Thirty-eight days.
Thirty-eight days Logan has been in Australia.
Thirty-eight days since Logan left the pack.
Thirty-eight days since he left me.
Each day it is harder to breathe.
Each day I fly, and find no rest.
Each day I hope. Hope I am better and that he will return.
On the thirty-nineth day, I come through my window and fall to the floor. I cannot rise. I have eaten too little, been awake too long. My body forces my eyes shut.
And I dream.
Logan and I are in the west most cabin. The place has tracks leading to it, grooved through the grass.
He's waiting for me to ask, but I do not. We've only known each other seven days and we still are learning one another. I watch him often, I've never seen someone so strong. I have faced no adversary who can shake the ground, who commands soldiers with his voice and will.
He opens the door and I follow. There is no furniture, but thick cords hang from the ceiling in all different colors. Some of the threads have other material interwoven, making them bright as flower filament. Names in wood chips hang from the very ends. The definining characteristics of the cords, is in place of beads there are fangs.
Hundreds of fangs.
Many are old and yellowed by time, some seem fresh with bits of nerves attached. I follow Logan, who walks to the back wall. Against it are bright gold threads, and I see that all but one have teeth.
"I strung the fangs of the wolves you killed when you saved Ryan. It's sort of a tradition, this one is yours." He seems nervous, rubbing the back of his neck.
He shouldn't be. I'm flattered, overcome with a feeling I dont know. He has made me part of a pack tradition, as if I am part of it. Looking at all the cords of teeth, I feel part of something for the first time.
"Thank you." I whisper, I do not trust my voice for more.
I look at the empty cord, the name on the end is Solis.
I am on the stage. The cloak sits on my shoulders, covering me from the piercing eyes of my kind. They watch the crop of shifters born about thirteen years ago. Most eyes roam over me, me and one other.
A boy is at my side, the rest are eighteen females. We two are in the middle. I don't turn to see his face.
I search the crowd for my father. I struggle to hide the fear and desperation. I don't want to be here. I want to see the sky.
I find him. He gives me a single nod before watching the boy. Males are rare. He will be even more rare if he survives.
A woman is talking. I don't listen, I'm too nervous. The leader. She is aged compared to the others, her hair long with streaks of grey. The only wrinkles on her face are frown lines.
The boy keeps looking at me from the side of his eye. I watch him from my periphery. He is beautiful, tall and lean. Blonde hair nearly brushes his shoulders. Dark dark eyes.
We are led in a line. The boy is in front of me, I watch his strong shoulders roll as his arms swing.
We walk so long and say nothing. I'm not good at judging distance yet, but it feels like miles. Metal doors appear on our right, equal distance of about 50 feet apart. On the slots are names, the girls at the front stand before their door. Attendants stand with them in red cloaks that look like blood, all have them have been women.
YOU ARE READING
Silver Claws
Hombres LoboWith an alpha title looming over his head, a creepy Oracle constantly reminding him of imminent doom, and his ultimate rival vowing to take everything he holds dear--- Logan has enough to worry about. But what's worse, someone has abducted his kid b...
