The Black Dragon King Hated His Human Mate

Alice

Pain. So much pain.

The moment I opened my eyes, the first thing I felt was a stabbing agony that ran from head to toe, as if a carriage had rolled over my entire body, leaving me on the verge of falling apart.

I tried to prop myself up, but the instant I lifted my arm, the man cut me off with a domineering, forceful movement. He gave me no chance to react. His rough, large hand clamped around my slender throat as he thrust into my body once more.

"Pay attention."

His voice was frighteningly cold, and those eyes of his were golden—sharp as a hawk's in the dark. My body trembled against my will, and for a moment I even wondered whether the one pressing me down beneath him was the noble Angus, or some heartless beast.

Oh, no.

How much longer until this ends?

Would he torment me until daybreak, the way he had yesterday?

But the bruises on my body had only just begun to fade.

I didn't dare ask Angus. He was the noble Angus. All I could do was pray silently to God in my heart.

Save me. I'm nothing but a pitiful slave girl.

Thank God.

"Close your eyes."

Angus commanded in my ear, and suddenly he quickened his pace. My head spun.

How could I even describe this feeling? I stood at the boundary between heaven and hell, and Angus's body was the scale that held it all in balance. He held me completely in his grip—where I ended up was determined by a single one of his movements.

And right now I was trapped in that dreadful hell. I gasped for breath, my chest heaving violently.

In that exquisite room, there was only the sound of my own breathing.

Something withdrew from my body.

I knew it was all over. Finally.

I pushed myself upright and saw Angus standing beside the bed. In that instant, my body froze.

If you asked me who the most handsome man in the world was, I would say, without hesitation, that it was the man before me. Angus had thrown a silk robe over himself now. His shoulders were broad, his sculpted chest half-hidden from view, and his sharply defined face was like an angel's statue set in a church.

I had heard the other servants in the castle say that countless nobles hoped Angus would marry their daughters—some were even willing to trade their entire family estates for it. It truly would have been a worthwhile bargain, but only if I weren't a slave. Compared to that face, land and gold—I would choose the former without a second thought. A beautiful appearance was like the stars in the sky; it could never be as real as something you could hold in your hands.

"You're awake. Then get down here and see to me."

Angus seemed to notice my gaze and abruptly turned to look at me. That familiar look again—the same way I looked at a caterpillar. And caterpillars were the thing I hated most.

"Yes."

I'd gotten so lost in my own imaginings that I'd nearly forgotten who I really was. I was the slave girl Angus had bought for a single silver coin—the lowest of the low in this entire castle. I didn't even have a name. When Angus made a demand, I had to obey absolutely.

I gently wiped the sweat from Angus's skin with a cloth. Angus liked warm water, and the cloth that touched his skin had to be genuine silk. I didn't want to cause trouble, so I wiped him clean and careful.

But then Angus's expression changed. He was angry. I realized it at once.

Why, though? I slowed down, searching my memory. What had I done wrong? I didn't understand. I had done everything exactly the way Angus always liked it. So what had I done to provoke him?

"Clumsy fool. Get out!"

Angus suddenly snarled at me, and then reached out and shoved me away. I stumbled and nearly lost my footing, catching myself against the wall to barely keep my balance. It hurt—he had touched the bruises he'd left when he'd gripped me near the end yesterday.

I lingered no longer. I answered obediently, turned, and left the room. I knew that if I stood there even one more second, what awaited me next would be a far more terrible punishment.

Standing in the empty corridor, I looked down at my numb hands. An hour ago, these same hands had rested against Angus's broad back, bearing the brunt of his relentless assaults one after another.

For as long as I could remember, my greatest duty had been to relieve Angus's needs. Every night was a trial for me. Angus had no technique—he relied on nothing but raw instinct. Bruises all over my body were a common thing, and being unable to get out of bed was even more frequent. He was always brutal with me in bed, and even when it was over, he never once spoke to me.

Should I feel wronged? I didn't know. I simply carried out all of Angus's demands to the letter.

I shook my head hard. I couldn't keep thinking about this. Angus's attitude wasn't something I could decide. Rather than waste time on it, I'd be better off cleaning my sticky, filthy body.

Just as I'd made up my mind, an arrogant voice suddenly rang out behind me, cutting my motion short.

"Well, well. Look who it is!"

I stopped in my tracks. Here we go again. I knew that voice all too well—it belonged to an old acquaintance of mine, Linda, Angus's concubine. Unlike a lowly slave girl such as myself, she had ended up here only because her family had fallen on hard times. The servants in the castle all treated her with courtesy—myself included.

Linda strode up to me and looked me over with her nose in the air.

"Good timing, you being here. Go heat some water now and wash my feet."

I stood where I was, not moving. It wasn't that I refused—I was simply too exhausted to react in the moment. My silence instantly enraged Linda. She threw up her arm, and with a sharp crack struck me across the cheek.

A burning, stinging pain swept from my cheek to the back of my ear, making my eardrum ring. It really did hurt—it "outdid" even the shove Angus had given me earlier.

"Did you not hear me? Or do my words mean nothing now?" There was a scornful, mocking laugh in Linda's voice. "What is it? Has the Duke bedding you every night gone to your head? You remember this: you're nothing but a free whore. Understand?"

I said nothing. I touched my swollen cheek and remained silent still. I knew Linda was watching me, and I knew that right now there had to be a smug look on her face.

I shouldn't have raised my hand to touch my face. I should have struck her back—hard—returned that slap right across Linda's exquisite face.

But I knew I couldn't do that. In this castle, I had no one to rely on. Linda was right: in Angus's eyes, I was nothing more than a slave who provided the basic necessities. The way of survival for the lowly was endurance.

Angus was a lion. Linda was a hyena. And I was a rabbit. I could only survive by hiding in my burrow.

"At least you know your place!" Just as I'd expected, Linda gave a cold snort, and after leaving those words behind, she departed.

I quietly let out a breath. At last, it was truly quiet again.

Linda was always moody and unpredictable. When I carried the bucket of hot water to her door, she told me she had already fallen asleep and snapped at me to leave at once. I had no choice but to carry the bucket back to my own room.

My room was extremely bare—just a single bed, and the door didn't even have a lock. Linda had made a point of ordering that I not be allowed any private space of my own.

After washing all the filth from my body, I went and braced a chair against the door. Only once I was certain no one would come in did I lift the blanket and pull out a small knife from beneath it.

I wiped the blade clean with a cloth and gripped it in my hand. My grip tightened, little by little. I closed my eyes. The knife felt as though it had grown out of my own body.

Slowly, that man's face rose before my eyes.

One month ago, in the dead of night, Angus had been the target of an assassination at the castle gates. By the time I learned of it, the assassin—his face covered in blood—had already been thrown into the dungeon.

A maid I was on good terms with had fallen ill and asked me to bring the prisoner his food. I went down to the dungeon alone. It was the first time I had ever set foot in a place like that. Damp. Dark. Not fit for human habitation. I had dreamed of hell once, and it looked exactly like the scene before me.

I wanted to set the food down and leave quickly. Just as I was about to turn away, the assassin called out to me.

"Alice?"

His voice was terribly hoarse. There wasn't a single patch of unbroken skin left on his entire body, yet still he forced himself to speak.

I froze. And then came the cold—a cold that was hard to put into words, not caused by the dim light of the dungeon, but radiating from somewhere deep within me.

Alice? Who was he calling? I had never heard that name before. Ordinarily, those people called me "Hey" or "the bed-warmer."

"What did you call me?"

It felt as though ants were crawling up my back; goosebumps rose all over my body. Enduring the sensation, I forced the question out.

"Don't you remember me? Alice." The assassin's face was so smeared with blood that I could no longer make out his features, but I could still see his eyes clearly. In them was a grief he couldn't hide.

"Who are you?"

It was so strange. I had never met him before, yet the moment I heard him call out that name, my feet stopped of their own accord.

I didn't have many memories. For as long as I could remember, I had lived here. The maid I was close to had once told me that Angus had bought me, and that my head had been struck when I was brought here. There had been a pool of blood on the ground, and I'd lost my memory ever since.

But if what the maid said was true, then I was clearly a slave. So how could the assassin who had come to kill Angus possibly know me? It made no sense at all.

"I'm Lauren, the assassin sent to kill Duke Angus."

I stared at the assassin, listening to his low voice.

"Just like you, Alice."

In that instant, my body went cold to the very core—so cold I nearly retched.