I’m a Witch Who Bought a Strong Werewolf Slave

That's right. I bought this top-tier, brawny werewolf to scrub my cauldron and do my chores.

The inspiration came from a fellow witch I met at the wizarding market.

She was bragging about her new half-orc slave, claiming he could lick the floors so clean you could see your reflection in them and even served as her personal foot warmer in the winter.

While the other witches burst out laughing and treated it as a joke, I was the only one who zeroed in on two key words: labor and warmth.

As a poor witch who spent all her time buried in potion-making, my apartment was damp, cold, and so messy it looked like it had been hit by a tornado.

So, Bruce was, quite simply, a gift from the heavens.

Over the next week, Bruce proved that every penny I'd spent was worth it.

He demonstrated astonishing efficiency, channeling all that ferocious energy into tackling years of built-up grime.

Just look at those muscles, that powerful build. Who else could lift a half-ton cauldron with one hand?

But beyond that, I soon discovered an even better use for him.

A werewolf's naturally high body temperature made him a walking furnace, far superior to any foot warmer.

To save money for the best herbs, I rented the cheapest basement apartment.

My workshop was constantly drafty, and my fingers would often grow stiff with cold as I brewed my potions.

The attentive Bruce quickly noticed this.

So, the next time I was wrapped in two blankets, sniffling as I reached for a dropper, he asked in a low voice from behind me, "Cold?"

Before I could turn around, a wall of scorching heat pressed against me. Bruce had pulled up a chair and sat down right behind me, his chest flush against my back.

If I leaned back just slightly, I would sink into that broad, hard, and searing-hot chest.

Through the thin fabric of my clothes, he was an endless source of heat, like the blazing sun.

It felt so good. I closed my eyes in contentment, my whole body instinctively relaxing into him until I was completely nestled in his embrace.

There was just one thing I couldn't figure out. Whenever I leaned against him, Bruce's body would go rigid as a board.

Then, that familiar low growl would start up again, louder and more urgent than ever.

Not only that, but his body temperature would spike, getting so hot I felt like he could set my clothes on fire.

This went on for several days.

Now, however, Bruce was lying on the floor by my bed, his eyes a solid, burning gold, staring at me without blinking.

His ears were drooping, and his big, fluffy tail was sweeping restlessly across the floor with a soft, swishing sound.

He looked utterly pathetic, like a big dog abandoned by its owner in the rain.

My heart clenched.

I reached out to touch his forehead. It was scorching, like red-hot charcoal, and slick with sweat.

This was bad. The poor wolf had definitely burned himself out keeping me warm.

A deep sense of guilt washed over me.

To make up for it, I patted the mattress beside me, my voice softening with concern.

"Bruce, don't sleep on the floor. Come up here."

Bruce's head shot up. "On the bed?"

"Yes, the bed." I took his burning hand, my heart aching for him. "You got sick because of me. From now on, you can sleep next to me."

"Even though I'm your master, you don't have to be so timid around me."

Hearing this, Bruce didn't hesitate. He vaulted onto the bed in one fluid motion.

His large frame instantly took up almost all the space on my small single bed.

Watching that impossibly handsome face sink into the soft pillow, his Adam's apple bobbing with his fevered breaths, I felt even more guilty.

"Get some rest. Don't think about anything."

"Cici..." he called my name, his voice raspy.

He turned onto his side. His dark eyes were tinged with an aggression that zeroed in on my mouth.

But I, the clueless witch, was too consumed by his apparent weakness and my own guilt to notice.

To soothe this loyal, silly wolf, I leaned down and gently kissed his burning forehead.

"There, there. Go to sleep."

That kiss was a huge mistake.

Bruce's whole body trembled violently. A tormented whimper broke from his throat as his arms shot up to grab me.

With lightning speed, I snatched a heavy wool blanket, cast a cooling charm, and even added a powerful tranquilizing spell.

As if I were wrapping a giant burrito, I bundled him up completely, tucking in his outstretched hands and restless tail until he was swaddled tight.

He tried to struggle, but the enchanted blanket was as solid as a rock.

Looking at Bruce, now wrapped up like a cocoon with only his head sticking out, I nodded in satisfaction.

"Cici..." He looked at me, a hint of misery in his eyes.

I patted his tightly wrapped chest, satisfied.

"Be good. A high fever requires physical cooling."

"Don't move, and don't you dare kick off the blanket. You're staying in there tonight until your fever breaks."

Bruce closed his eyes in utter despair.

But I swear, in the split second before he did, I thought I heard him grind out a single, furious word through clenched teeth:

"Dammit."