

  Sascha moved in and out between the tables, wiping them clean of spilled ale and the occasional blood splatter. It was pointless work, really. Almost as soon as she was done, someone would come in and mess it all up again. As if on cue, Sera shoved past Sascha, making her stumble over a chair. “Careful, wench,” she said, a mocking smile on her lips. “You’re in my way.”

  Sascha glowered. “How about looking where you’re going?” she replied in a low mumble.

  “What was that, slave?” Sera whipped around, a threatening look in her eyes.

  Sascha straightened up to her full height, staring at the other girl. “I said, look where you’re going.” She dropped the rag on the table beside them and balled her fists by her sides. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with Sera’s wickedness today.

  “You should watch your mouth, slave.” Sera snarled, though backing off slightly.

  Sascha didn’t have to remind Sera that she could fight like a boy. Many times in their childhood, she’d bloodied Sera’s nose. And although Sascha had always been punished, Sera’s nose was still crooked.

  “Yeah,” Penny chimed in. “Slaves with smart mouths get sent to Lord Marek.”

  Sascha opened her mouth to respond, but at the mention of his name, the words died on her lips. Lord Marek was the most feared man in all of Kaspar and for good reason. He was the ruling entity in the village, and that meant his word was law. He was rarely seen in town and when he was, he struck an imposing figure. Standing at over six feet and towering above all the other men in town, his frame was bulky and solid from years of battles. He had a mane of thick, black hair that twisted and curved in unkempt waves all the way to his shoulders. Beneath that tangle of hair, his honey-colored eyes peered out, seeming to bore right into a person’s soul. On the rare occasions that he smiled, his lips parted to reveal too many pearl white teeth, highlighted by sharp canines. But size and teeth aside, Marek was not a man to be trifled with and did not suffer fools. Men who had stupidly ignited his rage rarely lived to tell the tale.

  Sascha tightened her jaw and looked away. “I’m not afraid,” she replied, going back to her scrubbing. Sera laughed and sat on the barstool in front of Penny. “I heard Seamus Oakleaf tell Bryndyn Mallowfern that another flock of his father’s sheep were found slaughtered by the river yesterday morn.”

  “Gods, does he have any left?” Penny replied. “That’s the third time this season. Were they…”

  “Yep. Just like before,” Sera continued, stealing a glance at Sascha who had gone back to wiping down tables. “They were completely drained of blood and torn from stem to stern like some hideous creature had attacked them.”

  Sascha sighed, knowing that this little speech was largely for her benefit. Both of them knew that it was her job to go to the river each evening with the laundry.

  “What do they think it is?” Penny asked, cleaning a goblet with the hem of her apron.

  “They didn’t say, but you know…” Sera paused, giving a reptilian smile to Sascha. “The Oakleaf farm isn’t far from Lord Marek’s castle.”

  “It’s wolves,” Sascha interrupted, continuing to scrub the table in front of her. “That part of the forest is full of them.”

  “And what would you know about it?” Penny snapped.

  “Maybe she’s part wolf herself,” Sera teased. “Or maybe part dog.” Her eyes glistened with mischief. “Anyway, I think it’s Lord Marek, feasting on the blood of the animals.” Her eyes took on an ominous glow as she stood and slowly walked toward Sascha. “I’ve heard that he only comes out at night and when he does, he wears a cloak that almost covers his face.” She covered Sascha’s face with her hands and laughed.

  “Now why would he do that?” Sascha argued, slapping Sera’s hands away and crossing her arms over her chest.

  “To cover those hideous scars,” Penny replied. “Everyone knows that he’s horribly disfigured.”

  Sascha shuddered, and Sera and Penny dissolved in laughter, remembering how Sascha had screamed with nightmares after seeing the goat-man at the gypsy circus several years before. His horrific, malformed countenance had haunted her dreams for years.

  “I don’t believe that,” Sascha said, her voice trembling slightly.

  Sera shrugged and turned back to Penny. “Suit yourself. But I’d behave like a proper slave if I were you.”

  Sascha gritted her teeth and walked away from them. Though Lord Marek scared her—terrified her even—he wasn’t some kind of monstrous thing. Not that she wanted to find out, but he was only a man.

  The afternoon passed in much the same way. Sascha did chores; Penny and Sera taunted her. It was a day like any other. Except, of course, it was the day Sascha’s life would change forever.

  Chapter 2

  “Girls!” Thaddeus Longwillow called out happily as he descended the staircase. It was market day, and the old innkeeper was glad for the little excitement to break up the monotony of his rural life. “I’m off to Port Falkin for more wine and grain!”

  “Oh, Papa!” Sera chirped, rushing to her father’s side. “Can’t I go this time? I’m so tired of Kaspar I could scream.”

  Longwillow laughed and gave his only daughter a gentle squeeze. “Poor Sera,” he cooed. “But who would run the inn if you’re gone with me?” It was a shallow excuse. Truth be told, part of the reason he looked forward to market day so much was that he could take a day away from Sera’s constant whining.

  “Penny can handle it,” she replied, gesturing toward the barmaid who looked put upon to be asked to do more than clean glasses. “Please, Papa!”

  “No, no, no,” he stuttered, peeling himself from her grasp. “Be a good girl and keep Sascha company.”

  Sera flopped down at a table to pout. “Stupid Sascha,” s
he grumbled. “Maybe you can buy a new slave in Falkin that would actually do some work.”

  Mr. Longwillow pretended not to hear her as he planted a kiss on the top of her head. Suddenly, he was hit with a bolt of inspiration. A gift. Yes, that would raise Sera’s spirits. “I’ll tell you what, my beauty. Since you’ve all been so good to me, I shall get each of you a gift in Falkin to celebrate our good fortune.”

  Sera’s eyes brightened. “Oh yes, Papa! I’d like a new dress with golden embroidery and a jeweled bodice…” She went on to describe the cut of the hem and neckline until Longwillow cut her off.

  “How about you, Penny? You’ve been a loyal servant, lo these many years. What sort of gift would you like?”

  “Well, sir, I’ve always wanted a pair of them satin slippers to soothe me achin’ feet at nigh’.”

  “It shall be done,” laughed the old man, clapping the barmaid’s shoulder affectionately. Finally, he turned his eyes to Sascha who was busying herself sweeping out the hearth. “What of you, child?” he asked, walking toward her and placing a hand on the broom handle. “You’ve served me well…”

  “Papa!” Sera interjected, rushing to him and shouldering Sascha aside. “You can’t get a gift for her! She’s a slave…”

  “And a loyal one,” Longwillow interrupted. “She deserves reward for all of her hard work.”

  “Reward! Why, just this morning, Penny and I had to get after her for her insolence and laziness.” She smiled slyly at Sascha, who could only glare in her direction. “She doesn’t deserve anything!”

  “I shall be the judge of my own slave, daughter.” He turned back to Sascha. “So what will you have, child?”

  Sascha looked back and forth from Mr. Longwillow’s kind smile to Sera’s look of utter hatred. “Well...I...I don’t know...”

  “Anything you like, Sascha.” The old man sighed. He loved Sascha like his own child, perhaps even a little more, for she was considerate and kind, so unlike his real daughter.