Snow came overnight.
Not a polite dusting.
A full, deep, transforming fall.
Juno woke to a muffled world, sound deadened by thick drifts piled on roofs and ledges. Her breath fogged in the cold air of the bunkroom as she sat up, blankets sliding off her shoulders.
Mira snored gently in the next bed, one arm flung over her face.
Juno padded to the small window and pushed the shutters open carefully.
White.
Everywhere.
The courtyard below was a smooth, unbroken blanket. The pines along the ridge bent under the weight of snow on their branches, dark against the pale sky.
Her wolf perked up, pressing against her ribs eagerly.
*Run,* her wolf hummed. *Roll. Bite snow. Go.*
She smiled, a rare, uncomplicated curve.
The bond thrummed.
*You seeing this?* she thought.
Riven’s sleepy grumble answered. *I’m seeing the inside of my eyelids,* he muttered. *It’s very dark.*
*Get up,* she told him. *We have...logistics to do before we play.*
He sighed, dramatically. *Fine,* he said. *Slave driver.*
She laughed aloud.
Mira stirred. “You’re cheerful,” she mumbled. “Suspicious.”
“Snow,” Juno said simply.
Mira rolled onto her back and squinted at the window. “Oh,” she breathed. “Pretty.”
Juno tugged on warm clothes — thick wool socks, worn boots, a lined jacket. She braided her curls back, stuffing the ends under a knit cap.
By the time she stepped into the Hall, the den was already buzzing.
Wolves shoveled paths.
Pups shrieked as they were unceremoniously dumped into snowbanks by older cousins.
Sari barked orders about salting steps.
Garrik stood near the entrance, a slate in hand, already organizing supply runs.
Riven hovered slightly to the side, hands shoved into his pockets, hair damp from a quick wash.
He wore a heavy sweater and a coat Juno hadn’t seen before — dark blue, lined with fur at the collar. It made his eyes look greener.
Her stomach did an odd flip.
“Morning,” he said, voice rough.
“Define—” she started, then stopped herself with a grimace. “Never mind. Snow.”
He cracked a sleepy smile. “You two really like frozen water,” he said.
“It’s in the blood,” she replied. “Come on. Garrik’s going to show you the glamorous world of grain-sack counting.”
Garrik did.
For three hours.
They trudged through the snow to the lower storehouses, checked the state of the roofs, counted sacks of dried beans and barrels of salt meat, discussed rotation schedules and trade agreements.
Riven listened.
Asked questions.
He learned how far down the mountain the pack’s terraced fields reached. Which valley families they traded with for root vegetables. Which herders brought their flocks up in summer.
Juno watched him as much as she listened.
He asked about the names of the farmers.
Whether they had pups.
What they did when wolves weren’t around.
It surprised her.
She’d expected him to focus on security weak points.
Not...people.
He caught her watching once.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “You’re just...paying attention.”
He snorted. “You say that like it’s unusual,” he said.
“You’ve spent three years being used,” she said softly. “Couldn’t blame you if you didn’t care how many sacks of barley we have.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I like knowing what keeps you alive,” he said. “Because she’ll try to rot it. Someday. Maybe not here. Maybe not soon. But...food is power.”
Her chest tightened.
“True,” she said.
By mid-afternoon, Garrik released them with a grunt. “Go play,” he said. “You’re no use to me with your eyes glazing over.”
Juno grinned. “Race,” she reminded Riven.
He groaned. “I was hoping you’d forget,” he said.
Mira materialized as if summoned by the word. “Race?” she chirped. “I heard race.”
Kellan appeared at her elbow, scarf wrapped haphazardly around his neck. “You summoned me,” he said solemnly. “I’m here to win.”
Ivo bounded up behind them. “I brought sleds,” he said, gesturing grandly.
Four simple wooden contraptions lay on the snow — flat boards with upturned fronts, crude runners underneath, rope handles.
Sari stood near them, arms crossed. “You break a leg, don’t come crying to me,” she said. “Wait for the healer to yell at you.”
“We won’t break anything,” Juno said. “Except pride.”
Riven eyed the sleds warily. “I haven’t done this since I was a pup,” he admitted.
Mira clapped. “Perfect,” she said. “We’ll get to see you wipe out in real time.”
They climbed the slope beyond the den, sleds dragging behind them, boots crunching in the fresh snow.
The world up here was blindingly white.
The sky a hard, pale blue.
The air so cold it burned Juno’s lungs.
Her wolf thrilled at it.
They reached a natural slope — steep enough to be exciting, not so steep as to be suicidal. Trees flanked it on either side, their trunks dark pillars against the snow.
“Rules,” Kellan said. “No magic pushes. No tripping. First to the boulder at the bottom wins. Loser has to do Sari’s dishes for a week.”
“Absolutely not,” Mira said. “That’s a death sentence.”
“Loser has to fetch firewood for a week,” Ivo amended.
“Done,” Juno said. “I’m not losing.”
Riven raised an eyebrow. “Confident,” he said.
“Always,” she replied.
They positioned the sleds at the top of the slope.
Kellan and Ivo took the outer lanes.
Juno and Riven in the middle.
Mira stood behind them, scarf pulled up over her mouth, eyes gleaming. “On my count,” she said. “Three. Two. One. Go!”
They pushed off.
The sleds lurched.
Gravity took over.
Snow sprayed.
Wind knifed Juno’s face.
She leaned forward, weight shifting, knees flexing to absorb bumps.
The sled hissed over the packed surface.
Adrenaline surged.
She laughed — a sharp, wild sound torn from deep in her chest.
Beside her, Riven hunched low, knuckles white on the rope. His sled wobbled dangerously once, then straightened.
“Lean left!” she shouted. “Follow the dip!”
He obeyed without thought.
His sled shot over a small bump and briefly left the ground.
He whooped.
The sound surprised them both.
Juno grinned, teeth aching from the cold.
Ahead, Kellan had taken an early lead, long legs and years of practice giving him an edge.
Ivo’s sled bounced wildly as he hit every possible rut.
They rocketed down the slope.
Trees blurred.
The den shrank behind them.
For a few heartbeats, there was nothing but speed and cold and the wild joy of letting go.
No gods.
No roots.
No scars.
Just the mountain and the rush.
Juno’s sled hit a drift and veered.
She jerked the rope, correcting.
Riven’s sled slid closer, their paths converging.
They bumped.
Her shoulder smashed into his.
The impact jolted through both of them.
Their sleds jittered, then steadied.
“You trying to knock me off?” he shouted over the wind.
“You’re in my lane!” she yelled back.
They exchanged a grin.
A challenge.
She leaned forward, pushing for more speed.
He matched her.
Kellan shouted something cocky over his shoulder, then promptly hit a hidden rock and flipped.
He slid the rest of the way on his back, laughing and cursing.
“Idiot!” Mira hollered from the top.
Ivo spun out in a spray of snow, sled careening off into a drift.
Juno and Riven shot past them both, neck and neck.
The big boulder at the bottom loomed.
Juno dug her heels in at the last moment, trying to brake just enough to avoid crashing.
Her sled skidded.
She flew off sideways, tumbling in a spray of powder.
Riven overshot, his sled slewing sideways and dumping him unceremoniously into a snowbank.
They both lay there for a second, breath knocked out of them, staring up at the sky.
Then they laughed.
Real, full-belly laughter.
The kind that shook their ribs and made their eyes water.
Kellan staggered down, covered in snow, wheezing. “You...cheated,” he gasped. “Riven, you...drafted her.”
“Possibly,” Riven said, still laughing. “I blacked out from the cold.”
Mira slid gracefully to a stop near them, having apparently decided racing was less fun than spectating. “You both wiped out,” she pointed out. “I think that’s a tie. Kellan and Ivo do dishes.”
“Appeals?” Ivo called, extricating himself from his drift. “I demand a recount!”
“Nope!” Sari’s voice floated faintly up from the den. “You lost! Enjoy the soap!”
Juno sat up, still giggling.
Snow clung to her lashes.
Her nose was numb.
Riven flopped onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow, looking at her.
His hair was full of snow.
His cheeks flushed red.
There was snow stuck to his eyelashes too.
He looked...young.
Not the haunted, scarred man who’d snarled in a cage.
A wolf.
Her wolf.
Warmth surged in her chest.
She sobered slightly, breath still puffing in little clouds.
“See?” she said. “Gravity can be fun.”
He snorted. “Remind me of that when I can’t feel my ass,” he said.
She grinned.
A clump of snow slid down his collar.
He shivered, making a face.
“Cold,” he complained.
She laughed.
On impulse, she reached over and brushed some of the snow off his shoulder, fingers lingering on the rough wool of his coat.
His breath hitched.
Their gazes locked.
The world narrowed.
Again.
The slope, the trees, the den — all blurred at the edges.
Her glove-clad hand slid up, tracing the curve of his shoulder, the line of his neck, stopping just shy of the scar.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t push.
Didn’t pull.
Just...waited.
Her heart pounded.
Rule three echoed in her head.
Her wolf rolled her eyes. *Rules are guidelines,* she said lazily.
*They are not,* Juno snapped internally.
*You’re not in a fight,* her wolf pointed out. *You’re in snow. With sun. And laughter. And a male who just let you beat him down a hill. Different rulebook.*
She swallowed.
Her fingers brushed the edge of his jaw.
His stubble scratched the knit of her glove.
He exhaled slowly.
“Juno,” he said softly.
The way he said her name — like a prayer, like a curse, like a promise — made something in her unravel.
She leaned in.
Slowly.
Giving him time to lean away.
He didn’t.
Their noses brushed first.
Cold.
Then, finally, their mouths.
It wasn’t like the explosion of the bond in the cage.
It wasn’t under the eyes of the entire pack.
It wasn’t in the middle of a ritual designed to bait a god.
It was...soft.
Tentative.
Warm, despite the snow.
His lips were chapped, rough and tender at once.
He tasted like cold air and leftover coffee and something distinctly *him.*
A noise escaped her — a tiny, surprised hum.
He responded with a soft groan, hand lifting to cup the side of her neck gently, thumb brushing her jaw.
Fire roared through her veins.
The bond flared — not painfully.
Brightly.
Sparks.
For a moment, everything felt right.
Like this had always been waiting.
Like the mountain itself sighed in relief.
Then—
Someone wolf-whistled.
“Finally!” Ivo hollered. “I was starting to think you two were broken!”
Juno jerked back, eyes wide, face flaming.
Riven swore, low and murderous.
Kellan groaned theatrically. “This is worse than watching my parents kiss,” he complained.
Mira clapped delightedly. “Yes!” she crowed. “Slow burn my ass. We are *igniting.*”
Sari’s voice floated up again. “If you’re done rubbing faces, I need someone to chop wood!”
Juno wanted to sink into the snow and never emerge.
Riven scrubbed a hand over his face, cheeks red for reasons beyond the cold.
“Rule three?” he said weakly.
She huffed a breath that was half-laugh, half-sob. “Broken,” she admitted.
“Yeah,” he said. “But...”
He looked at her.
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Worth it,” he said.
Her heart did a ridiculous little flip.
“Yeah,” she agreed, voice soft.
Then, because she was Juno and because the mountain under her feet still shook and because gods still chewed under the roots of the world, she straightened her spine and pointed a gloved finger at Ivo.
“You breathe a word of this to Lysa,” she warned, “and I’ll feed you to the Maw myself.”
Ivo laughed. “My lips are sealed,” he said. “Unlike yours.”
Mira cackled.
Kellan groaned again.
Riven chuckled.
Juno rolled her eyes.
The slow burn had officially hit its first proper flame.
The world hadn’t ended.
No gods had crashed down from the sky.
Snow still fell.
Wolves still laughed.
The mountain still stood.
Juno’s lips still tingled.
Riven’s fingers still remembered the shape of her neck.
There would be consequences.
Conversations.
Maybe another lecture from Lysa.
Definitely more teasing from Mira.
There would also be more caves.
More teeth.
More choices.
But for that moment, on that slope, with cold seeping into her boots and heat curling in her belly and his breath ghosting white in front of her, Juno let herself simply...be.
Mate.
Wolf.
Woman.
Alive.
The mountain watched.
The Maw shifted far below.
And the story — gods help them — kept going.