Page 118 of The Reluctant Alpha

I thought of Bayer, of the scars he carried from his father's cruelty. How many others had been hurt? How many traditions had been twisted into tools of control?

"That's why we're here," Sylvia said, straightening her shoulders. "Bayer is nothing like his father. And you..." Her eyes dropped briefly to where my hand rested on my small belly. "You're nothing like any mate we've had before."

"We want change," Maya said simply. "A true celebration that honors our past without repeating its mistakes."

I picked up the leather book, feeling its weight in my hands. "What exactly does this festival involve?"

"Traditionally, a feast," Sylvia explained, her expression lightening. "Games of strength and skill. Storytelling around the bonfire. An exchange of small gifts to symbolize the sharing of resources through winter."

"And honey cakes," Maya added with a small smile. "Always honey cakes."

I flipped through the book, scanning descriptions of rituals and traditions. Some seemed beautiful—the lighting of lanterns to guide wandering bears home, the weaving of protection charms from autumn leaves and berries. Others made me cringe—detailed instructions on how females should present themselves to dominant males, rules about who could speak and when."This is..." I trailed off, searching for a diplomatic word.

"Archaic?" Sylvia offered. "Misogynistic? A complete shit show?"

A startled laugh escaped me, breaking the tension. "All of the above, but I was trying to be polite."

Sylvia's eyes crinkled with amusement. "We've had enough politeness to last several lifetimes."

"So let me get this straight," I said, closing the book with a decisive snap. "You want me to reinvent this entire festival, toss out the misogynistic garbage, and create something that actually brings the pack together without anyone being humiliated or...made available?"

"That's exactly it." Maya nodded, hope brightening her features. "We thought, since you come from outside our traditions, you might see clearer paths forward."

“And we’d love to help,” Sylvia said eagerly. I put the book down and took both their hands.

“I’ll need a lot of help.” They both beamed. I drummed my fingers on the leather cover, my mind already racing with possibilities. "When exactly is this supposed to happen?"

"Twelve weeks from now," Sylvia replied. Maya winced at my face. "We would have come sooner, but we weren't sure if...well, if you'd be interested."

I took a deep breath, trying to center myself. "Okay. First things first. I need to understand what matters most about this celebration—the heart of it, not the twisted version Bayer's father created."

The women exchanged glances again, but this time, I recognized something like relief in their expressions. "At its core," Maya began slowly, "the Winter Festival is about security. About knowing your pack will protect you through the lean times."

"It's about preparation," Sylvia added. "Sharing knowledge, storing food, strengthening bonds that will see us through winter."

"And celebration," Maya said, her voice warming. "Acknowledging what we've accomplished and what lies ahead."

I nodded, thinking of my own family's traditions around Thanksgiving. "So, community, preparation, and celebration. That's something I can work with."

"You'll do it, then?" Sylvia asked, her voice carefully neutral, though her eyes betrayed her eagerness.

"We’ll do it," I corrected, feeling a strange mix of terror and exhilaration. "But I'll need your help. Both of you. And probably more bears who remember how things used to be, before they went wrong."

Maya's shoulders relaxed visibly. "We can gather a small planning committee. There are others who feel as we do."

"Good," I said, reaching for my tablet. "Because I have approximately a million questions, starting with: what the hell is a honey cake and why is it so important?"

For the next hour, the three of us talked through traditions, logistics, and possibilities. As Maya and Sylvia explained more about bear culture, I scribbled notes furiously, stopping them occasionally to clarify some cultural nuance I didn't understand.

"So let me summarize," I said, scrolling through my growing list. "The honey cakes symbolize sweetness through bitter hardship, the traditional games test skills needed for winter survival, and the gift exchange represents the community supporting each other?"

"Exactly," Sylvia nodded approvingly. "You're catching on quickly."

"And these protection charms—they're not just decorative?"

Maya shook her head. "They're believed to carry actual magic when made with intention. A connection to the earth that sustains us through winter."

I raised an eyebrow. "Real magic? Or traditional belief?"