Chapter 3 The Pack Of The Northern Wolves

• There was only one probable explanation.
• I was living in a dream, a funny and terrifying one. "N-n-northern wolves?"
• "Yes," Cyrus said, then acknowledged the man in front. "Theo, has the crisis been averted?"
• "Considerably so. We reached a compromise."
• "They should know better than to mess with us," snarled Cyrus. "Greedy pests," he hissed.
• "Who is she?"
• "Ah, my new slave. I paid a fine price for her."
• "Again? A fine price? For a human? Those lowly backstabbing creatures?" He asked with raised eyebrows.
• "Yes."
• "You have an obsession." The man named Theo gave a tight smile and let out an exasperated breath. "Let's hope this one survives," he whistled then turned to me. "And you are?"
• "Agnes." I ignored the hand he had out to shake me. "What do you mean by your statement?"
• "What statement?" He asked, his hands still hanging out, waiting for a handshake that was never going to come.
• "Let's hope this one survives?"
• "Oh, it was nothing," he responded airily. "And it is not polite to leave someone's hand hanging."
• "Who am I to shake your hand?" I asked with a smile. "I, a lowly backstabbing creature. A human, shake the hand of someone as powerful and upright as you?"
• Cyrus grinned but the grin was wiped away almost immediately and he shot me a look that would have frozen a furnace. "You are to regard everyone with respect," he hissed.
• I raised my brows at him. "I was being respectful. Who am I to shake his hand?"
• "That was very sarcastic," Cyrus hissed. "Apologize right away."
• "I did not do anything wrong," I said defiantly, raising my chin. "I will not apologize."
• His grip around my wrist tightened and in a voice that left no room for disobedience, he said. "Apologize, now."
• *+*+*+*+*+*+*
• "What the hell is this?" Cyrus spat out the seventh tea I had made for him. He had complained of the first one being too bitter, and then the second being too sweet. Then the third had a tangy taste. He kept on finding faults in the tea I had made for him. "Do you not know how to make tea?"
• "Maybe if I was prepared for slavehood or I had one of your former slaves teach me the recipe for your tea this wouldn't be happening!" I snapped at him angrily.
• It had not been up to an hour since I arrived here that I was being subjected to a lot of work. He had not even given me time to settle down at all. My bags had been carried to only the heavens know where.
• "Do not speak to me in such a rude tone," he said in a cold voice that sent chills down my spine. "Control your smart mouth," he hissed.
• I pursed my lips and gave the politest smile I could muster. "I apologize, Master. I shall learn to speak appropriately."
• "You did not mean it."
• Rolling my eyes, I let out a sigh. "Why should it matter if I mean my words or not?" I asked. "After all, I am following your instructions."
• "You should serve me as though you want to."
• "News flash, I don't want to! I was sold into becoming your slave, so my behaviour should not surprise you."
• "I was under the impression you were well-mannered."
• Snorting, I picked up the tray that contained the teacup. "I shall make you another one your majesty."
• Then something occurred to me. With the way everyone seemed to cower in fear around him and lower their heads as he passed, was he a king? I have only called him 'Your Majesty' sarcastically. "Are you the king here?"
• Cyrus gave me an evil side eye before he responded. "I am the Alpha of this pack. So yes, you can say I am a king."
• "Kings are usually old," I shrugged. "You are pretty young."
• "Get me another tea."
• "Of course," I walked away, rolling my eyes. When I got to the massive kitchen, I poured the contents of the tea into a waste pot and sighed.
• "Do you need help with that?" A girl smiled walking into the kitchen. She did not seem to be a maid based on the aura she gave off. "Cyrus can be difficult and picky when it comes to what he consumes."
• "Who are you?" I asked, intrigued by her. It was also strange that she had called him Cyrus.
• "No one of importance," she grinned. "Let me teach you."
• I watched as she gathered the leaves and mashed them in a pestle together with honey. Then she added a squeeze of lemon into it and transferred the content to a bowl of hot water. After this, she stirred it well and strained it into a cup. "I'm sure you just boiled the leaves in hot water, added lemon and honey and that was it."
• "Yes," I answered. "But what difference does it make?"
• "Quite a lot." She placed the cup on a tray and handed it to me. "Go ahead. Cyrus hates to be kept waiting."
• I smiled at her and walked as quickly as I could back to the study where Cyrus sat. He observed the tray in his front with a raised eyebrow and picked up the cup.
• He scrutinized it slowly as he had done before and sniffed it twice, before placing it on his lips and taking a sip. "Adequate," he mumbled and drank the rest of it with a satisfied smile.
• I smiled back, relieved that he had not sent me to make another one and also internally grateful for the strange girl who had helped me out.
• His expression of satisfaction was soon replaced by an unreadable look. "You were not the one who made this tea, were you?"
• "Should it matter?" I asked. "It was drinkable."
• "If there's one thing I dislike, it is when I assign a duty to someone and they reassign it to another person.”
• "Oh please," I scoffed. "The job was done. You had your tea the way you liked it. Why should it matter who made the tea?"
• "I am telling you that in future, I will not tolerate such." It was when he said this, that I noticed he had taken off his tailcoat and his shirt was unbuttoned. I looked away quickly.