Claimed by the Alpha Daddy (Stonybrooke Shifters)

by Leela Ash

  She'd been due for a refill for a while now and although it was reckless, she had been desperate enough to get herself into danger. She had a bottle of beer left from the last batch she'd brewed, but that was strong enough to dull her senses and get her into trouble. Besides, it would just dehydrate her more. She would have to remember that this area was ruled by the Jackals – the name for the small gang of people who had claimed this turf. After the virus hit and wiped out most of the population, leaving only a few lucky survivors in every city, the tribes had been a way to find peace and security amongst other people who were dealing with the same crisis. There had been safety in numbers, or so they told themselves. While many had been afraid to wander the deserted world alone, moving forward with others didn't seem that bad.

  She herself had been part of a group in those first few chaotic years. Being a talented chemist, she'd aligned herself with a team of doctors claiming to seek a cure to the problem, but as it turned out most of them were frauds and civilians, delusional with a self-important mission they weren't educated enough to accomplish. Everybody was hoping for a miracle and she'd been lured in by their pretense. Ultimately, the group split due to bruising of egos and no real direction and she'd been on her own ever since then, trying to make sense of how things had gotten so far out of hand.

  As a scientist, she had to trace the line of cause and effect. A pharmaceutical company had ordered vaccinations against what they claimed was an alien virus from space – which was absurd, but everybody was so desperate for answers that they accepted the explanation. Now everybody knew that the first guess had been way off, but back then that was the government's grounds for getting as many people as possible under the needle for a miraculous vaccine that they had commissioned the company, Grow Inc, to develop. In a sad, ironic twist of fate, the virus they thought came from a meteorite that had landed in St. Petersburg, had actually been the result of lax safety precautions, as a team of scientists experimented with a cure for the common cold. They'd flown the team to Russia to try and evade SFT (Safety in Future Technology) safety standards, and the end result had been disastrous.

  The antivirus had been promising, and they had been convinced that by pushing the envelope, it would be successful. In initial experiments it had a 100% success ratio, though it hadn't been tested over the long term. After the meteorite crashed into the yard outside the Russian facility where the American scientists had been mentoring a group of people who were working together to rid the world of disease, that was when the results of the virus began to be seen, and how the SFT had gotten involved, claiming that the virus, because it was so difficult to contain and treat, had extraterrestrial origins.

  If they had checked more closely, they would have seen that the people that they had injected with the initial strain of vaccination had become carriers of the malicious virus, infecting everybody they came into contact with without even knowing it. A few cases had been reported in America shortly after the scientists returned, and before long half of St. Petersburg was in chaos. People were coughing up blood and begging for release from a pain that nobody could pinpoint, but everybody could agree was the worst they had ever felt. It seemed to move throughout the body, inflaming certain parts for a small amount of time before retreating and coming back with double the force.

  Because of the rapid spread in St. Petersburg, everybody assumed that was the origin of the virus, and the city was put under strict quarantine. Unfortunately, it was no use. It spread all over the world with startling speed. Nobody thought that the virus might be in the vaccination. Ironically, the claim was that because the first vaccination had been successful enough during the preliminary trials, it should be utilized now, in this time of crisis. The SFT felt they had no choice and allowed the vaccinations to reach the mainstream market. Every day, for weeks, hundreds of people lined up to receive their vaccine, thinking it would be the only thing that might save them.

  Carriers were being created left and right, but those whose immune systems weren't as strong, or whose bodies didn't contain an immunity in their genes, were left defenseless against it. Days after the vaccination, the coughing would begin, until finally people began to catch on that it wasn't an alien virus that was killing people – it was one being spread by the vaccine.

  But it was too late. Within a few years, almost everybody was gone. With the exception of a few green-tinged carriers who had made it through, a few genetically privileged people, and some who had managed to escape both the carriers and the vaccinations until the virus finally became dormant. Life as they knew it had crumbled. Layne had no family or friends left, and she had felt so lost and alone, crying on her doorstep when the small group of “scientific” people had wandered past. They saw that she lacked the green-tinge of the carriers and the paleness of the infected, and welcomed her into their group saying they were heading somewhere safe, somewhere far away from there, and they were going to find the cure. Would she help?

  She didn't want to leave, but she also knew that she couldn't stay. From that point forward, her survival would depend upon her ability to move on, and that's all she needed to know.

  Chapter 2

  Jax scooped a handful of water from the stream he was kneeling at, examining it closely. It was clean, he determined, and he drank deeply, wiping his mouth, allowing a few stray drops of water to drip off his chin. His dark, alert eyes scanned the trees. The wind moved boughs peacefully, but he wouldn't be fooled by the serenity. He thought he had heard a sound.

  He grabbed his backpack – the holder of all his worldly possessions and a single reminder of home, where he came from, and slung it over his shoulder. He had found it heavy at first, but now he'd become accustomed to its weight, feeling nearly naked without it resting warmly on his shoulder. It reminded him of a pet he once had, a lizard he had named Jenko. Jenko sat on him like his bag did, his body temperature cool until Jax's body heat warmed it up. It was nice to pretend that he wasn't alone.

  Alone was safer though, and the sound of others had brought his pulse to racing. He moved nimbly through the trees toward the sound, gripping a piece of glass tightly. He had been using it for a weapon for a few months, and had duct taped the edge so he could grip it firmly as he swiped it at whatever threat was looming. There were more wild dogs than ever now. After the humans had begun to die out, their pets grew feral and ran rampant around the cities and towns, meeting and breeding, populating the emptiness with their own pups. The same was true of cats, though their feral nature was already commonplace where he came from. Cats and their kittens roamed the streets without fear. He'd enjoyed it at first, feeling that finally it was time for man's supposed best friend to take his rightful place on the food chain. It seemed like poetic justice in a way.

  Now though, the savage creatures would show no mercy. They vaguely remembered humans, and didn't think very fondly of them on the whole. The result was that he now had to fear both man and beast. At night, he had to keep watch for the glowing eyes of feral cats who wouldn't hesitate to jump out of the foliage and grip whatever was moving with fierce claws and teeth. He missed the way things used to be, when they were simple and safe. He had been younger then, and the few people who survived had created a new, hellish world all their own – one he wanted no part of.

  The sound of heavy footfalls – a twig snapping loudly – brought him to attention. Somebody was running, heading toward the stream where he was standing dumbly, staring off into the distance. He narrowed his eyes and focused on the sound. Somebody was probably being chased. Sure enough, a stampede of feet followed closely after the first person he had heard. The Jackals were apparently after new prey. He shifted, selfishly irritated that the person they were chasing might lead them to him. He had been so peaceful there, but now he would have to hide.

  He leapt up into a nearby tree, watching the action unfold. He wouldn't get involved; he would just stay out of sight long enough for the danger to pass and then go about his business. A woman burst through t
he bushes, her long, light brown hair framing her face. She gazed longingly at the water – he felt a pang of pity, as it was a look he knew well – but she was trapped and couldn't drink. She looked around helplessly, her beautiful oval face contorted in panic and fear. He groaned to himself and lowered himself to the ground, motioning her over to him. She didn't seem to be wearing any of the signature clothing styles of the tribes he was familiar with, and he had a fleeting, hopeful thought that maybe she was like him and didn't belong to any of them.

  That was unlikely though – the safety and food security in a gang was tempting to most people after the virus had hit, and he was sure that most others would have to be crazy to try to make it on their own.

  “Up there,” he hissed. “Go!”

  She looked at him in confusion before registering what he said. He didn't wait for her to respond before he hoisted her up, letting her step hard on his muscular forearm, and then took off running, throwing a large stone into the stream, hoping it would keep them off the trail, and dodging into a bush just as the three Jackals arrived, panting and swearing, their bare chests heaving as they gulped in air and looked into the stream.

  “Where'd the bitch go?” the scrawniest asked. His hair was buzzed short and bleached white by the sun.

  “We should split up,” the leader of the small group decided. He tugged at his pant leg – the Jackals went around shirtless with one pant leg up and one down to make them distinctive – and pointed into the stream. “All yours, Buggy.”

  The third man groaned. He was tall and lanky, with sandy blonde hair and a small, round face.

  “Why do I always get the shit jobs, Orson?” he complained.

  “Because you always whine about it,” Orson said, slapping him hard on the back. It left a red imprint. “Now be a fuckin’ man and go get that sea hag out of the water.”

  Buggy grumbled to himself as he waded in, looking around for her. Orson and the blonde split up in different directions, leaving Buggy alone. He waded around for about half a minute, before an epiphany struck him.

  “This is stupid,” he growled, wading back out of the stream. “Jinx never has to do this shit.” He began to wring his pant legs out. “I don't see nothin'!”

  As he said this, his eyes fixed on a shuddering branch. Suddenly, he saw bare, tan legs and recognition flickered on his face. He hurried forward, opening his mouth to alert his friends. Before he could, his throat was filled with blood. Jax was behind him, the shard of glass lodged into Buggy's esophagus. He uttered a strangled gurgle and collapsed to the ground. The woman in the tree watched, paralyzed.

  “Did you find anything, Bug?” Orson asked, emerging suddenly out of the brush. Jax crouched, lunging like a panther, and tackled Orson to the ground. He tried reaching to his side to pull out his weapon, but Jax was too powerful. Orson hit his head hard on a rock, momentarily stunning him. It was just long enough for Jax to slash him, leaving him for dead on the ground.

  A few final, terrifying beats passed as Jinx approached, whistling as if calling to a housecat. He took one look at his friends lying dead on the ground and his face turned white. Jax glared at him, ready to strike.

  “Fuck this,” Jinx said, and turned on his heel and ran away.

  Chapter 3

  Nothing could have prepared her for what happened after she let the lithe stranger hoist her into the tree. She'd had no choice but to let him help her, otherwise she would have been killed. Now she stayed put, corpses littering the ground at her feet. Would the man who saved her think she owed him something now? She hadn't asked for his help, and hadn't thought of the consequences of accepting it until it was too late. She saw what he was capable of, he could probably kill her in an instant. What would he want to do with her?

  He saw her staring at him, and could tell instantly that she was feeling intimidated.

  “You're safe now,” he said. From the way he spoke, she could tell he wasn't used to the sound of his own voice. His words were labored and he flinched at the sound of their harshness against the silence.

  “Thank you,” she said, not moving from her spot in the tree. It seemed silly to stay there, knowing he could probably jump up there at a moment's notice, but she wanted to keep her distance from him as long as she could.

  “There’s no other way to deal with the Jackals,” he said apologetically. “It didn't used to be this way.”

  He turned his back on her and began to walk toward the stream, where he washed the blood off of his arms and took a long drink of water.

  “You should drink,” he said, remembering the longing look in her eyes when she had seen the water. Her bottle must have been empty. Maybe she didn't have one. But everybody had one, they had to.

  She agreed – the exertion had left her dizzy and parched. She licked her lips; they felt like cotton. There was no doubt that she would be in trouble if she didn't get some water soon. She slowly climbed down the tree, but kept her back pressed firmly against its trunk. She didn't trust this man. It was a mistake to trust anyone anymore.

  He seemed to understand, if not expect this, and went about his business as if she weren't there. When he turned around and saw that she hadn't left yet, he looked surprised.

  “Good luck,” he said, pursing his lips. He didn't want to be around her, she realized in surprise. He hadn't planned on saving her, and didn't expect anything from her. She exhaled and slowly made her way to the stream, where he was pulling a bottle out of his bag to collect water in. Layne did the same, and chugged the cool stream water down with reverence. So this was what the Jackals wanted to protect. They had their own fresh water source right in the backyard. If others came, who knew what would happen to it?

  Pollution, disease... A lot of the survivors were carriers, but they had become outcasts in the new society. Everybody blamed them for the state of the world, and they clearly blamed themselves. The guilt was impossible for them to live with, and many of them had become addicts – creating their own dangerous chemical cocktails or trading for them from other people. Those chemicals could pollute a body of water in a heartbeat, killing whatever might be living in it and rendering it undrinkable.

  She didn't know the area very well, as evidenced by her recent escape. However, she was nervous about being a sitting duck, and shifted uncomfortably once her bottle was full.

  “We should get out of here soon, that guy will be back. And he'll bring others.”

  Jax nodded. He himself had thought the same thing. He took one last drink, relishing the freshness of the water before it was tainted by the moldy smell of his bottle, and slung his bag over his broad shoulder.

  “Do you know how to get out of here?” he asked her, his eyes narrowing. He'd already gotten her this far. He might as well see to it that he saved her all the way and not just a little bit.

  “No,” she laughed. It wasn't a humorous laugh. It was exasperated and tired. Sad. Angry. It made him upset to think that such a pitiful sound could come out of somebody so beautiful. As if she didn't expect him to help her. Didn't see why he should. Or thought maybe he didn't know the way either. They were all used to assuming they were the most alone they would ever be, and finding help always came at a cost.

  He'd had enough of words, and nodded toward a discreet path. He wanted her to follow him. She swallowed hard, forced into making a snap judgment about the trustworthiness of this stranger. He was handsome, but he was fierce. He didn't seem to require anything of her for his help. At least not yet, not while they were still in danger. Who knew about later? She had heard many stories about young girls being forced into indentured servitude, doing who knew what to pay off a debt they hadn't meant to fall into.

  “I appreciate you saving me,” she said. ‘Thank you' was an antiquated phrase, one that had fizzled and died out once there seemed to be nothing in the world left to feel gratitude toward. Thanking others was like acknowledging a debt you owed to them, and that was dangerous. “But if you help me, there's nothing I can give back to y
ou.”

  What she meant was there was nothing she would give to him. She was on her own and planned to keep it that way. It had been working out fine for her so far. If she hadn't made that one stupid mistake, the Jackals never would have known she was there. He looked at her as if he was waiting for her to get to the point. He really didn't seem surprised by the fact that she had nothing to give and turned away from her, walking into the foliage as if whether she followed or not was inconsequential. It puzzled and surprised her, so she moved forward, following him through the brush, unsure of what she was getting herself into.

  Chapter 4

  At first she thought he might be leading her to his own tribe and was tempted to flee. Judging by the way he fought, they would undoubtedly be a vicious and merciless group of men who took what they wanted and killed without mercy. It would have made sense, considering how easily he had taken the life of those Jackal boys. However, they simply moved gracefully through the trees. He was desperate to make it out before nightfall. It was hard enough to keep an eye on himself in the dark woods, let alone to be with someone else who wasn't experienced in the area.

  Maybe she'd dealt with similar things before, but maybe he would have to keep an eye on her. He would have to try not to get attached, because anything could happen to her. He couldn't let anything weigh his conscience down. It was hard enough to live with memories of the outbreak, being a survivor when everyone else he loved hadn't been so lucky. It was something all of the survivors shared – the guilt. Many people dealt with it through violence and addiction to oblivion, others just tried to swallow it and move on. Some pretended that nothing had happened, claimed to be the same then as they always were. They lied to themselves, buried their past, and eventually turned out more twisted than the rest of them.