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 to expect. I’ve spent the last two days debating our next moves with James and Andrew. It’s nearly winter now, and if we’re going to go through with this, my pack needs time to prepare.
Because, if my people agree, we’re leaving Crescent Falls.
The door shuts with a snap as the last pack members arrive. The echo of rain fades into the thrum of excited conversation over the sound of the fire crackling at my back. Approximately one hundred faces turn to me as I come to a stop. I glance down at James, who checks his list, then nods up at me.
“That’s everyone.”
I lick my lips, nodding, and round the head table to stand at the center of the room. I don’t have a throne. I don’t even have a raised platform to separate me from my pack. I face them like an equal even though the burden of this community weighs heavily on my shoulders.
I know every name. I recognize every face. I’ve made a habit of visiting each family weekly, checking in on the workers who keep my pack running strong, on the newly mated couples, on the mothers and children. We have no elders to act as a tribunal. I only have James and Andrew to confer with about pack matters.
So, when I was offered a substantial territory to settle in Eastonia, they were my listening ears, playing both sides of support and devil’s advocate.
We decided to put it up to a vote. It has to be a unanimous one. If a single member decides they don’t want to go, the deal is off.
“Good evening, everyone,” I say, my voice booming through the room. A few children giggle in a corner where a few baskets of toys have been arranged to keep them busy, but otherwise, a hush falls over the gathered crowd. A few men stand along the far wall with their arms crossed over their chests, looking grim.
Word spread after Hadley’s death, of course. It’s no secret who struck the blow that ended her life. I’ve lived with the fallout, the questioning, the rumors.
No one here, including her own brother, knows she was my mate.
I buried that like I buried every other feeling that’s ever crossed through my heart, turning it to stone.
“Some of you are aware that there’s been talk about moving Silverhide to a new territory. I’ve been in talks for several months trying to decide our best course of action in the best interest of the pack, especially the young families.” A rush of murmurs bleeds through the air, mostly excited, but a whisper of nerves follows as I continue, “I’ve decided leaving our current territory for a fresh start is in the best interest of everyone.”
There’s more murmuring, louder this time.
“Where?” someone shouts.
“It’s no secret that we’ve been struggling with our neighbors in Raven Hall and the NZ,” I say loudly over the chatter. “We don’t have their numbers. We live simply. We don’t involve ourselves in the conflicts that plague the united Alphas of Crescent Falls. In essence, we do not belong here.” I tuck my hands in my pockets and scan the room. “I’ve been offered a substantial territory in Eastonia.”
The murmurs turn to actual gasps and shouts of surprise. I anticipated this. Most of my pack are first generation, either born here in Crescent Falls or came over with their parents from war-torn Eastonia during the final battles against Kane two decades ago.
“Eastonia?” someone bellows. “Are you saying we’re going to the Roguelands?”
“Eastonia, yes. The Roguelands–” I roll the word over my tongue, smirking. “No, not the Roguelands. Alpha King Ryatt has offered me the Deadlands. The entirety of the Deadlands. We’d have over five-hundred square miles of territory.”
Several people stand. Others start shouting. I expected this. Everyone, even those who grew up in Crescent Falls and have never once stepped foot in Eastonia, has heard of the Deadlands. Miles and miles of nothing. Barren, rolling hills. Creatures who plague our wildest nightmares. Rogues, hellhounds, other horrors that are rumored to be unseen by the naked eye.
I raise a hand, and the voices die out. “We have a chance to start over. The past year, we’ve been restricted by our neighbors. Our people have been bullied and ostracized. You’ve come to me wanting more for yourselves and your children. Now I have a solution.”
Everyone watches me as I go into the details. We’d have all winter to pack, to prepare for the move. We’d leave Silverhide with everything we can carry, forming a caravan that would take us to the border just past Moorn. The journey to the Deadlands could take up to six months, mostly on foot because of the lack of roads and vehicles that can make it over the tough terrain, and once there, we’d have only a few weeks to set up a new pack house and smaller cabins and huts to live in until winter passes again, and we can start constructing our new home, our way.
Unlimited hunting. Unlimited land to farm and raise cattle. No neighbors. No rival Alphas.
“The Deadlands are home to tribes, Alpha,” one man says as the others start conferring in small groups. “They don’t have Alphas, but they have elders and have been known to be violent.”
“Alpha King Ryatt has assured me that the tribes in question now fall under his leadership. They are aware of us coming, and one of their leaders is actually hoping that we do. The Deadlands have changed over the past two decades. The land isn’t as barren. The creatures that once haunted its forests are disappearing.” I look every single member in the eye when I say, “We won’t have an opportunity like this again.”
James stands, holding up a few sheets of paper. “We’re putting it to a vote. If every member over the age of fifteen votes yes, we prepare to move. If a single member votes no, the move is tabled indefinitely.”
I hear more nervous whispering. I scan the far edge of the room where a few of the men are standing, men I work with, men with children and mates who’d be uprooted from their lives here to start anew.
They stare back at me in silent deliberation.
“Would you be an Alpha King?” a young woman asks, rocking a sleeping infant in her arms.
My eyes slide to meet hers.
“I’d be Alpha King of the Deadlands, yes.”
The murmur that follows is full of awe. I wasn’t going to even bring it up. The Deadlands are so far removed from the Roguelands, situated between Ryatt’s old stomping ground and the wide, raging rivers separating the western edge of Eastonia with what was once Rifthold, with Tarsian beyond.
James and Andrew toss blank paper down on the tables, directing everyone to write their votes. Pens scribble as I walk back to the head table, leaning my leg against it. After a few minutes, the first man, Jacob, who helps run our mechanic shop, approaches the head table. He holds my gaze as he drops his vote in a large metal bowl, then nods.
One by one, my pack files up to the head table. It’s quiet as the votes are cast. Even the children who’d been playing in the corner have gone silent, watching their parents, aunts, uncles, and older siblings decide something they can’t possibly understand.
James and Andrew read the votes slowly, three times, while food and drink are laid out on the table. A feast, in actuality. A feast to celebrate either outcome.
I already know we’re not going. There is no way not a single person voted no.
But James motions me over, both men looking slightly uneasy.
“It’s fine,” I tell them. “I figured–”
“Everyone voted yes.”
Shock. That’s the only word to describe my feelings as I turn toward the crowd and clear my throat.
* * *
“We’ll do it in two waves,” I say to a group of men a week later, everyone gathered around a plastic work table in the commercial garage on the far side of the territory. “A group of men will go ahead of the rest in late winter to set up camps and start construction on the pack house and outlying huts for the families, and the women and children will follow in late summer escorted by our warriors. Alpha King Ryatt will intercept us at the border with his own forces who will stay to help get us prepared for our first winter in the Deadlands.”
The men nod as I continue. “I’ll be leading the first wave and will stay in the Deadlands to oversee construction then return to Crescent Falls to escort the rest of the pack. I need you all to gather and decide who will be traveling with the first group.”
I leave the men to talk and walk out of the garage. It’s raining again, the sky is dark gray against the naked trees. Winter is impending. It could start snowing any day now. We only have a few months to start preparing, and it doesn’t feel real yet.
My dad is aware and has been supportive. The chances of me being Alpha King of Crescent Falls are incredibly low. Sydney and Blake are the next two in line, and if Sarah’s next baby, due this spring, is another boy… well, there’s no future for me here.
My phone buzzes. Sydney, of course. He calls me every day.
“Yeah?”
“Still coming up for dinner? Sarah is insisting.”
“I’ll be there.” James pulls up in his truck and steps out, looking slightly grim. “I have to go.”
Sydney starts to say something but I hang up as James stands, walking over to me, his head bent against the rain.
“What’s going on?”
“I need to talk to you about something,” he says, tilting his head toward the garage.
I lead him up to my office, closing the door behind us as I anticipate some bad news about our plans, the move, or the current climate surrounding our pack territory here, but he says, “Dalia is coming with us.”
“Dalia? Why?”
James purses his lips. “We’re going to get married.”
“Oh.” I tap my knuckles on my desk. “Have you spoken to her Alpha about it?”
“Your brother?”
I shoot him a look. “She’s part of Shadowcrest. She’s also only twenty.”
“She’s my mate. I can feel it. She says she can too.”
“You’d be taking her from her family. The chances of her returning to even visit within the next several years are low.”
“She wants to travel with the first wave. We could use someone like her.”
“To what? Build houses?”
“To cook for the men,” he says. He holds my gaze. “I know it complicates things with Sydney. She’s part of his household.”
“I’ll handle my brother. Do what you have to. I don’t have a problem with it.”
I leave my office without another word, fighting the onslaught of emotion that starts to form cracks in the stone replacing my heart.
Sometimes it’s hard to look at James. I see Hadley every time. We haven’t ever talked about her. Her death was like closing a book and tossing it in an attic to rot and be forgotten.
I’ve been told my actions were justified.
But I killed her.
I’ve known we were mates for years and never once told her.
Would that have changed things?
It doesn’t matter now. A year from now, I’ll be in Eastonia, facing new challenges and distractions.
That's why I agreed to go. To outrun my past.
To outrun Hadley.