It’s the scent of blood I notice first, sharp, metallic.

  Unmistakable.

  Although I'm in my human form now, my deer instincts are still keen, etched into every fiber of my being. Even the smallest trace of something foreign, something out of place, catches my attention. I could pick up on the subtlest shifts in the air, the gentle rustle of leaves from a distant creature or the fading traces of a recent predator's presence.

  And right now, it’s blood that lingers, mingling with the earthy scent of damp moss and decaying wood.

  I wipe my mouth absently, my fingers brushing against the corner of my lip where the faintest trace of blood remains. It’s a reminder of the night before. A chaotic blur of roughness, of a ritual that had been as much about instinct as it had been about tradition. My senses, heightened by the Rut, had been on fire. A frenzy fueled by passion and primal urges.

  He hadn’t been the most gentle, but then again, neither had I.

  The Rut can do that to us, I’ve been told. It can bring out the beast in anyone. No one escapes its grip unscathed. The blood, the bruises, the fire in our veins, as it’s the price we pay for giving ourselves over to instincts that run far deeper than any human rationality. The doe within me yearns for the forest, for the chase, for the wildness that comes with the pursuit of a mate.

  It’s a hunger that can’t be sated easily.

  I close my eyes for a moment, the weight of the night settling over me. My first year fully embracing the instincts of the doe within me, giving myself over completely to the call of the wild hunt. I had heard what to expect, of course. The elder does had warned me. They had told me the stories, shared their experiences. But nothing prepares you for the actual thing. Nothing prepares you for the overwhelming urge to claim.

  To become something more than human urges.

  I lean back against the felled tree where I had collapsed after the conclusion of the night. The wood beneath me is damp, the air crisp with the lingering remnants of the rain. I breathe in deeply, trying to push back the nausea that still grips my stomach. Last night’s indulgence in alcohol had been reckless, but that was part of the ritual too. The drinking, the laughing, the wild release before the Rut takes over and things become a blur of instinct and need. We had danced and sang in the clearing, all of us eligible for their first Rut, the alcohol coursing through our veins like fire, stoking the flames of desire. I had been a part of it, swept up in the chaos, but that moment, the one where things had shifted between Alistair and Shawn.

  That is when the ritual truly began.

  It had happened so suddenly. One moment, they had been laughing together, teasing one another as friends. The next, Shawn’s fist had collided with Alistair’s face, sending him stumbling backward. It had been a spark, a signal that the Rut had begun to claim them both. From there, everything had blurred into a frenzy. Their bodies had shifted, the bucks emerging in full force. The air had thickened with the scent of musk, sharp as the tension between them. And then they were gone, disappearing into the woods, locked in the ancient battle that always follows the beginning of the Rut.

  The most dominant bucks being claimed first.

  I hadn’t seen either of them since the start of summer. Bucks, when they enter their prime, often prefer solitude. They retreat to the outskirts of the compound, their time spent sparring, growing their antlers, building themselves into creatures of battle and beauty. They carve their place in the world during these months, preparing for the inevitable call of the Rut.

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  Both Shawn and Alistair had been magnificent in their forms, truly breathtaking and powerful.

  Their antlers had been long, twisting like white branches, sharp and deadly. Their muscles rippled beneath their fur, an intoxicating blend of strength and grace. There was nothing quite like witnessing a buck in his prime, the sheer magnificence of their forms stunning.

  I reach out with my mind, trying to locate Alistair’s presence. There should be a pull, something undeniable.

  The Bond.

  The connection.

  It should be there, something tangible, something that ties us together in the most primal way possible. We were fated, I know that much. The strongest of our herd, destined to lead, bound by the Rut to each other. And yet, when I try to reach him...when I attempt to feel that connection.

  I come up empty.

  It’s nothing. Blankness. An emptiness that stretches on for what feels like eternity. I search again, this time more desperately, sifting through the minds of those around me.

  But still, nothing.

  There’s nothing special as our consciousness brush against one another.

  No sparks. No heat. No rush of warmth that signifies the bond between mates.

  I let him go as he stirs awake but I cannot bear to hold onto his consciousness.

  I sit up slowly, my heart pounding in my chest. My breath catches in my throat as I realize the truth.

  Alistair hasn’t bonded with me.

  And I haven’t bonded with him.

  We are fated to be together, to lead, to claim our place at the head of the herd. It is supposed to be inevitable, this bond between us.

  But here I am, the Matriarch of our herd, standing alone.

  No Sentinel.

  I thought that the bond would come naturally. That it would be forged in the wild hunt of the Rut. But instead, I am left with nothing but the aching emptiness that now gnaws at my insides.

  I am supposed to be with him, and yet, I am not.

  My mind races as I try to recall everything. Alistair’s face flashes in my mind, his amber eyes, the sharpness in his gaze when we first met. That first day at the human high school when we had crossed paths, both of us still so young, still so unaware of the power that lay beneath our skin. He had been arrogant, a buck in every sense of the word, with a quiet strength that had unsettled me. He had looked at me with that same knowing gaze, a gaze that had pierced through the human fa?ade I wear, and for a moment, he had scented me.

  He had recognized me for what I was.

  But instead of the warmth I had expected, there had been a cold smirk, a subtle acknowledgement, but no real connection.

  Back then, I had been no one to him. Just another doe, another face in the crowd.

  But now, I am the Matriarch.

  I am the one they look to for leadership. And yet, I feel as though I am nothing more than a shadow of what I should be. I have no mate, no Sentinel. My place at the head of the herd should be secured by the bond, the connection between Alistair and me.

  But there is nothing.

  I let my thoughts slip away from him, trying to regain control over my racing mind. Fear begins to settle in my gut, a gnawing, crawling sensation that tightens around my chest.

  This is not how it was supposed to be.

  The bond is supposed to be unbreakable, forged in the fire of the Rut. It should be a promise, a silent vow between us.

  But what if it never comes? What if the bond was never meant to be?

  I rise unsteadily to my feet, my body aching from the bruises that mar my skin. The air around me is cool, but the weight of the unanswered questions presses down upon me, suffocating me in its uncertainty.

  I am the Matriarch.

  But without a mate, without a Sentinel by my side, I cannot help but wonder if I am truly the leader they deserve.

  What does it mean for me?

  The wind picks up, rustling through the trees, carrying with it the faintest trace of a familiar scent.

  Alistair.

  It’s faint, but it’s there.

  There’s still a chance.

  But that chance feels like it’s slipping through my fingers, like the fragile threads of a dream that’s already begun to unravel. I inhale deeply, preparing myself for what lies ahead.

  It’s not over. Not yet. The Rut is far from finished.

  And I will not give up.

  Not without a fight.