Ch. 8 The Mask
995 Words
Xochi was still given daily tasks to complete every day instead of spending her day in the schoolhouse. Even a year later, Amber still thought that Xochi served the pack better this way.
She was on her way starting her day by carrying piles of split wood to the pack members' houses. Her gaze caught on a scene that made her roll her eyes as she lowered dry wood onto Mira Greens's doorstep.
Brandon was carrying water buckets across the training yard again.
Not because he had to. Because the elders were watching.
He walked like he didn’t feel the weight at all, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, sweat catching on his temples. Two other boys followed behind him, giggling at something he said.
“He’s going to make a fine Alpha,” someone whispered nearby.
Amber smiled like she’d just won a prize.
Xochi didn’t look away. She didn’t smile either.
She’d seen the show before. Brandon knew every line by heart. She sighed and made her way to her next task.
She slipped away after lunch, retreating to the shed behind the schoolhouse. Ms. Kendry had told her yesterday that the latch on the back door had been jammed all week and had sought her out to get it fixed. It clicked open under her fingers now—she’d fixed it quickly. Reinforced the wood and oiled the hinges.
The shed smelled like sun-warmed rope and old earth. It was quiet.
Her sketchbook lay open on a stack of crates, half-finished drawings curling at the corners. One of them was Brandon in wolf form—his eyes too sharp, his teeth too perfect.
She didn’t draw him like anyone else. She drew him like something out of nightmares.
She was wiping grease from her hands when Byron passed by, nose in a paperback.
“Still fixing the world?” he asked without looking up.
“Someone has to,” she replied with one side of her mouth quirked up. He paused beside her work, glanced at the door latch, then back at her.
“I’m halfway through that book you lent me. The one with the wolf prince.”
“The one you said was melodramatic nonsense?”
“Still is.” He smirked. “But I want to know how it ends.” She smiled, small but real. He sat nearby, flipping pages while she sketched. Both in comfortable silence. Just two friends sharing space and peace.
No more words were needed after that.
That afternoon, Elder Roma asked her to drop off some linens to Amber and handed her a stack of yellowed fabric. She smiled and nodded respectfully before heading to Amber’s.
The house looked grey and depressing against the bright happy sky. It was if the walls soaked up everything horrible in that house. She went to the back door, hoping to miss Amber and Brandon.
The hallway behind the door was too quiet that afternoon.
She turned the corner—and stopped.
Brandon was waiting.
He stood with his arms crossed, posture casual, but his eyes were already fixed on her. He smiled like he’d just found something he meant to break.
“You’ve been real quiet lately.”
She kept her distance, said nothing.
“Don’t worry. No one’s forgotten you. Everyone still whispers about the girl who was kicked out of school, who doesn’t belong—but somehow still stays.”
He stepped forward.
“You know why you’re still here, right? Not because anyone likes you. Not because you’re useful. You’re still here because Amber says so. Because she says you're... special.”
He leaned in close, nearly spitting out the last word.
“You’re nothing more than a rumor wrapped in skin.”
She didn’t flinch, but her breath caught. Just barely.
Brandon grinned.
“They won’t get rid of you. But you won’t be lifted up either. You’re stuck.”
He stepped even closer, backing her against the wall. Not touching—just crowding.
“You should thank me. I’m the only reason Amber hasn’t made your life worse. I tell her you’re still trainable. That you might be... worth something.” He let that hang for a beat. Then, lower, darker he continued,“Next year, I shift,” he added. “And when I do, I take my place as Alpha.” He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “So maybe you should start showing a little more respect... before it’s too late.”
He reached up and flicked a loose strand of hair from her cheek, like she was a doll he was adjusting.
“You think Byron can protect you? He won’t. He still thinks this is a game.”
Then he stepped back, the charming smile snapping back into place.
“See you around… Luna.”
She didn’t cry.
She walked straight past the training field, into the trees, and didn’t stop until she found shade.
Her hands shook as she opened her sketchbook. She didn’t draw Brandon. She drew a wolf with two faces—one smiling, one snarling. A mask, slipping.
She knew what a mask looked like now. She’d seen it up close.
She didn't know how much time had passed, but Byron found her as the sun was starting to dip.
He didn’t ask why she was hiding. Didn’t press. He just sat beside her and opened his book again.
“I’ve decided the wolf prince is still dramatic, but now I kind of respect him.”
“Because he broods in poetic metaphors,” she asked, a brow raised.
“Exactly.”
She drew while he read. No pressure. No expectations.
Before they parted ways, Xochi flipped to a clean page. The pencil moved slowly, deliberately. She began sketching a lone wolf running toward a distant mountain—its eyes set forward, teeth bared, wind in its fur.
She didn’t know what it meant yet. But she knew she’d need it.
- Writer
