Knotting His Rejected Breeder

Destiny jolted awake before sunrise, her heart pounding so hard that for several seconds she could not tell whether the sound was coming from inside her chest or from somewhere outside the room.

She sat upright and listened, but nothing.

The house was quiet except for the faint creak of wood settling beneath the cold morning air. A rooster called somewhere beyond the yard, followed by another farther away. The familiar sounds should have settled her nerves, but they did not.

Her eyes went straight to the small wooden table beside the window.

The cracked stone was still there.

It sat exactly where she had left it the night before, wrapped in an old piece of cloth. In the darkness, it looked harmless. Ordinary. There was no silver glow around it now, no strange warmth beneath the cloth, no voice whispering inside her head.

Destiny reached for it anyway.

Her fingers hesitated before touching the bundle, She pulled the cloth aside and stared at the stone.

Nothing happened.

She turned it over in her palm, examining the jagged crack that ran through its center. It looked like an old piece of rock that had been broken and forgotten somewhere for years.

Yet she remembered what had happened.

She remembered the voice, she remembered the dogs barking outside her window and then falling silent so suddenly that the silence itself had frightened her.

Most of all, she remembered the feeling that had come over her when she touched the stone. It had felt as if something had recognized her.

Destiny swallowed and wrapped it again.

"You’re a rock," she whispered to herself. "That’s all you are."

The words sounded ridiculous in the quiet room.

She pushed the stone farther back on the table and rubbed both hands over her face. She had barely slept after what happened. Every time she closed her eyes, she expected to hear the voice again.

Eventually, she forced herself out of bed.

The grey light coming through the shutters was enough for her to dress without lighting a lamp. She pulled on worn trousers and a plain linen shirt that had softened after years of washing. Her boots were old enough that the leather had begun to crease around her feet, but they were still sturdy.

By the time she stepped outside, the sun had not yet appeared over the hills.

Cold morning air brushed her face.

The yard smelled of damp soil, woodsmoke, and animal feed, her mother was already beside the chicken coop, scattering grain with practiced movements while the chickens crowded around her feet.

Her father was carrying a metal pail toward the milking shed.

Destiny stopped at the bottom of the steps.

"Father."

He turned. "You’re up early."

"I couldn’t sleep."

Her mother looked over her shoulder. "Bad dreams?"

Destiny walked closer. "Did either of you hear anything last night?"

Her father’s hand tightened slightly around the handle of the pail.

It was small.

So small that Destiny almost convinced herself she had imagined it.

"What do you mean?" her mother asked.

"The dogs. They started barking. Really loudly. Then they stopped."

Her father set the pail down.

"Probably a fox."

Destiny shook her head. "It wasn’t a fox."

Her father looked at her. There was something in his expression that made her pause.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You looked strange."

"I didn’t sleep much either," he said.

It was the quickest explanation he could have given her, and somehow it made her more suspicious.

Destiny folded her arms. "I heard a voice."

Her mother stopped scattering the grain. Only for a second but then she continued.

"A voice?" she repeated.

"Yes."

"What did it say?"

Destiny opened her mouth, then hesitated.

She remembered the sound clearly, but repeating it aloud made the whole thing feel even more absurd.

"I don’t know. I couldn’t understand all of it."

Her father picked up the pail again.

"You’re tired."

"I’m not imagining it."

"I didn’t say you were."

"You did."

He gave her a tired smile.

"Destiny, you’ve been working since before dawn every day for years. You’re twenty-two now. Sometimes your mind plays tricks on you when you’re exhausted."

She wanted to argue.

Instead, she nodded.

"Maybe."

Her father touched her shoulder as he passed.

"Get some breakfast."

Destiny watched him disappear into the shed.

Her mother came to stand beside her.

"Your father is right."

Destiny looked at her.

Her mother’s smile was gentle, but something about it felt forced.

"Is he?"

"Yes."

Destiny wanted to ask why they had exchanged that strange look when she mentioned the dogs.

She didn’t.

For the first time in her life, she was afraid that asking too many questions might change something between them.

So she picked up the feed bucket and followed her mother toward the coop.

The morning continued as though nothing unusual had happened.

That was almost worse.

Destiny helped milk the cows, cleaned the shed, carried feed to the animals, and repaired a section of the fence that had collapsed during the last storm. By midmorning, sweat had dampened the back of her shirt.

Her father watched her lift a heavy sack of grain and shook his head.

"You know, most women your age would ask for help."

"Then you should have raised a weaker daughter."

He laughed.

Her mother looked over from the doorway.

"Don’t encourage her."

Destiny smiled.

Those moments were familiar. Safe.

Her father had always been like this. He teased her when she complained, trusted her with work he would have given to a grown man, and never treated her as though she needed to be protected from ordinary hardship.

She had never questioned whether they loved her.

They did.

At least, she had always believed they did.

By late morning, Destiny was in the lower field with a hoe resting against her shoulder. She looked toward the ridge when a movement caught her eye.

A small group of wild wolves was crossing the distant grassland.

Destiny stopped.

She watched them move together.

There was something about wolves that had always fascinated her. Not because she wanted one of her own. She had never had a wolf, and she had long accepted that part of herself.

Still, whenever she watched them, she felt something she couldn’t explain.

The wolves disappeared into the trees.

Destiny lowered her gaze and returned to work.

She had spent twenty-two years on this land.

Sometimes it still felt as though she had arrived halfway through a story everyone else already knew.

She didn’t know why.

She remembered growing up in this house. Her first pair of boots. Her mother’s cooking. Her father’s old stories. The summer she fell from a tree and broke her arm.

She remembered all of it.

Yet there was always something missing.

A blank space she could feel but never reach.

After lunch, she rested beneath the old oak at the edge of the pasture.

The afternoon heat had settled heavily over the land, and the shade felt cool against her skin. She leaned her head against the rough bark and closed her eyes.

She only meant to rest for a few minutes.

Instead, she fell asleep.

Rain struck her face.

Destiny gasped and tried to move, but her feet sank into thick mud.

She looked around.

She was in a forest.

A woman was running through the trees.

She wore a dark cloak soaked through by rain, and she was holding a baby against her chest.

The child was crying.

Not softly.

The sound was desperate.

The woman stumbled, caught herself against a tree, and looked down at the baby.

"I’m sorry," she whispered.

Her voice broke.

Destiny felt something tighten inside her chest.

She tried to move closer.

"Wait!"

The woman kissed the baby’s forehead.

Then she ran again.

Destiny followed.

Branches struck her face. Mud pulled at her boots. The woman moved faster than she should have been able to while carrying a child.

Destiny reached out.

"Wait!"

The woman turned slightly.

For one brief second, Destiny saw the edge of her face.

Dark hair.

A familiar curve of her cheek.

Then the dream shattered.

Destiny woke beneath the oak with tears on her face.

She sat completely still.

Her breathing came slowly at first, then faster as the memory settled into place.

She wiped her cheeks.

The woman had never shown her face.

She never did.

But every time Destiny had the dream, the ache in her chest became stronger.

She didn’t know who the woman was.

She didn’t know why she kept dreaming about a baby she had never seen.

She only knew that waking from the dream always felt like losing someone.

By late afternoon, Destiny walked into the village with a basket of eggs and two jars of preserves her mother had made that morning.

The village was busy.

Children ran between the houses. Someone was repairing a cart near the blacksmith. Two farmers argued over the price of grain while an old woman complained about the weather.

Destiny stopped when she saw Marta struggling with two heavy baskets.

"Give me one."

The older woman immediately protested.

"I’m perfectly capable."

"I know."

Destiny took the basket anyway.

Marta laughed.

"You’ve always been stubborn."

"So I’ve been told."

They walked together toward Marta’s house.

On the way, a little girl came running toward Destiny with a scraped knee.

"Destiny!"

Destiny crouched immediately.

"What happened?"

"I fell."

"That sounds serious."

The girl nodded solemnly.

Destiny examined the tiny scrape.

"I don’t know. We may have to amputate."

The girl’s eyes widened.

Then Destiny grinned.

"I’m joking."

The girl laughed so hard she nearly fell again.

Destiny cleaned the wound with a little water and crushed herb paste before sending her back to her friends.

It was an ordinary afternoon.

That was what she loved about the village.

Everyone knew her.

Everyone had watched her grow up.

And yet, as she walked past the well, she heard two women talking.

"Still no mate?"

"Not yet."

"Such a pity. She’s a good girl."

Destiny kept walking.

She didn’t turn around.

She had heard variations of the same conversation for years.

She knew people meant well.

That somehow made it worse.

By the time she left the village, she was smiling again.

The smile disappeared as soon as the last houses fell behind her.

She looked down at the empty basket hanging from her hand.

A good girl.

That was how people saw her.

Reliable. Helpful. Quiet.

But sometimes she wondered whether anyone had ever actually looked at her and wondered who she was.

When she returned home, the house was quiet.

Destiny went to her room and locked the door.

She pulled the cracked stone from beneath the mattress.

This time, she did not tell herself it was nothing.

She placed it on the table and studied it.

The crack looked darker than it had that morning.

She touched it.

Nothing.

She waited.

Still nothing.

A nervous laugh escaped her.

"Maybe I really am losing my mind."

She picked up the stone again.

The moment her fingers closed around it, something cold moved through her palm.

Destiny dropped it.

The stone struck the table with a dull sound.

She stared at it.

Her heart began beating faster.

She waited.

Nothing happened.

After several seconds, she exhaled and picked it up again.

This time, she wrapped it tightly in cloth and placed it at the bottom of her travel bag.

She wasn’t taking any chances.

She had no idea what the stone was.

She only knew she had found it in a place she had never been allowed to visit as a child, and now strange things were happening around her.

She wanted answers.

She just wasn’t sure she was ready for them.

Near sunset, her father came through the front door carrying a folded piece of paper.

He looked unusually pleased.

Destiny glanced up from the shirt she was mending.

"What happened?"

He slipped the paper into his pocket.

"Get your things ready."

She frowned.

"For what?"

"We’re going to the Continental Trade Market tomorrow."

Her needle stopped halfway through the cloth.

"The market?"

Her father smiled.

"The one you’ve been asking about for years."

Destiny stared at him.

"You said it was too far."

"I changed my mind."

"Why?"

"Because you deserve to see something beyond these hills."

Her face broke into a smile before she could stop it.

"Really?"

Her mother came into the room carrying folded clothes.

"Really."

Destiny stood.

"When do we leave?"

"Early."

"How early?"

Her father laughed.

"Early enough that you’ll complain."

"I don’t complain."

Her mother and father looked at each other.

Then both laughed.

Destiny rolled her eyes.

For the first time all day, the strange weight inside her chest disappeared.

She had heard stories about the Continental Trade Market since she was a child. Traders came from distant territories, bringing fabrics she had never seen, spices she could not pronounce, and jewelry from places she had only heard about in passing.

And tomorrow, she would finally see it.

She spent the evening packing.

A few changes of clothes. Her small knife. A spare pair of boots. Some food for the road.

She hesitated before placing the bag beside her bed.

Her fingers found the stone beneath the fabric.

She wondered whether she should leave it behind.

She almost did.

Then she remembered the strange cold that had moved through her hand earlier.

She kept it.

That night, Destiny lay awake longer than she wanted to.

The house was quiet.

Her parents were asleep in the room across the hall.

She listened to their breathing through the thin walls and felt an unexpected ache of affection.

Whatever secrets they were keeping, they were still her parents.

They had raised her.

They had fed her, protected her, taught her how to work, and stayed beside her through every fever and injury.

Destiny didn’t know why the feeling of not belonging had followed her for so long.

Maybe it was nothing.

Maybe everyone felt that way sometimes.

She closed her eyes.

Tomorrow was only a market.

A simple trip.

A few days away from home.

She had no reason to be afraid.

But somewhere beyond the hills, on roads she had never traveled, people she had never met were already moving pieces into place.

Destiny knew none of their names.

She knew nothing about the danger waiting beyond the village.

She only knew that for the first time in years, something inside her was pulling her toward the unknown.

And by this time tomorrow, she would be walking into a world that had been searching for her long before she knew she was missing.