The second kiss was worse.
Or better.
Depending on who you asked.
Juno spent the rest of the day pretending it hadn’t happened.
The snow-race, the crash, the ridiculous, perfect slide of her mouth over Riven’s— it all lodged under her skin like a splinter. Every time she tried to focus on anything else, her brain snagged.
He’d gone pink down to his collarbones. She hadn’t known men that scarred could blush like that. His hands had been *gentle*. No yanking. No grabbing. Just a warm cup around her neck, like he was afraid she’d bolt.
She’d wanted to climb into his lap.
Instead, she’d laughed it off, thrown snow in Kellan’s face, and raced Mira back up the slope.
Later, when the sky dimmed and wolves drifted in from chores and patrols, Juno hauled herself into the Hall with sore legs and wind-burned cheeks.
The slow-burn part of her plan—the careful, rational part—had always been to *talk* before she did something irreversible. To map out what she wanted. To know her own mind before letting her wolf drag her into things her heart couldn’t carry.
Kissing Riven on a sled slope in front of an audience had not been part of that plan.
“You’re brooding,” Mira said, flopping onto the bench beside her at one of the long tables. “It’s a good look. Very tragic romance heroine.”
“I’m not brooding,” Juno muttered, tearing a piece of bread in half with more force than necessary. “I’m…processing.”
“Same thing,” Mira said cheerfully.
The Hall buzzed around them. Wolves ate and argued, the big central fire crackling. The smell of stew and smoke wrapped the room.
Riven sat two tables over, between Garrik and Ivo, a bowl in front of him. He looked…normal. Or as normal as he got. He laughed at something Garrik said, head tipped back, throat exposed.
The new scar along his neck caught the firelight.
Heat speared low in Juno’s belly.
She forced her eyes back to her stew.
Mira propped her chin on her hand, watching Juno with undisguised curiosity.
“So,” she said. “How was it?”
Juno didn’t pretend not to know what she meant.
“Cold,” she said flatly. “My nose was numb.”
Mira snorted. “Liar.”
Juno scowled at her bowl. “It was…good,” she admitted. The word felt inadequate. “Scary. Like…standing on the edge of a cliff and deciding to step off and trusting you remembered how to land.”
Mira’s eyes softened. “You trust him that much?” she asked quietly.
Juno’s heart did an uncomfortable little twist. She thought about Mother Below. About roots in throats. About what trusting Riven had already cost and saved.
“I trust…” She exhaled. “I trust him to try. To choose us. To warn me if he can’t. That’s…more than I’ve trusted anyone in a long time.”
Mira nodded slowly. “That’s something,” she said. “You going to tell Lysa?”
Juno choked on her stew. “Why would I—”
“Because she already knows,” Mira said dryly. “Half the den saw you. What, you think news like that doesn’t hit the gossip line before the snow melted?”
Juno groaned and thunked her forehead gently against the table. “Kill me,” she muttered.
“Can’t,” Mira said. “You’re too useful.”
A low, amused voice said, “You two planning a murder? Should I be worried?”
Juno straightened so fast she almost cracked her skull on Mira’s chin.
Riven stood at the end of the bench, bowl in hand, eyes glinting.
He’d stripped off his coat, sleeves pushed up, forearms corded with lean muscle. His hair was still damp from the snow, curling at his nape.
Her heart stuttered.
Mira scooted immediately, making space. “Sit,” she commanded. “I want to watch Juno try to act like she didn’t stick her tongue in your mouth earlier.”
Riven’s ears went pink. “Mira,” Juno hissed.
He set his bowl down and slid onto the bench across from them, shoulders hunched slightly as if bracing for thrown food.
Some heads turned.
Most didn’t.
That, Juno realized with a strange pinch of gratitude, was a change. A week ago, his sitting at any Pine Crest table would have drawn a hush.
Now, he was…part of the background noise.
Still watched by some.
But not the *only* thing.
She scooped another spoonful of stew, more to give her hands something to do than because she was hungry.
He watched her for a moment, then cleared his throat.
“So,” he said. “About…earlier.”
Mira’s eyes went very round.
“Leave,” Juno told her through her teeth.
Mira blinked innocently. “I’m emotionally invested,” she protested. “You can’t just—”
Juno turned her head slowly.
Mira read the look and sighed dramatically. “Fine,” she huffed, standing. “But if you start making out on the table, I’m coming back. For science.”
She sauntered off toward the fire, no doubt to find Ivo and feed him gossip.
Riven waited until she was out of earshot.
“Smooth,” he said. “Very subtle.”
“Shut up,” Juno muttered.
He huffed a tiny laugh, then sobered.
“Did I…cross a line?” he asked quietly. “On the slope.”
She looked up, startled.
His eyes were serious now, not teasing.
Her chest tightened.
“You didn’t grab me,” she said. “You didn’t…push. I kissed you as much as you kissed me.”
His shoulders eased, just a fraction.
“Okay,” he said. “Good.”
“Why?” she asked. “You worried Lysa’s going to castrate you?”
“Among other things,” he said dryly. “I spent three years in a place where consent wasn’t exactly a word in the vocabulary. I don’t want to…drag any of that into this.”
Her anger at *that*—at what he’d been made to do, what had been done to him—flared hot and sharp.
“You didn’t,” she said. “That’s…part of why it was good.”
He blinked.
“Good,” he repeated, as if testing the word against reality.
She felt something inside him through the bond— a flicker of pure, stunned joy.
It made her want to kiss him again.
Instead, she shoved a piece of bread into her mouth.
“Are we…in trouble?” he asked after a moment, lower. “With your alpha.”
Juno grimaced. “She made a comment,” she said. “About my aunt planning grandchildren.”
He choked on his stew. “Grand—”
“She *joked*,” Juno clarified quickly. “I think. Mostly. But she didn’t…forbid anything. Just reminded me she doesn’t want me making life-changing decisions because adrenaline is high and my hormones are stupid.”
He nodded slowly. “Wise,” he said. “Hate that she’s right.”
“Same,” Juno sighed.
Silence settled.
But it wasn’t the heavy, tense kind.
It was…thick.
Full.
He scooped up another spoonful of stew, then paused.
“Can I be honest about something?” he asked.
She snorted. “You’ve been vomiting up your trauma at my feet for weeks,” she said. “Might as well add feelings.”
He gave her a look.
She shrugged, lips twitching.
“Yes,” she added. “Be honest.”
He fiddled with his spoon for a second, then set it down.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the first night,” he said quietly. “In the cage. When you dropped to your knees in the circle and looked at me like the world had ended and started at the same time.”
Her breath hitched.
“I didn’t,” he went on. “Because it would have been…wrong. You were scared. Angry. I was chained. She was watching. It would have felt like…another leash. Another demand.”
His jaw clenched.
“I told myself I wouldn’t…do that,” he said. “Wouldn’t take anything from you the bond didn’t offer freely. So I waited. And told myself I’d be fine if I waited forever. That I didn’t *need* that.”
He huffed a breath.
“And then you leaned in on that damn sled hill and my brain turned to static,” he finished.
Her heart pounded.
She swallowed hard.
“I’ve thought about it too,” she admitted, heat crawling up her neck. “Since…that first night. In the circle. When you grabbed the bars like the bond had punched you. When you said ‘not you’ in my head and meant it.”
He stared at her.
The bond flared.
She rushed on. “I told myself it was just…biology. Magic. That I was attracted because the moon said so. That I could ignore it. Be practical. Plan. And then you made that stupid joke about being a weapon and I started…liking you. For you. Not just your scars and tragic eyes.”
“Tragic—” he began.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” she cut in.
He shut his mouth.
His smile, though, was real.
“So,” he said. “We both…wanted it. We both…waited. We both…did it. In the dumbest, most public way possible.”
“Accurate,” she said.
He exhaled.
“Okay,” he said again. “Okay.”
Her shoulders dropped.
“Do you…regret it?” he asked.
“No,” she said, and she didn’t have to think about it. “You?”
He shook his head. “No.”
Something inside her loosened.
She hadn’t realized how much she’d braced for him to say *yes*—that it had been a mistake, that it made things harder.
“It does make things harder,” he said, because of course he heard that.
She groaned. “Stop eavesdropping.”
He smiled slightly. “Can’t help it,” he said. “You’re loud.”
She kicked him lightly under the table.
He nudged her back.
Their knees pressed together.
The contact sent a small, satisfying shock through her.
“We don’t have to…define anything right now,” he said, voice softer. “We’ve got a mountain full of caves and a god with a grudge to deal with. But I needed you to know this isn’t just…pit-deprivation talking. Or the bond. It’s...me. Wanting you.”
Her throat tightened.
“Same,” she said hoarsely. “Stupidly. Entirely. Me.”
He sucked in a breath.
The Hall around them blurred for a second.
She heard someone say something about a lost sock; someone else complain about patrol rotations. Life, oblivious.
“Okay,” he said for the third time, like he was engraving it into stone.
She smiled, small.
“Okay,” she echoed.
They finished their stew.
Their knees stayed pressed together the whole time.
No one commented.
Much.
***
That night, Juno lay awake longer than usual.
Mira’s breathing evened out quickly, years of training and exhaustion knocking her under.
Juno stared at the ceiling.
The kiss replayed again and again.
The way his hand had cupped her neck.
The little sound he’d made.
Her wolf paced happily, replaying it too.
*Again,* her wolf hummed. *More. Deeper.*
*Later,* Juno told her. *After we don’t die.*
Her wolf huffed. *Always later,* she complained. *What if later doesn’t come?*
The question coiled in Juno’s chest.
She rolled onto her side, facing the wall.
*Riven,* she thought.
He answered immediately.
*Yeah,* he said, voice fuzzy with sleep.
*Sorry,* she said. *Did I wake you?*
*No,* he lied terribly. *I was awake. Thinking about…barley quotas.*
She snorted into her pillow.
*Liar,* she said.
He huffed a laugh.
They lay there, separate yet together, connected by that invisible line.
*You scared?* she asked, more quietly.
A pause.
Then: *Yeah,* he admitted. *Of…a lot. The pool. The Maw. Your alpha. You. Myself.*
Her heart squeezed.
*Same,* she said.
They didn’t try to untangle it.
Not tonight.
They just…drifted.
Her last coherent thought before sleep finally took her was of the way his lips had tasted like cold air and the promise of something that might, if they let it, be theirs.
Not fate’s.
Not the Maw’s.
Theirs.
She fell asleep with a faint smile on her face.
Mira snored.
Across the hall, Riven did too.
Just a little.
---