The Messenger( Iva) novel Chapter 1

Iva's father never got used with the fact that he got a girl instead of a boy.

So he sold her off — sending her to the North as a breeder in just two weeks.

Even though she carries Gamma blood.

She was done trying to earn love from people who only value power. She was done shrinking herself to fit a place that never wanted her.

"Then leave," her wolf Avalon said without hesitation. “We walk away from this pack. From the people who rejected us. They don’t deserve us!”

12 days later. The Graduation Ceremony.

"In the end, you are the runt of the pack. A Gamma failure." Future Alpha Nick laughed.

Yes, her tormentor. Was her fated mate. The Moon Goddess had a cruel sense of humor.

Then Iva raised her hand.

Something impossible happened.

A glowing red thread suddenly appeared from Nick’s chest, stretching through the air and connecting straight to her heart. Everyone saw it.

The moment it touched her chest, a violent tingling exploded through Nick's body.

“What the hell is this?! Stop it, Iva!” the Alpha roared in fury.

“What you're seeing...is our bond." Iva said calmly. "Nick and I are fated mates.”

"How could you be my fated mate?" Nick bellowed. "We lost the ability to recognise our fated mates!"

"Because I'm the new MESSAGER. I made you all see the red thread."

Before anyone could argue, another pair of fated mates in the crowd gasped in shock.

“There’s a red thread between us too! She’s telling the truth!”

The entire pack fell into stunned silence.

“I, Iva Rhys, reject Nick Blackthorn as my mate and sever all ties with him — and with the Silvercrest Pack.”

The second the words left her lips, Nick collapsed to his knees, clutching his chest in pure agony.

"Nick! Doctor!"

In the chaos, Iva shifted.

Her wolf, Avalon, was small — but incredibly fast.

No one could catch her.

Even if she lost a pack…

She hadn’t lost herself.

*****

I The Girl Who Woke Before Dawn

Iva woke to the sharp, merciless ring of her alarm at four in the morning, the sound drilling through the quiet darkness of her room, and for a brief, foolish second she wished she could slam the pillow over her head and pretend she wasn’t the Gamma’s daughter, pretend she wasn’t expected to be the first one training, pretend she wasn’t the constant disappointment her father treated like an unavoidable burden.

“Come on, Iva, move,” she told herself as she swung her legs out of bed, blinking against the cold air that nipped at her bare arms. “It’s not like lying here will magically make him proud of you.”

She dressed quickly—black leggings, a snug training shirt, and boots that had seen too many brutal mornings—and tied her long ash-brown hair into a high ponytail, strands slipping loose around her gentle face.

Her skin held that faint silvery undertone common among their pack, and her warm hazel eyes still carried the softness she tried so hard to hide, because softness was not a trait respected among warriors, especially not among those expected to lead.

She didn’t have her wolf yet—no eighteen-year-old did until the night of their birthday—but recently she had felt a strange pressure under her skin, a restless anticipation that made her wonder if her wolf would be calm or fierce, gentle or wild, or maybe, she thought on her worst days, maybe her wolf would be just as disappointing to her father as she was.

“Don’t think about that,” she scolded herself gently as she slipped out of the house and into the cool predawn air, moving with a speed she hoped would push her thoughts away. “You’re doing your best. One day he’ll see that. Maybe.”

The training grounds sprawled behind the pack’s main buildings, lit by harsh floodlights that cast long shadows across the dirt.

The Silvercrest Pack was one of the most powerful in the region, respected for its size and feared for its warriors, and their Alpha’s lineage had ruled these lands for generations with iron strength and unwavering discipline.

Iva spotted her father immediately—Gamma Rhys, a tall and imposing figure with arms crossed firmly behind his back, dark hair touched with silver at the temples, and a gaze that could make even seasoned fighters straighten without thinking.

She approached quietly, her heart tightening with the familiar mix of hope and dread.

“Morning, Father,” she said softly.

He barely flicked his eyes toward her, offering the smallest nod before turning away as if acknowledging her more than that might embarrass him.

“Right… same as always,” she thought, swallowing the sting. “Why did you even try?”

Training was relentless, her muscles screaming as she pushed herself past exhaustion, throwing punches and blocking strikes with a determination that tasted like desperation.

She kept waiting for a single word of approval from her father, even a small one, but he corrected her stance again and again with clipped, cold instructions that carried no warmth at all.

By sunrise she was trembling from fatigue, though she hid it well, because weakness was simply not allowed—not by her father, not by the standards of the pack.

She rushed to the showers the moment training ended, letting hot water cascade down her aching body, and she exhaled slowly, wishing the water could wash the heaviness from her chest.

“Only a few more weeks,” she reminded herself as she dressed in jeans and a white sweater for school. “Finish high school, get your wolf, survive your birthday, and maybe things will finally change.”

When she stepped off the pack’s school van, the courtyard was loud with chatter, and her eyes found him immediately, her childhood crush, —Nick Blackthorn, the future Alpha King, surrounded by a cluster of girls near the fountain.

He looked effortlessly commanding, even in plain clothes, with his dark tousled hair, sharp jawline, and storm-blue eyes that seemed to draw attention without even trying. The girls around him laughed at everything he said, clinging to his words like they were a privilege and not simply sound in the air.

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