The cool evening air greets me with open arms as I step away from my grandmother’s cabin. I pull my coat closer, wrapping myself up against the chill. My feet are heavy, each step pressing into the earth like an anchor, tethering me to the weight of the day. My chest still feels tight, as though her words have taken root within me, growing heavy and unyielding with each passing moment. The ache in my heart gnaws at me, relentless, unforgiving and yet, I know I cannot stop.

  There is so much to be done. So much to prepare for.

  But all I can think of is the quiet, the stillness of the cabin where my grandmother lies, fading away with each breath. I long to be there beside her, to hold her frail hand and listen to the wisdom in her whispering words.

  But tonight, I am needed elsewhere.

  Tonight, I am the Matriarch.

  The reality of my role presses down on me like a weight too heavy to bear, yet I push through the discomfort, moving forward because I must. The herd is counting on me. But deep within, a sense of hollow loneliness settles in my bones.

  I am not ready for this. Not in the way I thought I would be.

  I feel the pull of duty as a familiar group of does appears from the growing shadows, their warm gazes meeting mine with silent understanding. Although it's cold, they all wear simple, white dresses under woolen cloaks. Clothing that is easy to get out of when it's time to shift. They are here to prepare me, to ensure I step into the feast as I should. They don’t ask questions; they simply guide me, gently pulling me away from the path I had chosen toward the solitude of my grandmother’s cabin and back into the world that calls for celebration.

  The golden light of the setting sun spills through the trees, casting shadows that dance across the ground as we move between the cabins. We pass under the tall, darkened pines, their branches swaying gently in the wind, the scent of pine and earth mixing with the crisp autumn air. My mind drifts, but I push it back, refusing to let myself slip into the abyss of my thoughts.

  I don't have the time or leisure for such things tonight.

  My cabin ahead calls me with its warmth, the flickering glow of firelight spilling from its windows. I step inside, feeling the comforting embrace of the heat as the does lead me toward the bathroom. The clawfoot tub greets me as they help me undress, their hands light and purposeful. My body feels tense, stiff with exhaustion and the remnants of my grief, but I breathe deeply as they ease me into the clawfoot tub.

  Warm water surrounds me like a cocoon and I let out a slow, steady sigh, feeling the weight of the day begin to melt from my bones. Lavender and pine oils rise up around me, mingling with the earthy scent of the wood. I lean my head back, closing my eyes for a moment of respite, even as my mind whirls with everything I’ve yet to do.

  As the girls set to work, their hands soft against my skin, I feel the disconnect between who I am and who I am expected to be. The Matriarch they see, the one they admire, is someone they do not know fully, not the way I wish to be known. There’s an unfamiliar ache in my chest, something hollow and unspoken, but I don’t allow it to surface. Not now. Not tonight.

  But I can't deny how lonely I feel.

  "Matriarch," Lena says softly, her voice laced with both reverence and affection as she works the oil into my shoulders, "We’ll have you ready for the feast in no time."

  I nod, barely hearing her, lost in the warmth of the water, the soft pressure of her hands. I’ve never felt so exposed, so vulnerable and yet, it’s not discomfort I feel. It’s a sense of deep weariness. I want to tell them that I need a moment, that I want to curl into the safety of my bed and forget the world outside, but I can’t.

  I have a role to play, a duty to uphold.

  When the bath ends, they dry me off with thick towels, the soft fabric caressing my skin. There’s a gentleness in their touch, a quiet respect that humbles me. And yet, as they dress me, I cannot escape the feeling that I am being wrapped in armor, not fabric. The dress they’ve chosen is stunning, pine-green silk that shimmers with every movement, the color of the very forest that surrounds our herd. It clings to my form, accentuating every curve, every sharp angle of my body. The embroidery along the hem is intricate, delicate, the patterns meant to speak of our connection to the earth, our strength.

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  And yet, it feels like a cage.

  I step into the dress, letting the smooth fabric glide over my body. But there’s a tightness in my chest, an unfamiliar pressure that I cannot shake. It’s not the dress, it’s everything else. The weight of expectation, of tradition, of my responsibilities. This is not the Matriarch I thought I would be. This is not the way I imagined myself standing here.

  I had thought I would find a mate to love me, to support me.

  But that won't happen, not now.

  They help me with my hair next, pulling it back into an intricate braid, their fingers moving with practiced ease. Silver clips are added to the twists, catching the flickering lantern light as they settle into place.

  “You look stunning, Matriarch,” Sadie murmurs, her voice full of admiration. Her eyes flick to the others and they all nod in agreement.

  I offer a tight smile, the corners of my lips pulling just enough to acknowledge their kindness. But inside, the feeling remains: a deep, quiet emptiness that I cannot fill, no matter how many layers of beauty they wrap around me.

  “Tonight is important,” Giselle says softly, her eyes searching mine for something. “The Rut is upon us once more, the herd needs you.”

  I nod, words catching in my throat. The Rut is more than just a tradition. It is the heartbeat of our people, the pulse that keeps us connected to the land and to one another. But tonight, it feels...wrong. The promise of the bond I had hoped for, the one I believed would tie me to Alistair, has shattered. He is no longer mine. He is bonded to someone else.

  As we step out into the night, the air cool against my skin, the weight of it all feels heavier. The pavilion ahead stands bathed in the soft glow of lanterns, their light flickering like stars in the dark. The scent of roasting vegetables and freshly baked bread fills the air, mingling with the crisp autumn breeze. The sound of laughter rises from the gathering ahead, the hum of a celebration that feels both foreign and necessary.

  The herd is already there, waiting.

  I move to my seat at the head of the table, the one meant for my grandmother. Her absence is like a gaping hole in the center of the gathering. My heart twinges, but I push it down as I settle into my place, taking a cup of honeyed mead offered to me. The others take their seats around me, offering fruits and vegetables, their eyes constantly watching, waiting.

  I felt less watched when I was with the wolf.

  The music begins to swell, a steady beat of drums, the high, lilting notes of flutes drifting through the air. The herd moves together in perfect harmony, swaying, dancing, their laughter and joy spilling into the night. I watch them for a long while, a part of me wanting to join in, to lose myself in the unity of the dance, but another part of me stays distant, observing, removed.

  I watch the others dance for a long while.

  As the evening wears on, the music begins to pick up in pace and the drums grow louder and the dancing becomes more animated. The herd moves as one, swaying together as their movements are fluid and graceful.

  Sadie tugs me along and I join in, moving into the crowd with the other does, letting the music guide me. The rhythm is in my blood, a second pulse in the very marrow of my bones. I am a creature of the forest and the beat of the drums call to me as the scent of the earth and trees swirl in the air around us.

  My home.

  My herd.

  I dance freely, my body moving with the others in an unspoken rhythm. A flock of birds in flight. For a brief moment, the worries of the day and the heavy weight of my grandmother’s illness, the void left by Alistair’s absence, the ache of the bond that may never form between us, fades into the background.

  I lose myself in the movement, in the music, in the unity of the herd.

  But then, something changes.

  I know it before I see him.

  The scent of a Bond. The unmistakable scent of him.

  It is a scent I've longed for, a scent I had hoped to share with Alistair. The unmistakable scent of a mate bond, my senses sharper than the others to pick up on such a new scent. It is faint to others, easy to miss but not for a Matriarch as my heart races.

  I turn, my gaze instinctively drawn to him and there he is, standing at the edge of the dancing circle.

  But he isn’t alone.

  Beside him Madrigal stands, her graceful form swaying as she moves in time with the music. Her long, red hair shimmers in the lantern light and there is something different about her. Something that hadn’t been there before.

  She's bonded to him.

  I can see it in the way they stand, the way they move together. Magnets caught in each others pull. Their connection is undeniable, like an invisible thread that ties them together and draws them in. The scent of it hangs heavy in the air for me, thicker than any fragrance, unmistakable.

  Alistair’s amber eyes catch mine and for a brief moment, there is a flicker of something. An acknowledgment of the bond he has formed with her.

  But it is fleeting. He doesn’t approach. Instead, he stops, his back straight, his posture commanding as he turns his head, dismissing her.

  I look away before she can see me noticing her.

  The dance continues around me, but it feels distant now. The rhythm is no longer mine. The music grows louder, faster, but it’s just noise, a background hum that fills the space but never quite reaches my soul.

  I will have to choose soon. But the weight of that choice feels heavier than I ever imagined.

  The Rut is upon us, and with it, a new chapter.

  But I’m not sure I’m ready to turn the page.