Alpha’s Black Furred Slave Mate
Chapter 67

I haven't been to my childhood home since I was a young girl. My last memory of this place was when the king's army rampaged through the town and scavenged up the dark-furred wolves. They ripped the children from the comfort of their homes and brought them to the slave farm where they were beaten, raped, and tortured until the day they turned 18. Then, they were thrown into the homes of nobles and royals to work as slaves until they died.

I was one of those children.

There weren't many dark-furred wolves in this village, but I remembered them accepting us to the best of their abilities. We were allowed to take part in their schools and obtain an education. That was my favorite part of the village. The commoners didn't mess with us and allowed us to live in peace and work under them. However, we weren't always safe; my family still worried for my safety if I were to stray too far from home.

My parents adopted me when I was only 3 years old; I'm not sure what happened to my birth parents, but it didn't matter. My adopted parents were all the family that I needed.

It didn't take us long to get to the village; we traveled in our wolf forms. The village was exactly how I remembered it; the dirt roads were dry and dug roughly into the palms of my feet as we walked. The homes were made of old cobblestone and rustic wood. Some of them looked as though they've been burned down.

The buildings had a faint flicker of candlelight in their windows, but some of the window glass was broken through. The streets were quiet; much quieter than I had remembered as a child. When I was young, I remembered the streets being filled with small children running and playing with one another. My mother and father never allowed me to go out and play with them because they feared the worst happening to me.

Even though the village accepted me and allowed me to be a part of their community, there were still some that weren't as accepting. Some didn't want me playing with their children without supervision. I never understood why until I grew older and learned about what society thinks of dark-furred wolves.

I also remembered there being merchants all over the streets, but now there were only a couple. There was a food merchant that sold home-grown fruits and vegetables. There was another merchant that sold some homemade clothing.

My mother could never afford elegant clothing for either of us, so she made most of the stuff we wore. She was an amazing sewer, and I loved the gowns she made for me. Kids at the school used to come up to me and ask me where I got my dresses, and I would tell them my mother made them for me. They would go home to tell their parents about it and their parents would tell them they weren't allowed to come over and have my mother sew clothing for them as well.

They didn't want their children playing with me. They accepted me and welcomed me and other dark-furred wolves into their community because that's what commoners always did but didn't want their children to play with us. Because my village lacked dark-furred wolves, I didn't have many friends.

I mainly stuck with my parents and spoke to a couple of classmates while in school. I never really considered myself to be lonely. I considered myself to be lucky. I was lucky to have a family that loved me and a community that accepted me and left me alone. I was thankful to not be like most dark-furred adult wolves and be slaves to a noble or royal family.

I learned early on that if a dark-furred wolf doesn't have a family to "work" for, the king would assign one. Those were the true slaves. They would be forced to work and reside in homes of wolves that brutally abused them.

As a child, they were just stories though. I never thought something like that could happen to me. I didn't know my mother lived in everyday fear that the king would take me away from her. I didn't know it could happen until it did.

I reached my home on the west coast of the village; it wasn't far from the town center. It was exactly how we left it; nobody has lived in it or touched it since my parents were murdered outside of our home. The same day I was taken away. It was a small cottage-like home and it looked dark, looking in the smashed-in windows. The door was broken from when the army broke in; the door handle was missing, and the door could easily be pushed open.

I saw my parent's stuff smashed around the house; the candlelit lamps were broken and shattered across the wooden floorboards. The couch was torn to shreds from the teeth of vicious wolves. The walls were scratched by the claws of the same wolves. Each door was open and raided through. I could smell the soiled food from the kitchen and dreaded looking to see where it was coming from.

The entire appearance and the smell of the cottage made me feel ill. I walked through the narrow hallway and reached the end of the hall where my bedroom was. Pushing the door open, I saw my small bed. The blankets were torn off the bed and scattered across the floor; like the living courters, my candlelit lamp was shattered across the wooden floors. The clothing my mother had made for me was torn to shreds and piled in the corner of the room. My windows were thankfully still intact but there seemed to be a clear liquid that splattered across them leaving a smudged stain.

On my bed, I noticed one stuffed animal; it was a stuffed bear. It was small and it looked moist from whatever liquids spilled on it. The head was barely intact, revealing the white stuffing that oozed from the neckline. That was the only toy I had as a child; I remembered sleeping with it every night.

I could feel tears burning in my eyes as I thought about my childhood. I stepped out of the room and walked across the hall to my parent's room.

Like my room, the sheets and blankets on the bed were torn off and scattered across the floor. Their clothing was also in shreds and a pile in the corner of the room. Their windows were completely smashed in, and the shards of glass remained on the wooden ground around us.

I stared at the bed, having a flashback of my mother stuffing me under the bed to hide from the army. It was her last attempt at keeping me safe. As they raided the house and smashed through the windows, they found me and dragged me out of the house in cuffs and chains.

I still remember my mother screaming for them to let me go. I remember her panic and her crying; I remember my father trying to calm her down and promising that they will get me back one day. He kept saying that I will be okay and that I will make it home to them again. I cried for my mother and father; terrified of what was going to happen. I wasn't prepared to be taken away so suddenly. I had no idea where they were taking me.

My heart broke as I saw the utter fear and resentment on my mother's face. They stuffed me in the cart with a couple of other dark-furred wolves, a couple of them were adults and a couple of them were children.

I didn't know it at the time, but my parents were killed that day. They were killed fighting for me to stay. The army got sick of their crying and screaming and ended their lives as soon as I was out of sight.

I brought myself back to the present moment; we have been here for a couple of months, and we've been slowly trying to make this house livable again. The first thing we did was clean out the kitchen area and got rid of all the soiled food and the nastiness it brought. We cleaned up the piles of clothing that were ripped to shreds. It was difficult throwing away the stuff that belonged to my parents, I knew it had to be done.

When Marlon sent us off, he gave us some money for food and supplies to stock the house. I was grateful to him for that.

Kamala made herself cozy in the second bedroom. It was a room we hardly ever used because it was only the 3 of us growing up. But like the other rooms, this was one destroyed as well. We closed off the broken windows with old fabric and cleaned the shards of glass around the floors.

A couple of days after we arrived at this village, I was at the merchant's buying some food to stock the cottage. A woman, working the merchant stand, I knew very well growing up. She was the first familiar face I knew since arriving at the village.

At the time of knowing her, we were both only young girls. She was one of the girls that wanted to hang out with me after school, but her mother wouldn't allow it. She was always kind to me, but we could never become friends.

Her mother had owned the merchant stand, from what I remembered, and now it seemed she owned it.

"Deonna?" She asked, staring around my face in awe.

"Ella..." I breathed, staring back at her.

I wasn't sure why I was so surprised to see her; it's not like she was a dark-furred wolf, so it wasn't weird for her to still be residing in this village. She had light orange hair that matched the light orange freckles that invaded her cheeks and nose area. As a child, she had a gap between her teeth, but now as an adult, it appears that gap had gone away. She was also thin then and she's thin now, despite owning a food cart.

"I thought..." she whispered; her voice trailed off.

I knew what she was going to say, she thought I was dead. I don't blame her for thinking that.

"When did you get back?" She asked.

"A couple of days ago..." I told her.

I continued filling my basket with food as she continued staring at me.

"I didn't think I was ever going to see you again," she said, keeping her tone low.

I looked over at her and shrugged; I wasn't really in the mood for having a conversation. My mind couldn't stop thinking about everything that's happened in the past. My childhood. I also couldn't stop thinking about Marlon. I couldn't help but wonder how he was without me; my heart and my wolf still cried out for him, despite my trying to silence them.

"Your parents..." she began.

"I know..." I said, interrupting her.

She didn't have to tell me they were dead; I already knew that information.

"They fought hard for you; until their last breath," Elle said sadly.

I could feel tears burning in the back of my eyes; I didn't want to talk about this anymore. I finished shopping for my things and paid for her. She was surprised when I handed her the money. Then, I took off without another word.

We had a bare minimum conversation the next couple of months of my living here. The only one I could handle talking to was Kamala and not because she lived with me, but because I trusted her more than anyone. She was my best friend and she understood what I was going through.

Mateo started walking, but he hasn't started talking yet which worried me. He was becoming a late bloomer. He also seemed to have lost joy in the things he once loved; he sleeps with his stuffed wolf every night, but he doesn't seem to enjoy the bedtime stories I tell him anymore. He doesn't laugh as much, and he isn't as active.

He seems rather sad than anything.

I figured it was a weird adjustment for him, but we all had to get used to the way things were now. This was our life. This was our choice. We had to live with it.