The night air crackles with an intensity that can only be described as primal, the thrum of the drums intensifying with each passing moment. The rhythm pulses through the ground, traipsing in the air and through my very veins like a ribbon caught in a wind storm. It’s the energy of the Rut, the sound of something ancient, a hunger that stirs deep within and a desire that cannot be ignored. The atmosphere shifts as the bucks begin to stir, sensing the moment that is finally upon them.

  The competition is alive in the air, sharp and electric.

  Laughter mingles with shouts, the herd aware that the time is near and the buck that will claim first must show his strength.

  I watch as the first challenge unfolds before me, two bucks already staring each other down, muscles taut and ready. Alistair steps into the circle, his dark eyes burning with a fiery intensity. The same look he gave me on the first night of the Rut. But tonight, that look is not for me. It is for Shawn, the other buck standing across from him.

  The two are locked in a silent challenge, neither willing to back down.

  The air is thick with anticipation as the first clash begins the herd pausing. The tension snaps and Alistair’s hooves strike the earth with a resounding thud, his powerful legs propelling him forward. The sound of their antlers meeting rings out, echoing across the pavilion like the crash of thunder. A crack splits the air as their horns lock, the force of their battle sending a wave of cries through the crowd. There’s a moment of sheer chaos, the fury of the fight unfolding in front of me, but I can't tear my eyes away from Alistair.

  I can feel the pull of the fight, the power in every strike, in every movement.

  He’s magnificent.

  His form is perfect, every muscle honed to perfection, every strike intentional and precise. There is no question of his strength, his ability to win. But an ache in my chest tightens and I feel a pang of jealousy, of sorrow. This is not how I had imagined him, not how I had imagined the 'bond'. He should have been mine. But now, he was bound to someone else.

  The bucks continue to battle, their hooves pounding the earth as their antlers meet with a force that sends vibrations through the ground. Alistair draws first blood, the dark red staining the pavilion floor. The crowd reacts with a collective gasp, the energy in the air shifting, becoming more charged, more desperate.

  But it's not the fight that holds my attention. It’s the way he moves, the way he is. The strength, the power, the beauty of him. He’s everything I could have wanted. But not anymore. The bond between us had been broken before it could even begin.

  The moment the first drop of blood touches the earth, the signal is given and the does scatter into the forest. The race begins, the hunt is on and the herd will choose. The males will pursue. The scent of them, sharp and intoxicating, will fill the air.

  I feel the pull, the wildness, the urge to run, to join the others in the dark woods. My body responds instinctively, my heart racing as I think of the chase. But something holds me back. Something inside me tells me not to go, not yet. I stay rooted to the spot, my eyes never leaving Alistair, my thoughts swirling. My chest tightens and the weight of everything pressing down on me suffocates me.

  The fight between the bucks rages on and yet I remain still frozen in place. The rut, the mating dance, the very essence of it all seems so far away. I had never imagined the Rut would feel so alien, so distant. I should have felt the fire the rush of it the pull of my body to join the others in the wild chase. But all I feel is the heaviness of duty, the weight of my responsibilities as Matriarch.

  The world around me begins to blur as I feel myself losing touch with the night, with the music and with the herd. My mind drifts, my senses fogged by the emotions that swirl within me. The ache in my chest grows sharper, more unbearable, and I realize I can't stay here any longer.

  The noise, the heat, the press of bodies, all of it, it’s too much.

  Before I can even process my decision, I find myself moving. My hand moves automatically, unclasping the dress and letting it fall away as I slip into my doe form. In an instant, I am lost in the woods, the cool air wrapping around me like a blanket as I flee into the night.

  The sounds of the pavilion fade as I run, the rhythm of the drums still echoing in my mind but growing distant. The forest greets me, the scent of pine and earth wreathing around me, calming my racing thoughts. I push forward, my hooves barely making a sound as I weave through the underbrush, deeper into the woods, away from the eyes of the herd, from the celebration and from the bond that isn’t mine.

  I don't know what I’m running from. Maybe it’s the Rut, maybe it’s the pain of seeing Alistair with someone else, or perhaps it’s the suffocating weight of my role as Matriarch, a position I've begun to doubt my capabilities in. Maybe it’s all of it, but all I know is that the deeper I run into the woods, the more I can breathe. The air is thick with the scent of the earth, the trees, the life that surrounds me. I can hear the rustle of leaves beneath my hooves, the quiet hum of the night settling around me.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  In the woods, I am at peace.

  Here, I am free.

  Then, suddenly, the air shifts.

  A scent drifts toward me, one that is unfamiliar yet familiar at the same time. It’s not the scent of any of the bucks, nor any of the does. It’s different. It’s wild, untamed and with it comes a sharp edge, something dangerous. A flicker of recognition stirs deep inside me and my heart skips a beat.

  It’s him. The werewolf.

  I stop, my breath catching in my throat as the realization sinks in. He’s here and he’s close. I can feel his presence on the edge of my senses, like a whisper against my mind.

  I don’t know why I feel this way. There is something in him that calls to me, something I cannot explain. I turn seeking him out, my body tense as my senses reach out into the darkness. I don’t know what he wants, why he’s here but I know I cannot ignore him.

  The tension in the air around me thickens and I feel the brush of his presence against my mind as he carefully emerges from the nearby brush. He keeps a respectful distance as he settles into a non threatening crouch. His eyes are wide and bright as he observes me curiously.

  “I knew you’d come.”

  His voice is low, but it carries through the space between our minds like a soft wind, wrapping around me. It’s calm, respectful, almost soothing. And yet, it’s filled with an edge, a hint of something untamed and wild, just beneath the surface.

  “You were always going to run,” he says, his words not mocking but certain. “You can’t hide from the Rut forever.”

  I close my eyes for a moment, feeling his words sink into me. He’s right. I can’t hide from it. But I’m not hiding, not really. I just need to breathe.

  To be alone for a while.

  “I’m not hiding,” I counter, my voice steady despite the turmoil within me. “I just need to be alone.”

  He seems to consider this, his head tilting slightly as if studying me.

  “The Rut calls to you,” he observes, his voice soft, but there’s an underlying understanding in it. “But it’s not the only thing pulling you tonight.”

  I pause, the weight of his words settling in. He doesn’t know me, not really and yet, he seems to understand. Maybe more than anyone else.

  I don’t respond right away. His words linger, and the connection between us, this strange pull I’ve felt since we first met, grows stronger. I feel the weight of my own thoughts, the burden of the position I carry. The loneliness that I try so hard to bury beneath my duties.

  “I’m out searching for my mate,” he says suddenly, his voice calm but with an underlying tension. “The Alpha’s time is coming, and I must choose, my time is now.”

  His words hang in the air between us, the weight of responsibility in them. A feeling I know all too well. We are both leaders, bound by duty and yet both failing to fulfill the bond we are meant to share with our respective mates.

  “But you… you already know who your mate is.”

  The words catch me off guard. I flinch, my heart aching at the reminder of the bond that will never be mine. He’s right. I know who my mate was supposed to be, but it doesn’t matter now.

  “I am the Matriarch,” I say, my voice tight but steady. “I have already found my mate, but it is not the bond I had hoped for.”

  There is silence between us, thick and heavy. I can feel the wolf’s gaze on me, his understanding piercing through the tension in the air.

  “I can feel your sadness,” he says softly. “Even from here, the bond is not always as we want it to be, but it’s still there, in some form. In the shape it’s meant to take.”

  I close my eyes, trying to hold back the flood of emotions that threaten to break free. The bond is there, but it’s not what I thought it would be. It’s not the way I imagined it. It was not forged in the traditional manner but in the sense that Alistair and I were both supposed to lead the herd.

  “I don’t need a bond,” I say, my voice shaking slightly, “I need to lead, that’s my purpose.”

  His voice softens, but there’s a trace of something else in it, something deep and knowing.

  “Maybe,” he says quietly. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be alone.”

  Before I can respond, I sense a shift in the air, a presence approaching. I tense, feeling the wolf’s consciousness in my mind flicker and disappear as quickly as it had come.

  “You’re not alone now,” the wolf says, his voice laced with amusement. “Someone’s coming.”

  I turn sharply, my body instinctively bracing for what’s to come.

  "Wait," I say as I turn sharply, sensing the figure approaching through the trees.

  Shawn.

  One of Alistair’s closest allies emerges from the woods, still in his buck form. Blood mars his fur, one of the delicate tines of his right antler having snapped off. His eyes are sharp, his posture tense. The moment his gaze lands on me, I could feel the weight of his presence in the air. He wasn’t here to talk.

  I feel a rush of frustration and confusion in my chest.

  “Matriarch,” he says, his voice rough as he steps forward, his eyes narrowing when he notices the tension in the air. “It’s time to return.”

  Before I could reply, Shawn’s gaze flicks to something, or rather, someone, behind me. The wolf’s presence vanishes as quickly as it had come, leaving a cold, empty space in my mind.

  I turn to find the woods empty once more.

  I hadn't gotten his name.

  “Come,” Shawn insists, his tone cutting through the space in my mind like a blade. “There’s nothing for you here, the Rut is still waiting.”

  And just like that the connection I had felt with the werewolf is gone, interrupted by Shawn's presence. It's as if he knew nothing of the shared solemnness that had briefly stirred between me and the wolf.

  I swallow hard, shaking off the last of the lingering sadness and follow him back into the woods.

  The Rut is still upon us.