Alpha's Black Furred Slave Mate

I was awakened by the clattering and shaking of the transport cart. The chains that bound my wrists were cutting circulation and making marks on my tanned skin. They placed chains around my neck and feet, as well, which weighed down my light weighted body.

The chains kept me from turning into my werewolf form, keeping me weak and timid. It was per orders by the King and Queen as safety precautions. God forbid black and grey-furred werewolves walked amongst the others. As royals, the King and Queen had fur white as snow. The noblemen, their fur was either silver or gold. The commoner’s fur was red or brown.

Then there was me, Deonna, fur as black as coal.

At the young age of 3 years old, I was adopted by a commoner family, and we lived in a small village south of the continent. Commoners have always been known to be bottom of the barrel in the hierarchy. They worked for little money to be sure that the noblemen and the royals lived proper lives.

At the time, commoners were allowed to hold slaves as their own. Though commoners didn’t use slaves as the higher-ranked hierarchy would. Slaves worked for the commoners for food and boarding; the commoners treated slaves better than the hierarchy ever would. Some commoners even allowed slaves to be a part of their families.

I was lucky enough to be a part of a family. I obtained an education. I learned about slavery in different regions of the world. How black and grey-furred wolves weren’t particularly liked or respected in most areas but if I stayed in the commoner’s village, I would be protected.

For most of my childhood, I lived in fear. I feared being taken away from my family and made into a real slave like the others in different regions. I feared the noblemen ripping my home apart and collecting all the “dirtballs” as they called us.

My family was able to protect me until a couple of years ago when I turned 15. That was the year the king changed the law. It came to horror to my parents and the other commoners around us, but they were no longer allowed to hold slaves in their homes or towns. All slaves were to be rounded up and sent to the higher-ranked hierarchy. Slaves under the age of 18 would be sent to the slave farm to properly train for their lifetime of duties.

Being only 15, I was sent to a slave farm and survived the next couple of years until the day I turned 17. The slave farm I was residing on became full compacity. To minimize space, they decided to take a few of us and place us with the higher-ranked hierarchy, despite our ages.

I had just turned 17 years old when they took me. They pulled me from the farm and boarded me on a transport cart. They didn’t tell me I was going anywhere, they didn’t warn me beforehand, and they didn’t tell me where I was going. They pulled me out of my metal caged bunker, along with a few others in my grouping, and shoved us in the back of a cart.

On the farm, we were shackled by our necks and limbs, boarded in metal cages and we were unable to move freely unless they gave us the freedom to do so. All we had to eat was rotting animal corpses that were previously hunted by the guards and sitting out in the hot sun. They provided us water that was nearly browned as our only source of refreshment.

The rules of the farm were simple. We weren’t allowed to speak until given permission. We weren’t allowed to complain, cry, or express any sort of pain or emotions. We weren’t allowed to leave our bunkers unless given permission. We only ate and drank when food was provided to us. Whatever tasks were given to us, must be completed within the provided timeline. We couldn’t talk amongst each other unless permission was granted.

Any violations of those rules would result in a severe beating. Usually, these beatings would leave us on the brink of death. Then they would heal us so they could do it all over again.

Just the fact that we couldn’t transition into our wolf selves weakened us, made us tired; it made us live in fear. By the time the guards collected and shackled us in the carts, my wolf’s voice was hardly audible. Though I could still hear her faint warnings and cries for help coming out in a howl.

The transport cart was filled with other black and grey-furred beauties much like me. All their faces remained expressionless. I only recognized a few of them from my bunker; others were from other bunkers around the farm. They didn’t allow us to associate ourselves with others outside of our bunkers, so it wasn’t particularly weird for me not to know everybody here.

We traveled for hours, mostly without stopping. We stopped a couple of times for the horses to rest, but the guards never once checked on us in the back. They didn’t care if we died; in fact, I think they were secretly hoping that at least some of us would die. It would be less work on their end. They would be able to dump our bodies off somewhere and forget about us.

“Do you know where we are going?” I asked the woman sitting across from me.

I knew the woman to be Kamala. I wouldn’t exactly say we were friends, but she was the closest thing to a friend that a slave could have.

Shifting her gaze to meet mine, she spoke in a low tone as to not alert the guards.

“The quarantine station,” she answered.

“For what?” I asked.

I haven’t learned about the quarantining station. My family didn’t like me knowing too much about the slave farms and slavery within the higher hierarchy.

“Medical tests. If we don’t pass, they will leave us to be hunted,” Kamala explained.

Another woman that I recognize, but didn’t quite know her name, shot us both a look.

“Are you trying to get us killed?” She hissed.

Before I could say anything more, the cart halted to a stop. The silence was thick in the air as the sounds of the guards got closer.

Medical tests?

I didn’t think anything was wrong with me medically, but I guess I wouldn’t know officially until I get the results. Occasionally on the slave farm, I’ll get hot flashes that will sometimes turn into full-on fevers. They usually break after a night of rest though. During those fevers, my chest will ache, and I’ll be able to feel my heart rapidly beating against my skin. That also doesn’t usually last long, thankfully.

But if these results didn’t come back clear, I was good as dead.

I was startled at the loud clamping sound of the cart doors opening. A couple of bulky guards stood at the doorway. Both grimacing at the sight, and probably the smell, of the slaves before them. The sunlight hit me instantly, making it difficult to see.

My chains were tugged, yanking me out of the cart, along with the others. It was difficult to maintain my stance; my bare feet digging into the hard dirt beneath me. Sharp rocks cut into the palms of my toes. I winced in pain as I tried to stretch my back. I’ve been cramped in such a small space for hours.

Adjusting my eyes, as we walked through the guard posts of the quarantine station, I noticed that the station looked to be a campground. Different shades of light-furred werewolves were walking amongst the tents; the air was dry and made it difficult to breathe, which also explained why the dirt was so hard to walk on. There was no grass in sight, probably because it couldn’t grow properly in the desert air. The faint horizon of the Evergreen Forest lingered in the distance, making the view from the campground oddly beautiful.

They had tents set up to which I, and the others, were forced inside the biggest tent in the center. The other tents appeared to be sleeping tents, whereas this tent was the medical examination tent. There was a bunch of medical equipment set up along with medical beds which were stained with blood. The inside of the tent smelled of rotting flesh and death, making me feel queasy.

A blonde-haired, green-eyed woman stood at one of the empty beds. She was thin figured, and her skin was practically glowing. I had to admit that she was beautiful. Her faint rosy cheeks matched her naturally pink lips and her lashes were dark and long.

One of the guards pulled me towards the woman’s station. Sitting on the examination bed, I couldn’t help but stare at the woman in awe.

“Is there a reason you are staring at me, slave?” The woman asked, keeping her tone even.

The sound of her voice sent a slight chill down my spine, and heat rose in my face. I knew better than to speak, especially with the guards nearby. So, I shook my head and turned my attention to the ground before me.

The woman grabbed onto my arm, her fingernails practically digging into my flesh. I winced as the woman shoved a needle into my vein. She was drawing out blood; and a lot of it from the looks of it. I watched as the needle began draining me. The wooziness came quickly; much quicker than I had expected.

I felt dizzy and could almost see the darkness fading between my eyes. I squeezed my eyes shut and concentrated on staying awake. I refused to pass out on this examination bed; I refused to show her weakness. Not this early in the game.

The woman soon removed the needle and sent it off to get tested. We waited for what felt like hours until the results came back clear of infections. For a moment, I felt as though I could finally breathe. Before long, another needle was being jabbed into my upper arm. This time the woman wasn’t taking blood, she was injecting me with a light green liquid.

“This will keep basic infections out of your body,” the woman explained. “Keep you semi-healthy.”

Soon, I was being pulled out of the tent and back towards the transport cart.

One by one, each slave was being shoved back into the cart and back into their seats. As the cart began moving, I noticed that not everybody was there.

It seemed much roomier.

Looking across from me, where Kamala had once sat, I realized it was empty. Frowning I looked at the others. Their faces looked sadder than they had before; they were all looking amongst one another; a couple of them misty-eyed.

I went to ask where Kamala and some of the others were, but with the looks, everyone was giving one another, I closed my mouth.

I didn’t ask because I already knew.

After what felt like another hour, the cart finally halted again

The guards pulled open the door to the cart and stared amongst the slaves. We all stared back, squinting to adjust our eyes to the sunlight. The guards eventually landed their eyes on me, and one of them pointed in my direction.

“Her. She’s the weakest. Mr. Roessler hates the black-furred slaves and wouldn’t want one that lives for too long.”

Me?