The Messenger( Iva) novel Chapter 9

Under the Old Tree–1

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?

All for nothing.

What a joke, she thought hollowly. The joke was always on me.

Just four days, she told herself. You can survive four days.

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.