The Merciless Alpha(erotica)

June 1, 1803Content © copyrighted by NôvelDrama.Org.

Sydney, Australia

“Corcoran!” The guard yelled across the field, where a group of us were loading cut building stones onto a cart. “Get over here!”

I walked over as fast as the shackles on my ankles would allow, the two-foot chain making my stride shorter than a freeman. It was something I’d gotten used to in my five years as a convict at hard labor. Now eighteen years old, my back was a mass of scars from lashings old and new. I stopped five feet away from the soldier and stood at attention. “I’m Corcoran.”

“Follow me.” He turned and walked towards the Administration building, stopping at a desk where a Lieutenant was reading some papers.

I waited until he acknowledged me with a wave of his fingers. “Prisoner Philip Corcoran reporting, sir.”

He didn’t bother looking up as he wrote in a book. “The ship that arrived today is bringing in new prisoners, and the Governor is offering you parole to make room for them. This paper is your Ticket of Leave. Can you read?”

***************

“Yes, sir.”

He handed the form to me. “Verify the information is correct and sign it.” I read through it quickly. It started by listing my name, date of arrival, the ship I arrived on, my ‘offense’ of providing support to traitors to the Crown, and my seven-year sentence. The next section was the conditions of my release. I could not leave the Sydney territory for two years without permission. I had to obey all laws and regulations of the Sydney Colony. I must find employment and support myself and any family. My freedom was conditional on the will of the Governor. The ticket’s conditions were so vague that looking at someone the wrong way could put me back in chains. It had happened to a man I’d been working with this morning. I took the quill and signed on the line. “Don’t make any trouble; we’ve got enough Irish rabble here now. Guard, take him to the blacksmith, then release him.”

“Yes, sir.” I could hardly believe it as I shuffled to the hut where the blacksmith used a cold chisel to remove the shackles from my ankles. I walked out a free man. Lonely, thousands of miles from my home, but free.

I also had no money, no job, and nowhere to sleep for the night. My wolf had not been out in five years, and I didn’t know if he would even come out now. I did know that my best chance for a full belly and a good night’s sleep did not lie near the prison, so I headed west. I reached the edge of the settlement just after nightfall; finding a hollow log to hide my clothes, I stripped and shifted. It hurt, and I struggled to complete the change after so long.

I shook out my black fur after steadying myself on four legs again. I looked a mess as I inspected myself in the soft moonlight. I could see the patchy hair on my back where the whip strikes had torn flesh, and I had bare spots on my real legs where the shackles had left permanent scars. I listened, hearing only the wild, and smelling only the fires from the homes in the distance.

Letting out a chuff, I turned to the west and ran as a wolf for the first time in years. The strange land didn’t bother me; I was free, the wind in my hair and the moon at my back. I ran until I couldn’t sense humans at all, then stopped at a stream to drink.

I was hungry, and my wolf wanted to hunt. Heading upstream, we went slower now, sniffing the air for scents. I picked up something strange and turned away from the creek to follow it. Cresting a small hill, I crept forward in the grass until I saw them.

Kangaroos. Six of them, each as tall as a man, feeding in the grass below. “Like deer with feet that can break your bones,” I said to myself. We’d heard about them in prison and eaten their meat on rare occasions. They were big and fast, capable of leaping eight feet in the air, and vicious when cornered.

I would need to get close. Sniffing the wind, I retreated and moved around until I was approaching from directly downwind. I moved towards the herd slowly, moving when the grass did, my belly low to the ground. I patiently waited, watching until the closest faced away from me. I picked my target, a smaller one, and rushed forward to leap onto its neck.

One spotted me and let out a bleat, causing the herd to freeze and then run. I’d already made my leap, and the warning was too late for my victim. Sharp teeth clamped around its throat, ripping into the flesh as my weight pulled it over. It struggled and tried to get up, but I kept the pressure on its throat, just like my father taught me. It took a minute for the kangaroo’s energy to wane from lack of blood and oxygen, and then it lay still.

I’d done it. Sitting up, I howled to the moon in thanks and triumph, and then I tore into the warm flesh and gorged myself. I tore the stomach open, pulling out the innards that would spoil the fastest. I gorged on the nutrient-rich liver before tearing into the tender flesh of the shoulders.

I woke up just before sunrise, flies around me and the dead carcass, and dried blood matting my fur. I ate as much meat as I could, then pulled the remains towards some trees to get it out of the sun.

I followed my scent back to the stream, finding a shallow pool where I could wash my fur clean. The cool water felt good on my skin. I rolled around in the slow-moving water, rubbing my matted coat against rocks to help loosen the dirt and blood. I’d climb out and shake myself dry, then go back in and keep washing. When the water ran clear, I shifted to human form and just sat there, enjoying the moment.

It was too dangerous to go back towards the settlement in the day; men with muskets could be out, and they would shoot a wolf on sight. Instead, I walked back to my kill. I tossed the carcass over a high branch, then shifted and curled up on a patch of grass in the shade. Full and free, I fell asleep again.

My wolf woke me three times during the day, the last to chase away dingoes that want the meat. The warm day will have it rotting soon, so I eat my fill just before sundown and leave it on the ground. The scavengers will have it to bones by morning.

I washed my fur off one more time, then set off east for Sydney again. I’ve enjoyed this time as a wolf, but staying like this is too dangerous. I need to survive as a human. I need to get a job, save money for passage, and make my way home.

Reaching my clothes stash well after dark, I dress and fall asleep again.

I wake when the sun is high in the sky. The unfamiliar sound of female laughter in the distance awakens me. Sitting up quickly, I look around. I’ve rarely seen women in my time here; the British held them in a different area of the prison vessel, and they were too valuable to the Colony to be subjected to the hard labor the males were. One in seven prisoners sent to this world were female, mostly poor and uneducated. I’m sure it wasn’t an easy life; most turned to soldiers or wealthier freemen in exchange for protection. Those men kept them sheltered and pregnant, so what was one doing out here?

I stood up to follow the sound, walking silently through the woods as I’d learned as a child. They were quite a ways away, and it took me ten minutes to close on them. I spotted them about a hundred yards away, a girl of maybe fourteen, the younger maybe ten. “Laura, how much farther,” the young one asked.

“I don’t know,” Laura replied.

“Are we lost? We’ve been walking for HOURS.”

“Well, what do we have here,” a deep male voice said.

“Stay behind me, Emma,” the older girl said. “We got lost looking for one of our lambs,” the older girl said.

I saw the male; he was in his thirties, a sword on his heavily scarred back, his body muscled from years of labor. Another man, shorter and thinner but just as scary looking with a long knife in his belt, came up next to him. They looked like escaped convicts, living outside the Colony boundary, and stealing to survive. “Good news for us,” the big guy said.

“I get the young one,” the skinny man said.

“No. These two are our tickets out of this shithole. I imagine their father will pay almost anything to get his little girls back safely.” The two men stood in front of the elder girl, the younger clinging to her from behind. “Who is your father?”

“Neil Baillieu,” Laura said softly.

“I know him,” the skinny one said. “Owns a lot of land and sheep, one of the richest men in the Colony.”