Juno had always thought dawn patrols were her favorite.
The mountain was quiet then. The air sharp. The sky bleeding from black to blue. She could run the ridges with only the sound of her breath and paws on stone, every sense tuned to the subtle shifts of wind and scent.
Now, standing at the edge of the new ward line on the blood moon mountain, she wasn’t sure *favorite* was the right word anymore.
Necessary. That fit better.
She stamped her boots, breath puffing white in the thin air. Frost crusted the needles of the pines. The stones marking the newly reinforced perimeter glowed faintly, dull amber, runes etched into their surfaces by Irena’s careful hand.
Mira knelt beside one, tracing the groove of a sigil with nimble fingers, her breath fogging the air. “Line’s still holding,” she murmured. “Strong. No...itch.”
Juno’s shoulders loosened by a degree. “Good,” she said. “Last thing we need is a surprise guest before breakfast.”
Mira snorted. “You mean besides the one snoring in the Alpha’s Hall.”
Juno shot her a look. “He does *not* snore.”
“You wouldn’t know,” Mira said sweetly. “You’re in a different room.”
Heat crept up Juno’s neck. “I meant— Lysa would have complained,” she said. “If he was rattling the rafters.”
“Uh-huh,” Mira said. “Deflection noted.”
Kellan trotted up in wolf form, paws silent on the frost-hardened ground. His sandy-brown fur bristled slightly against the cold, breath coming in visible puffs.
*Perimeter clear,* he sent through the pack-mind, pawing at one of the stones. *No weird scents. Unless you count Soren’s specialist team. They smell like damp caves and bad decisions.*
Juno huffed a laugh down the link. *They arrived?*
*Half an hour ago,* Kellan replied. *Already arguing with Bram’s scouts about whose tunnels are bigger.*
Mira giggled. “Men,” she said aloud, straightening from the stone. “Give them a dark hole and they have to compare.”
Juno snorted. “You’re in a *mood* this morning,” she said.
“Deflection *still* noted,” Mira sang, then sobered. “Seriously, though. How’s your head?”
Juno rolled her shoulders, scanning the tree line. “Less...buzzing,” she said. “The echoes are fading. Or I’m getting used to them. I can go five whole minutes without remembering what it felt like to be halfway inside his skull.”
Mira made a face. “Romantic,” she said. “So the bond’s...quieter?”
“Yes and no,” Juno said. “Her absence is quieter. *He* is...”
She let the sentence trail off.
Mira’s mouth curved. “Louder?” she suggested. “More...present?”
Juno exhaled. “Yes,” she admitted. “But not in a...bad...way. Usually.”
Kellan shifted mid-stride, bones cracking, fur retreating. He shook out his human form, not bothering to pull on clothes yet, the cold not touching him much in wolf heat.
He scratched idly at his jaw. “Meaning what?” he asked. “Does he knock before barging into your brain now?”
“No,” Juno said, rolling her eyes. “But he *tries* not to listen in when I’m thinking about him in the bath.”
Kellan choked. “You told him that?”
“It slipped,” she muttered. “Blame the muffins.”
Mira looked far too pleased.
“Maybe we should put *you* on muffin ration,” Kellan said. “For the safety of the pack.”
Mira gasped. “Rude,” she said. “My muffins are a gift. And also a valuable diplomatic tool. I heard Soren almost proposed marriage after the second basket.”
“Exactly my point,” Kellan said.
Juno let their bickering wash over her, grateful for it.
Normal.
Or as close as they got lately.
She dragged her gaze back over the slope.
No rot.
No wrongness.
Just the usual mountain scents — pine, stone, damp loam.
Under it, faint but clear, a thread of *him*.
She didn’t have to close her eyes to follow it anymore. It was just...there. A quiet line tugging from her chest down toward the Hall.
*You up?* she thought.
A sleepy grumble answered. *Unfortunately.*
She smirked. *You asked for a real bed. Beds imply mornings.*
*I take it back,* he muttered. *Bring back the pit. No dawn.*
She snorted out loud.
Kellan raised an eyebrow. “He complaining already?” he asked.
“He’s allergic to mornings,” Juno said.
*I heard that,* Riven thought.
*Good,* she replied. *Get up. Lysa’s putting you through orientation today, remember? You’re late, she’ll use that as an excuse to make you rewrite all the patrol logs for a month.*
He groaned. She felt it in her own chest like a low rumble. *Fine,* he said. *But if I fall asleep in the middle, it’s your fault for dragging me into battles that last three days.*
*We dragged each other,* she shot back.
His presence warmed. *Fair.*
Mira watched her with that too-knowing look.
“What,” Juno snapped.
“You get this little smile when you’re talking to him,” Mira said softly. “You know that?”
“I do not,” Juno said hotly.
Mira shrugged. “Okay,” she said. “Deny your joy. See if I care.”
Kellan chuckled. “She gets defensive when she’s happy,” he observed. “Used to do the same thing when she’d come back from a patrol that went well. I’d say ‘nice run?’ and she’d growl at me for an hour.”
“Because you’d say it like you expected me to trip,” Juno muttered.
He grinned. “You did trip. A lot.”
She elbowed him.
He caught the motion, pivoted, and used her momentum to throw her.
She hit the ground with a thud, the breath whooshing out of her lungs.
For a heartbeat, instinct roared — *attack, bite*—
Then her training slotted in.
She rolled, grabbed his ankle, and yanked.
He went down with a yelp, landing in the frost.
Mira clapped. “Better,” she said. “Use that on demons.”
Juno lay there, panting, staring up at the pale sky.
Snow-flakes drifted lazily.
Winter was coming in earnest.
“You two done?” Corin’s voice cracked across the clearing. “Or should I assign an audience?”
They scrambled to their feet like pups caught raiding the bakery.
“Just...warming up,” Kellan said, running a hand through his hair.
Corin’s eyes cut to Juno. “Lysa wants you,” she said. “You too, Mira. Riven’s up. We’re doing the...fun part.”
Mira made a face. “Fun how?” she asked warily.
“Explaining to him how not to get himself murdered in the mess hall,” Corin said dryly.
Kellan snorted. “Good luck,” he said. “I’ll hold down the chill, non-trauma side of patrol.”
“Try not to flirt with the Maw’s leftover shadows,” Mira called after him.
“No promises,” he shouted back.
Juno dusted frost off her pants and followed Corin and Mira down the mountain path.
The Hall’s great doors stood open, warmth and the smell of woodsmoke spilling out.
Inside, the main room buzzed with wolves — some eating, some arguing, some slipping in and out with reports.
Riven stood near the big hearth, one hand crooked around a mug, the other resting lightly on the back of a chair.
He wore a plain dark sweater now, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, scars visible in the flickering light.
His hair was still damp, curling at the ends.
He looked...
Settled wasn’t the right word.
Less like he was waiting to be yanked backward at any moment.
He was speaking quietly with Ivo and an older Pine Crest wolf Juno recognized as Lysa’s uncle, Garrik.
Garrik’s laugh boomed, startling a nearby pup.
Riven’s mouth curved.
*He laughs,* Juno thought, surprised.
*He jokes,* Riven sent dryly. *Sometimes even on purpose.*
She rolled her eyes.
Corin clapped her hands once. “Alright,” she called. “Orientation time. New wolf class is in session.”
A few wolves made a show of groaning.
Someone shouted, “Do we get snacks?”
“Shut up,” Corin said without heat.
She jerked her chin at Riven. “You,” she said. “Front and center.”
He looked at Juno.
She nodded slightly.
He set his mug down and stepped forward.
The room shifted subtly — wolves angling themselves, eyes tracking.
Curiosity.
Suspicion.
A few thin threads of anger.
He felt them like physical touches.
His shoulders twitched.
Juno moved without thinking, closing the distance between them enough that her sleeve brushed his.
A few scents in the room eased.
Mira slid into place on his other side, a bright, unapologetic counterbalance.
Lysa emerged from her office, a stack of parchment under one arm.
She joined Corin at the front of the room, setting the papers down with a soft thwack.
“Listen up,” she said. “We’re doing this once. Pay attention. If I hear any of you ask Riven a question I’ve already answered, you’re cleaning the latrines for a week.”
Silence fell fast.
She faced Riven.
“You know our laws,” she said. “The basics. No killing pack. No stealing from pack. No compromising the borders. No dealing with dark shit in caves.”
A few snorts.
Riven’s mouth twitched. “I’m intimately familiar with that last one,” he said.
Lysa’s lips curved briefly. “Good,” she said. “You broke those rules already, on another mountain. You won’t here. Because if you do, I’ll cut your throat and throw you off a cliff.”
His jaw tightened. “Understood,” he said.
She turned to the room.
“That part’s simple,” she said. “What’s *less* simple is how we treat a wolf who’s been used by the thing we’re fighting. And how we *don’t* treat him.”
She let her gaze linger on a few faces Juno recognized as the den’s sharpest gossipers.
“No spitting,” Lysa said. “No shoving. No muttering ‘rogue’ under your breath when he walks by. I know some of you are...angry. Good. Be angry. At *her*. At the Maw. At me, if you must. Not at the knife we just ripped from her hand.”
Ivo raised a hand. “What *can* we do?” he asked. “Besides staring and making him feel like a deer in rut season?”
A few chuckles.
“Treat him like any other wolf,” Lysa said. “Until he proves otherwise. Challenge him in the ring if you want. Talk to him. Ask him about his home. Or ignore him, if you can’t manage that much civility yet. What you *don’t* do is poke at his scars to see how deep they go.”
Her eyes cut to a young male near the back who’d always had more bravado than brains.
He looked away quickly.
“Got it?” she asked the room.
A rumble of assent.
She turned back to Riven.
“Boundaries,” she said. “For you.”
His shoulders straightened.
“You don’t leave the Hall and courtyard without escort for now,” she said. “Not because I think you’ll run. Because some of mine,” she shot a look at Bram’s nephew, visiting on exchange, “might do something stupid if they catch you alone in a blind spot.”
Bram’s nephew bristled, then subsided under her stare.
“You don’t go near the pups unattended,” Lysa continued. “Again, not because I think you’ll hurt them. Because parents are protective and trauma is loud. We ease into that. You want to be around the younglings, you ask Sari. She decides.”
Riven nodded slowly. “Makes sense,” he said.
“You don’t enter the old mating circle without me,” Lysa said. “Not until we know exactly how that bond of yours behaves under open moonlight. You feel a tug that isn’t Juno, you tell me. Immediately.”
His throat bobbed. “I will,” he said.
“And you don’t,” she added, voice dropping slightly, “go into caves alone. Not the shallow ones. Not the deep ones. Not the ones you think are harmless. You so much as sniff a hole in the rock and think, ‘hmm, that looks interesting,’ you grab a wolf and tell them why they should drag you away from it.”
He flinched, old habits protesting.
“I won’t—” he started.
“You *will* want to,” Lysa cut in. “Sooner or later. Curiosity. Habit. Old hooks. We don’t pretend otherwise. We plan for it.”
He shut his mouth.
The honesty, again, hit him like a slap.
He nodded once.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
“Questions?” Lysa asked him.
He hesitated.
Then took a breath.
“What happens if...I...lose it,” he asked. “Not because of her. Because of me. Old patterns. A bad night. I...snap.”
The room went very still.
Juno’s lungs tightened.
Lysa didn’t look away.
“Then we stop you,” she said. “With teeth. With spells. With whatever we have. We knock you down. We chain you if we must. We wait. And if you can’t or won’t come back from it—”
Her eyes were steel.
“—we end it,” she finished. “Cleanly. To protect ours. Including Juno.”
The words landed heavy.
Riven’s wolf snarled internally.
His chest ached.
He appreciated the clarity even as some part of him recoiled.
“Understood,” he said.
Juno’s hand clenched at her side.
He felt it.
She didn’t argue.
He loved and hated her a little for that.
Lysa’s gaze softened by a sliver.
“And we *try*,” she added, “everything we can before that. Because you are not just a risk. You’re also a resource. A wolf. A *person.* We don’t throw those away lightly.”
Some of the tension in his shoulders bled out.
He nodded.
Corin stepped forward. “And for the record,” she said dryly, “if anyone’s going to punch you when you’re being an idiot, it’ll be me. Not some pup with more legs than sense.”
A ripple of chuckles eased the air.
Orientation, such as it was, complete, Lysa dismissed them with a wave.
“Go about your business,” she said. “We’ve got demons to irritate and tunnels to map. Riven—” She pointed at him and Juno. “You two. With me.”
Mira made a face. “Again?” she muttered. “At this rate, I’m going to start charging consultation fees.”
“Go change bandages,” Corin told her. “Healers miss you.”
Mira flounced off.
Kellan called, “Try not to bite each other’s heads off,” as he headed toward the gate with a patrol.
Riven muttered, “No promises,” under his breath.
Juno elbowed him.
They followed Lysa to the map room.
This time, a different face waited inside.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Weathered.
Alpha Soren.
He lounged in Lysa’s good chair like he owned it, one ankle crossed over his knee, a small leather journal in his hands.
He glanced up and grinned.
“Ah,” he said. “My favorite ill-advised couple.”
Juno sighed. “You’re supposed to be back on your own mountain,” she said. “Torturing your own wolves.”
“I will be,” he said. “After this charming little chat. And after I leave a few toys of my own up here.”
He flicked a glance at Riven. “Aside from him, of course.”
Riven folded his arms across his chest automatically.
“Relax,” Soren said. “If I wanted to steal him, I’d have done it while you were drooling on the ritual circle.”
Lysa pinched the bridge of her nose.
“You’re here to discuss the alliance terms,” she said. “Not to antagonize my wolves.”
Soren put a hand to his heart. “Can’t I do both?” he asked.
She glared.
He sighed. “Fine,” he said, straightening a little. “Serious face on.”
He turned to Juno and Riven, expression sharpening.
“I wanted to say this to your faces,” he said. “Not just over howls and messenger ravens. You changed the game. Both of you. I’ve been chipping at the Maw’s edges for years. Poking at rumors. Trying to find a way to make her *flinch.* You did it. That matters. To more than just these mountains.”
Juno blinked.
Riven frowned. “More?” he asked.
Soren’s gaze went distant for a second.
“The Maw isn’t just under your peaks,” he said. “Or Bram’s. Or mine. She has...mouths...all over. Caves. Swamps. Old wells in forgotten villages. I’ve seen what she leaves behind.”
The bitterness in his tone made Juno’s skin prickle.
“You’ve got allies you haven’t met yet,” Soren went on. “Wolves. Witches. Humans. Other things. Scattered. Scared. Hiding. When word gets out that someone bit her?” His smile turned sharp. “They’re going to look here.”
Riven stiffened. “You’re saying we just painted a target on the mountain,” he said.
Soren shrugged. “It was there already,” he said. “Now it’s...shinier.”
Lysa folded her arms. “Which is why we need to get ahead of it,” she said. “Set the terms. Decide who we let in. Who we send out. Who we trust.”
Soren nodded. “Silver Peak will keep our end,” he said. “We’ll send witches here. Fighters. Weirdos.” He smiled faintly. “You’ll like them. They’re blunt.”
Juno snorted. “That seems to be a theme,” she said.
Soren’s gaze slid to her.
“And you,” he said. “You’re going to be a symbol. Whether you like it or not. The wolf who pushed back. The one the Maw *noticed* and still didn’t swallow.” His eyes gleamed. “People love that shit.”
Juno’s stomach turned. “I’m not—”
“A hero?” he supplied. “Tough. Too late. Stories already started.”
Riven’s hand clenched at his side.
“And me?” he asked. “What am I? The cautionary tale?”
Soren’s smile gentled. “Both,” he said. “You’re the wolf who made a deal and then tried to bite the hand that fed him. People will point and say ‘don’t be like him.’ And others will point and say ‘if he can come back, maybe I can too.’ That’s...useful.”
Riven’s chest felt tight.
“Does it bother you?” Soren asked. “Being...seen...like that?”
Riven let out a breathy laugh. “I haven’t been seen as anything but a weapon in three years,” he said. “This is...an upgrade. Slightly.”
Juno’s throat ached.
“We’ll protect you,” she blurted. “As much as we can. From...being...used. Again.”
Riven’s eyes met hers.
Something hot and painful flickered there.
“I know,” he said softly.
Soren watched them, a dozen unreadable things flickering behind his eyes.
“You two,” he said, “are going to complicate everything. In the best and worst ways.”
“We’re trying to keep it to ‘best,’” Juno said dryly.
“Try harder,” Soren replied.
He pushed to his feet, stretching.
“I’m leaving three of mine up here,” he said. “Cave-runners. Rat-catchers. They know tunnels in ways your mountain boys don’t. Use them. Don’t feed them after midnight.”
Lysa snorted. “I’m not babysitting your strays,” she said.
“I’ll take them back in rotation,” he said. “You’ll get sick of them and beg me to.”
He paused at the door.
“Juno,” he said. “Riven. One more thing.”
They looked up.
“If you ever need to get out,” he said quietly. “For a day. A week. If being the pack’s miracle and mistake gets too loud...my mountain’s there. My door’s open. For both of you.”
Juno’s eyes widened.
Riven’s throat worked.
Lysa arched a brow. “Recruiting under my roof?” she asked.
“Offering options,” Soren said. “We fight better when we can breathe.”
He winked at them and sauntered out.
Silence lingered.
Juno exhaled slowly.
“Would you ever...go?” she asked Riven quietly. “To Silver Peak.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe,” he said. “Not now. Later. If...we need space.”
Her chest squeezed.
He added, quickly, “Not...from you. From...this. All of this.”
She nodded, jaw tight. “Good,” she said.
Lysa watched them with that evaluating look again.
“You two need to train together,” she said abruptly.
They blinked at her.
“What?” Juno asked.
“You’ve fought together under pressure once,” Lysa said. “We need more of that. Controlled conditions. Sparring. Drills. Learn each other’s tells. Limits.”
Riven grimaced. “You want us to hit each other,” he said.
“If you can’t land a punch on each other without breaking the bond, you have no business in a real fight,” Lysa said. “Training ring. Tomorrow morning. Don’t be late.”
She left them there, the command hanging in the air like a gauntlet.
Juno huffed. “I’m going to regret teaching you how to take a fall,” she muttered.
Riven’s lips quirked. “You assume you’ll be the one knocking me down,” he said.
“Confidence,” she said. “I like it.”
He stepped a fraction closer.
“Do you?” he asked, voice low.
Her breath caught.
She swallowed. “In the ring,” she said. “We’ll see.”
He smiled.
Slow. Dangerous.
The slow burn flared.
Fighting him, she thought, might be a terrible idea.
And exactly what she needed.
The mountain hummed under their feet.
Above, the blood moon had finally waned, but its echo lingered in the air.
Teeth were sharp.
Lines were drawn.
And the space between them—between Juno and Riven, between pack and lone, between earth and what gnawed beneath—was charged.
Ready.
Waiting.
For the next bite.