Under the Old Tree
1975 Words
Her phone chimed.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
The sound cut through the fog in her head like a dull blade, persistent and annoying. Iva groaned softly and turned her face into the pillow, her eyes burning, her body heavy as if gravity itself had doubled overnight.
The screen lit up again.
Lori:
Are you okay?
Iva, please text me back.
I heard things…
Iva stared at the glowing screen without really seeing it. The words blurred together, swimming uselessly in front of her eyes. Her chest tightened, panic and exhaustion tangled so tightly she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
I can’t, she thought blankly. I can’t deal with this.
Inside her, Avalon stirred, sensing the turmoil, her presence gentle and worried.
Iva…
“Not now, please,” Iva whispered hoarsely, her throat tight. Her fingers shook as she closed her eyes and, with a sharp mental shove, pushed Avalon back.
Blocked.
The silence that followed felt wrong, empty, but she couldn’t handle another voice—not even the one that belonged to her wolf. Plus, she didn’t want for her wolf to feel even more guilty. Her mind was fractured, thoughts slipping away before they could form into anything coherent.
The rejection of the pack.
Her father’s words.
The wild packs.
Two weeks.
It was too much.
Shortly after, the alarm clock rang at exactly 4:00 a.m.
The sound pierced the room, loud and insistent, the same sound that had ruled her life for eight years straight. Iva cracked one eye open and stared at it, the red numbers glowing accusingly in the darkness.
Training.
She reached out, slapped the clock, and silenced it.
Then she rolled over.
“To hell with it,” she muttered.
The words surprised her with how easily they came.
To hell with the training.
To hell with waking before dawn.
To hell with trying to prove myself.
What was the point?
For what?
For whom?
For the first time in eight years, Iva skipped training.
Eight years.
She had started at ten years old, small and stubborn, determined to make herself strong, determined to make her father proud despite the fact that she was not the son he had wanted. Training had never been mandatory for she-wolves, especially not at that age, but she had begged. Pleaded. Promised to work harder than anyone else.
And she had.
She had trained until her muscles burned and her lungs screamed, until her hands blistered and her knees bruised, pushing herself past exhaustion day after day, year after year.
All for nothing.
The bitter realization settled deep in her chest as she finally dragged herself out of bed and into the shower. The hot water poured over her like rain, washing away tears she hadn’t even realized were falling… again.
She stood there for a long time, unmoving, staring at the tiles as if they might give her answers.
What a joke, she thought hollowly. The joke was always on me.
Eventually, she forced herself to move.
School.
It was the last place she wanted to go, but skipping training already felt like rebellion enough. Skipping school too would only make things worse. She needed to graduate. Four days left.
Just four days, she told herself. You can survive four days.
As she dressed, the irony struck her so hard it almost stole her breath.
Trying to graduate.
Trying to plan a future.
While her pack were planning to send her to a place where women had no voice.
Where strength was law.
Where she would be nothing more than a body, useful just to spread her legs and do physical chores.
A shiver ran through her.
She shoved the thought away, grabbed her bag, and slipped out of the house, carefully avoiding the kitchen.
She couldn’t face her mother.
Not the pity in her eyes.
Not the helplessness.
The shuttle bus ride was exactly as she feared.
The moment she stepped inside, whispers began.
Soft at first.
Then giggles.
Then the phones lifted just a little too obviously.
The power of social media.
By the time she reached school grounds, it felt like everyone already knew. Long looks followed her as she kept her head down, her shoulders tense, walking straight to her locker as if that small patch of metal could offer some kind of safety.
It didn’t.
Her locker was vandalized.
The words jumped out at her immediately, written in thick, dark marker:
RUNT
WEAK
USELESS
Her chest tightened painfully.
She stared at them, numb.
She shouldn’t have been surprised.
And yet… it hurt.
It hurt so much she thought she might collapse right there in the hallway. Her hands trembled as she opened the locker, ignoring the snickers behind her, ignoring the way her vision blurred.
She shut it again quickly and walked away.
Class felt endless.
The walls too close.
The air too thick.
When Lori slid into the seat beside her, relief and dread collided violently in Iva’s chest.
“Don’t,” Iva whispered without looking at her.
Lori blinked. “Don’t… what?”
Iva swallowed hard. “Don’t sit next to me. Don’t talk to me. I’m… I’m a pariah now. Don’t do this to yourself.”
Lori stared at her for a second, disbelief flashing across her face.
Then she smacked Iva lightly on the back of the head.
“Ow!” Iva hissed, startled.
“Stop with the stupidity,” Lori snapped quietly. “You silly girl.”
Iva finally looked at her.
Lori’s eyes were fierce, unwavering. “You are my best friend,” she said firmly. “My BFF. And I don’t care what anyone says.”
Iva’s throat tightened painfully.
“I—”
“And,” Lori added, leaning closer, “if anyone has a problem with that, they can choke on it.”
Something cracked inside Iva then.
Not loudly.
Not all at once.
Just enough for a tear to slip free.
For the first time that morning, she allowed herself to breathe.
And for the first time since the night before, she wasn’t completely alone, aside from her wolf.
--
Lori didn’t even slow down when the lunch bell rang.
She grabbed Iva’s wrist and dragged her past the crowded school canteen, ignoring the curious looks and whispered comments that followed them like shadows. Iva didn’t resist. She didn’t have the energy to argue, or even to ask where they were going.
They stopped beneath one of the massive old trees that surrounded the school grounds, its branches wide and protective, leaves whispering softly in the breeze. It was a place most students ignored, too far from the noise, too quiet.
Perfect.
Lori dropped her bag onto the grass and sat down without ceremony, motioning sharply for Iva to do the same. She rummaged through her lunchbox, unwrapped something, and shoved it straight into Iva’s hands.
“Eat.”
Iva blinked at the sandwich, startled. “Lori—”
“Eat,” Lori repeated, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.
Iva hesitated, then murmured, “Thank you… but I don’t really have an appetite.”
“I don’t wanna hear it,” Lori snapped. “You haven’t eaten all day. Eat.”
Something in Lori’s voice—sharp, worried, almost desperate—made Iva comply. She took a small bite, chewing slowly, mechanically, as they sat in silence for a few minutes, the sounds of laughter and chatter from the canteen drifting faintly through the air.
Finally, Lori spoke again, quieter this time.
“What happened, Iva?” she asked gently. “Only if you want to talk. I’ve heard so many rumors today I don’t even know what’s real anymore.”
Iva swallowed, her throat tight. She stared at the grass beneath her feet, fingers curling into the fabric of her skirt.
She took a deep breath.
“My transformation happened,” she said softly. “Last night.”
Lori nodded slowly, encouraging her to continue.
“My wolf is… small… too tiny,” Iva whispered. “Not imposing. Not impressive.” Before continuing with the events of the previous night.
Lori let out a long breath, running a hand through her hair. “Iva,” she said firmly, turning toward her, “you’re not the tallest person in the world either. And for a she-wolf, you’re actually on the short side.”
Iva huffed a weak, humorless breath.
“Not everyone is created the same,” Lori continued, her voice steady but heated. “That doesn’t give anyone the right to treat you like this.”
She paused, eyes widening suddenly. “Wait. They didn’t even let you bond with the pack?!”
Iva shook her head slowly.
Lori stared at her in disbelief. “That’s insane. That’s why I couldn’t reach you today. I tried to mind-link you, and it was like you didn’t exist.”
Her hands clenched into fists. “The Alpha didn’t initiate or accept you? This is kind of against the rules of any pack! Are they mad? You are part of this pack by birth. Like it or not, you carry Gamma blood.”
Iva exhaled slowly, Lori’s words sinking deep, burning places she had kept numb for years.
She was right.
They hadn’t just mocked her.
They had erased her.
She laughed bitterly. “It wouldn’t have made sense to initiate me anyway,” she said quietly.
Lori frowned. “What do you mean? Why not?”
Iva’s hands began to tremble. “Because in two weeks… I’ll be gone.”
Lori’s head snapped up. “What do you mean, gone?”
The dam broke.
Iva’s breath hitched violently as tears spilled over, her shoulders shaking as she tried—and failed—to hold herself together. Between sobs, she told Lori everything. About the conversation she hadn’t meant to overhear. About the Alpha’s decision. About the North.
About the wild packs.
Lori went pale.
Then her eyes filled with tears.
“Oh, Moon Goddess…” she whispered, pulling Iva into a fierce hug. “No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.”
Her voice cracked. “That’s a death sentence for any she-wolf. Being mated into the wild packs… I’ve heard stories. Horrible ones.”
She pulled back just enough to look at Iva, tears streaming freely now. “Some tribes even share their mates with their warriors,” she whispered. “Iva… that’s not a life… that would be slavery!”
Iva nodded weakly, utterly drained. “I know.”
“We need to do something,” Lori said urgently.
“Like what?” Iva asked hollowly.
Lori wiped her face roughly. “The Lycan King,” she said suddenly. “He oversees everyone. Every Alpha and Alpha King. He’s above them all.”
Iva laughed—a broken, bitter sound. “Do you really think Lycans care about a pitiful she-wolf like me?”
“But Iva—”
She shook her head. “You know that’s not an option. They won’t even listen.”
Lori’s frustration exploded. “Then what?” she shouted, her voice echoing slightly under the tree. “You’ll just accept it? This fate they decided for you?! This sentence.”
Iva looked at her best friend.
Really looked at her.
At the tears.
At the fury.
At the love that had never wavered.
She took a long, steady breath.
Then she spoke a hidden idea that played in her mind since she wake up.
“Who said anything about accepting the fate they chose for me?”
The words hung in the air, quiet but powerful.
Lori stared at her, stunned.
And for the first time since the nightmare began, something defiant and undeniable sparked to life inside Iva’s chest.
Hope and survival instinct.
Not the soft, fragile kind.
But the kind that burns.
- Writer
