Freya leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, enjoying the shade it brought during this warm day of September as she ate her favourite lunch, chickpea sweet potato stew. Not that she’d even call it lunch as it was the mid-afternoon, she and Georgie had seen patient after patient that day and this was the first time they had their chance to catch their breath.

A soft breeze rustled the leaves above her as she tucked a face-framing strand of her hair behind. She was glad she’d chosen to wear her hair up with a claw clip that day, letting the back of her neck be free as the heat today had decided to remind them of the earth’s impending doom due to global warming.

The skies were clear, absent of any clouds that would’ve inhibited any light from shining through once in a while. Georgie sat cross-legged in front of her heaving down the chicken sandwich and french fries she’d packed, it was as if she didn’t know if she’d have her dinner that day as well. She felt like a proud older sister watching her cousin even though they were the same age, her dark curls were pulled back in a bun at the nape of her neck with a pink scrunchie, matching with the pale pink scrubs she decided to wear that day. The sleeves of her white undershirt were rolled up to her elbows, revealing her wrist adorned with her matching apple watch.

Her caramel eyes were focused on her food, as if afraid that if she blinked, it’d be gone, especially her french fries. Freya knew better than to take Georgie’s french fries, as the last time was when she first moved in with her aunt and cousin and Georgie tackled her when she picked up one fry. She remembered her eyes in a frenzy, feral even and her yelling indistinguishable words at her as Freya watched her agape.

Perhaps a documentary or study should be considered for such a phenomenon.

Pack members chatted as they walked passed them, many of them saying hello to her and Georgie and offering their appreciation of them helping the pack in their time of need. She was flattered, blushing and shyly looking down as hearing such praise from Meadow Stream was foreign to her, she didn’t really do much yet as only a week had gone by.

A week, this was her home pack and she still felt out of place, like a commoner amongst the ton or a lady in a gambling hell. She wasn’t sure if it was because she was having a hard time adjusting to the pack’s healthcare facilities, which she considered prehistoric compared to her Toronto practice, or being forced to revisit her past.

The Meadow Stream Pack, although within the modern era of technology and infrastructure, still had areas of industry, architecture and agriculture that were devastated when there was still open warfare. Most streets were rehabilitated during the past fifty years, however, with limited funds as most went to the war front, many areas still remained devastated. Skeletons of what were once homes, and piles of rubble and debris cluttered a good portion of streets, damaged irrigation systems and barns were left abandoned, their fields to be used as a wasteland now as the fields were left unusable for agriculture as the soil was contaminated from munitions and chemicals.

Before open warfare was ceased, many men were conscripted to join the trenches and soon, society was on the brink of collapse within the participating packs, especially Meadow Stream as they bordered both Land Bay and Knight. With a two-front war, most of the fighting occurred in their territory and surroundings, resembling France during the First World War.

When cease fire occurred, Meadow Stream was left to pick up the pieces and for the past fifty years, the Alphas of Meadow Stream have slowly rehabilitated the pack. During Alpha Hugo Engstrom’s reign, Vincent’s grandfather, who was the first to cease fire, restored water and sanitation systems, Vincent’s father began to reconstruct the schools and government buildings, and currently, Vincent is finishing what his father started while restoring the healthcare facilities.

There was still a long way to go to keep up with the eastern packs, however, the war had to end for that to occur.

“Do we convince Hannah to change her birth plan?” Georgie asked, a new grad nurse who was still learning the ropes of nursing practice and didn’t have much confidence in herself yet. “I want to respect her wishes, but she’s considered high-risk...” Georgie said hesitantly.

Just as Freya previously planned, she scheduled Hannah and Christian for an appointment first as she wanted the pack to trust her. Hannah was eight weeks along and Freya knew she and Christian had a difficult time getting pregnant with Hannah’s PCOS, just about giving up when Hannah fell pregnant. During the appointment, she had Georgie sit in for their consultation where Hannah expressed her desire for a home birth.

She explained the risks with Hannah’s PCOS that she was at a higher risk for experiencing complications and asked Hannah to reconsider a hospital birth, however, she didn’t want to push as Hannah had the right to her wishes and decisions. Christian, on the other hand, was restless the entire time, offering Hannah some tea or volunteering to go get her favourite pregnancy cravings, pickles. His jaw was tense and he kept tapping his fingers on the back of his phone that was on his lap, trying to convince Hannah to hear Freya out.

“The best we can do is educate her so that she can make an informed decision, and offer some support and alternatives,” Freya said. “If she pushes for the home birth, we can offer to have an ambulance on standby just in case.”

She always felt uneasy when a couple came in with a high-risk pregnancy, remembering her mother’s experiences and her own birth, she desperately wanted to prevent another traumatic birth from happening. A healthy mother and baby was always her goal. Sometimes she thought of herself as selfish for wanting to give in to her paternalism and tell the couple that her plan was best.

Her job was to protect and heal, wasn’t it?

Georgie nodded, taking a sip from her can of Coke, “Makes sense, I guess,” she then changed the topic, “Why was Christian pushing for you to see Alpha Engstrom? Is there a problem with your paperwork and transfer?”

Vincent.

She still hadn’t told anyone about Vincent being her fated mate, or that she even had one, she was still trying to grasp her own mind around the concept, let alone figure out what she was going to do. It was obvious Vincent had confided in his little brother about her and their “predicament”. He’s the alpha of one of the strongest packs in the Kingdom of Roscoe, and his fated mate was a wolfless werewolf, a liability.

Of course, he’d have doubts.

“No,” Freya said, she took a deep breath and revealed, “It’s because Vincent is my fated mate.”

Georgie spit out her coke, luckily not on Freya, coughing as if she may have aspirated some, “What?” she freaked out in between coughs. “You have a fated mate? It’s Vincent? When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me? What are you going to do? W-”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Freya stopped her cousin, “I’m just as shocked as you are,” she said, not having the heart to face her cousin, who’d been her closest companion and best friend for the last nine years. It killed her not telling Georgie about Vincent, she stopped herself many times that week from telling her. She wanted her head screwed on right before telling anyone, until she figured out what to do.

Georgie’s shoulders were tense, Freya felt guilty for keeping the secret her way her bottom lip trembled a bit and her eyebrows drawn together, “Wh-” she started, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Freya felt tears build up in her eyes, she’d been an emotional rollercoaster since, often crying in her sleep from the uncertainty that came from a “relationship” with Vincent, having a cosmic connection of a bond between them forever until the day they drew their last breath.

“I didn’t know what to do,” she choked out, she looked Georgie in the eye, a traitor tear falling down her cheek, “I don’t think he w-wants me, Georgie.”

“Oh Freya,” Georgie pulled her into a hug as she sniffled in her shoulder. “He’d be an idiot if he didn’t.”

Freya pulled away, “He hasn’t come to see me since we found out…I-I think he’s going to reject me,” she finally confessed out loud.

Georgie shrugged, offering a small smile, “Maybe he wanted to give you space, I mean, no one ever thought you had a fated mate, Freya. Maybe he’s giving you the courtesy of letting you have time with the idea.”

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

She wasn’t naive to believe she had a fated mate before, so she didn’t follow the sacred practice of waiting for her fated mate against her aunt’s disapproval. So she dated, had boyfriends, went to third base and beyond, she wasn’t lacking in experiences in what to expect in a relationship, she knew red flags, green, and even beige ones.

You didn’t avoid someone you had a connection with.

Especially an Alpha.

Alphas were notorious for being protective and possessive of their fated mates, not allowing them out of their sight when they first found their fated mate as their wolf was believed to be feral until they settled down. They kept what was theirs.

And she was not Vincent’s.

A fated mates’ rejection was not taken lightly, hell, there was A Great War because of one. Rejection was either formal or informal, with the former being the most lethal to a wolf, it made sense as Agapian was known to be malicious and rejecting the one he oh so carefully curated for you was insulting.

A formal rejection was just that, the rejector states they reject the other as their mate. This was rare as an individual’s wolf could not withstand the heartbreak and had six months to live. Slowly, the body began to decay as since the person and wolf were one, the wolf saw no will to move on.

Passive rejection, however, was more common than many cared to share, it resembled rejecting the bond without outwardly stating so, illustrated by not accepting the bond while not rejecting the bond as well. It was a grey area and debated by many, especially the younger generations who believed that they had the right to choose their own partners, not some god who took pleasure in the misery of others.

She had no wolf, so Vincent's rejection would only affect him more than her.

But that didn’t make it any easier than the thought of knowing you were unwanted.

Again.

*****

Freya leaned back against the tree, her eyes closed trying to determine what her notes regarding her new visions meant. It wasn’t a coincidence that both occurred when the topic of The Great War was brought up, perhaps it had something to do with that.

With her notebook laid in her lap, Freya thought to take the opportunity of Georgie rushing back to the practice early to organize her thoughts about her visions. Elder Monroe had indicated that Atalane wanted Freya to go back to Meadow Stream, and the visions that were shown to her meant something, she just couldn’t figure out what.

But she was chosen by Atalane to do this right?

Did that mean she was the only one who could save them all?

She could save Meadow Stream.

Be the hero.

She took a deep breath, perhaps she’d follow up on this when she got home that night as she had to get back to work, her next client coming in ten minutes, a young woman with no partner who was about eight weeks along.

She began packing up her belongings into her backpack when she heard footsteps along the pathway beside her, the ladies gossiping, however, this piece of information caught her ears.

“I don’t know how Delta Laursen is handling her return,” the first said, she recognized her voice as being one of her mother’s socialite friends that she liked to plan events with, Mrs. Abrams. “She couldn’t handle the pressure before, you know…when she did…that thing.”

Their tones were hushed, laced with a heavy weight of judgement, they were unaware of the full story, of the torture their youth had put her through, but she was the one that was blamed because she couldn’t handle the pressure.

“I don’t know what Alpha Engstrom is thinking bringing her back, they can’t be that desperate,” her friend said, “The pack can’t afford another PR intervention if she can’t handle the pressure again.”

Freya froze, tears brimming in her eyes as she couldn’t believe the twisted narrative everyone supposedly had about her and what she did nine years ago. It was shameful to them, to her family, that was why they sent her away to live with her aunt.

She committed a sin, by disrespecting the Goddess of Life and Death, Atalane.

Her feet dragged against the ground as she speedily walked with her head down, her long hair covering her face as she tried to draw little attention to herself. She clutched the straps of her backpack, so tight that they’d leave a mark on her hands, but she didn’t care as her goal was to make it outside without an “incident” as the teachers liked to call it.

Suddenly, she was pushed against the lockers, her head slamming against the cold, hard metal before she lost her balance and fell. She didn’t dare to look up as the rest of the student body snickered at her misfortune, glad that it wasn’t them.

She felt liquid come down her nose, she put her hand and saw blood. Great, she thought.

Werewolves tended to have enhanced senses, as well as abilities such as healing, however, because she was born premature and didn’t have a wolf, her healing abilities were worse than a human. Bruises lasted longer, bones healed longer, and her immune system was weaker, she always wore a mask during flu season. She had a weak constitution, as doctors liked to describe it when Natalia got so worried about her constant bedrest as a child from someone sneezing on her during the winter.

She sighed, she didn’t have any energy left in her anymore, she was but a mere punching bag to these individuals. You would think that because she was physically weaker, they’d protect her, but instead, she was nothing but a wolfless liability.

She felt herself getting dragged up by her backpack and shoved once again into the lockers, she looked up and saw Christian laughing as her own brother had his hand tightly around her neck. She gasped for air, scratching him so he’d let her go, pleading him with tears in her eyes for mercy.

“Vincent asked us to show you your place,” Christian sneered, spitting on her.

Her brother pushed her to the ground, landing on her left arm as he kicked her leg, she hissed in pain as the tears continued flowing down her cheeks.

She saw her classmates walk away, laughing and snickering, calling her a weakling who should’ve been kicked out of the pack when she was born. Or better yet, died. She didn’t deserve to live and her wolf made a mistake sacrificing her so that Freya could have her best chance.

Best chance, she thought bitterly.

In time, she’d be the Siege of Leningrad, her heroic suffering marked by her tormentor's bombardment and warfare would soon end as she’d had her tragic victory.