The Alpha's Slave novel Chapter 7

Mathilde was crouched by the fire pot, stirring a long wooden spoon about as wafts of her curry rose and spread like a fog over the enclosed kitchen.

The past few days had been silent, peacefully so. And though she missed her master with idle reluctance, the emptiness was welcome. She moved about her buSalemess dutifully, cleaning, washing, scrubbing, cooking- and sometimes she would catch herself glancing up at the clock overhead.

Waiting for master's arrival.

Word of his return arrived a day in advance and she spent it in elation, gliding about the mansion cleaning every room, though no one but him resided within.

She polished the silver and dusted the ancient library. Tore down the curtains and replaced them with clean heavy dark drapes. Rolled out the Persian carpets and beat them in the back with a club until all dust vanished.

Last but not least, Mathilde prepared a bouquet of his favorite meal. It was hard to pinpoint which her master favored, considering he ate with a neutral expression.

However, having lived with him for over a decade, she learned to pick up the subtlest of gestures from master. The slight tilt of his full flushed lips as he bit into a soft vanilla loaf, the pleasant hum in his baritone throat as he lifted the fork of tenderized Wagyu beef to his mouth.

Yes, Master may have been a closed book, but sometimes the outer covers told enough of the story.

Mathilde spent her day kneading dough, chopping vegetables, soaking rice, hammering meat until tender- then the preparations began. She chopped and diced, tossed and glazed. Everything was finally coming in order.

Brazed lamb, tenderized beef wrapped in sizzling bacon, fresh churned cheese, warm baked bread still soft from the oven, charred vegetables, mushroom and pea soup and finally a bottle of chilled Chateau Lafitte.

The long dining table was set and she hurriedly scrubbed herself clean before dawning the white dress he preferred her to wear. The collar was high and hem swept well past her worn out ankles.

Mathilde thoroughly brushed her hair and held it up into a severe ponytail, as he always liked, then pinched her cheeks to bring out a rosy color on her otherwise pale complexion.

She glanced at the clock then moved towards the mansions entrance, slowly lowering herself onto her knees.

Mathilde waited.

An hour or so later, she heard the rush of a piercing scream. It was so loud, Mathilde leaped up, startled. Reaching for a lamp, she made to descend the front steps but held steady.

Master did not permit her to leave his confines. And so she stepped back, resorting to anxiously peer at the dark leering trees.

The scream came again, this time closer. Rushing towards one end, Mathilde clutched the wooden beam and held the lamp high as a silhouette formed in the distance.

"Master," she whispered, stomach awash with relief. Her smile halted then dissolved, eyebrows pinching at the realization that he held something that was thrashing violently against his laps.

Or someone.

"Help me!" It was a girl's voice.

Mathilde tensed as her master fluidly leaped off the horse, his grip tightened on the nape of a girl's neck. She was small and rather petite, barely reaching his upper chest, and wore a dress stained with dirt and blood.

The girl's face was ordinary, much to Mathilde's relief, heart shaped, muddy brown eyes now red from crying and her hair a mess. At the sight of her, the girl wailed even wilder- "Help me! He's the beast! The monster!"

Perhaps it was the mere audacity to yell, let alone accuse her master of being something, that had her flinching away. Mathilde felt a dull flicker of anger, and pity for the girl.

She would be punished, severely so.

Mathilde quickly dropped to her knees, hands poised over upper thighs, head lowered in deference and submission. "My master," she whispered as he climbed the front steps and brushed past her with the screaming girl.

Mathilde quickly rose and followed suite, halting by the entrance as he released the girl and dismissively shoved her. She tripped and fell clumsily, doe like eyes riSalemg to the man.

Pointedly ignoring her, he moved towards the small glass table and twisted a bottle of whiskey, pouring himself a substantial amount along with three ice cubes.

She watched him drink- the powerful rise and fall of his throat, muscular jaw ticking as ice cubes crushed between his teeth patiently. All was silent save for him.

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