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Outrunning the Past
Ryan
James scribbles on a piece of paper as people file into the pack house out of the rain. The two-story community building I had built three years ago, when I established Silverhide, is built in a traditional style I forced Sydney to help me plan out. The walls are made of thick logs burnt a deep black. The first story is just a giant room with several long tables and enough chairs for everyone–all hundred or so members, including a few babies born this summer–to fit comfortably with room to spare.
A fire roars in the massive stone hearth at the very center of the room, sending heat licking down my back as I pace back and forth behind the main table.
James, my Beta, looks up as another group filters inside, writing their names down. Andrew, my head warrior, the commander of my meager forces, technically, sits on James’s other side, his hands folded neatly on the table's surface.
I’m not sure what
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