Three days after the sled slope kiss, Juno got her first taste of how fast word traveled beyond their own den.
The messenger arrived at midmorning — a lean young wolf from a small valley pack to the east, cheeks raw from wind, cloak crusted with ice.
Juno was in the courtyard, helping a few of the older wolves repair a cracked water barrel, when the horn at the gate sounded.
Heads lifted.
Lysa stepped out of the Hall, eyes narrowing.
The gate creaked open.
The messenger bowed low. “Alpha Lysa,” he panted. “Message from Alder Run.” He held out a sealed leather tube, fingers shaking from cold and nerves.
Lysa took it, broke the wax, scanned the hastily scrawled note inside.
Her mouth thinned.
“Corin,” she called. “Juno. With me.”
Juno exchanged a glance with Corin, who’d been arguing with a carpenter about reinforcing beams.
Corin sighed. “Of course,” she muttered. “Barrel later. Crisis now.”
They followed Lysa into the small council room off the main hall — a snug space lined with shelves of old maps and ledgers, a heavy table in the center.
Lysa tossed the message onto the table.
“Read,” she said shortly.
Juno picked it up.
The handwriting was rough but legible.
Alpha Lysa,
Word travels on wind and wild things.
We heard what you did at the Gathering.
What your wolves did. What the Maw did.
We have felt her under our hills for years. Lost a whole clutch of pups to a sickness that smelled wrong. Buried elders who muttered about Mother Below in their fever.
We thought it was just us.
Two nights ago, our lower spring turned black.
Not like mud.
Like *ink*.
We can’t drink it.
The deer won’t go near.
We warded as best we could and prayed to Above and Below.
Then the crow flew over with the story of your circle.
Your bite.
We ask for help.
Not pity.
Not charity.
Knowledge.
If you have teeth that work against her, we want to learn how to grow our own.
We send our best runner to your door.
We await your answer.
— Helvar, Alpha of Alder Run
Juno’s throat tightened.
She handed the note to Corin without a word.
Corin read it, jaw clenching.
“Of course,” she muttered. “Of course the minute we take a swing, the neighbors show up asking for lessons.”
“They’re not wrong to,” Juno said quietly. “If I’d heard someone else bit her and I’d felt that—” She gestured vaguely at the floor. “—under my den, I’d be running too.”
Lysa leaned on the back of a chair, knuckles whitening on the worn wood.
“Alder Run is three days east,” she said. “Small pack. Maybe forty wolves. Good farmers. Stubborn. We share a border at the high creek.”
“I remember Helvar,” Corin said. “He’s the one who told Soren to shove his suggestion about shared winter hunting up his ass.”
Lysa’s mouth twitched. “That’s the one,” she said.
“So our reputation’s spreading,” Juno said. “Fast.”
“Too fast,” Lysa said. “I knew it would ripple. I didn’t expect the first wave to hit before the blood moon’s taste was out of our mouths.”
Her eyes flicked to Juno.
“He mentions *teeth,*” she said. “Not ‘save us,’ not ‘take our problem.’ He wants to learn. That’s…good. Better than begging.”
Juno nodded slowly. “Means he won’t expect you to fix everything for free,” she said. “Just…show him where to swing.”
“Or he’ll expect us to hand over our best weapon,” Corin said. Her gaze cut to Juno. “Or our…best two.”
Juno’s stomach dipped.
“You think he’ll ask for…us,” she said, voice flat.
“He’d be a fool not to,” Corin said. “If I were Helvar, I’d want an alliance. A patrol exchange. Maybe even a mated tie.”
Lysa’s eyes sharpened. “Mm,” she said noncommittally.
Juno’s hackles lifted. “I’m not—”
“No one is talking about throwing you at an outsider like a bone,” Lysa cut in, a warning edge under her words. “Stop borrowing fights that aren’t on the table yet.”
Juno clamped her jaw shut.
Heat crawled up her neck.
She hated that Lysa could see that particular fear so clearly: being used as a diplomatic tool. A leverage point. A *name* to bind alliances with.
Her parents had been mated across pack lines. It had been a love match, yes. But also a political one. A bridge between Pine Crest and a now-vanished valley pack.
Juno had grown up with whispers about her “value” even before the bond had snapped.
“You’re not a coin,” Lysa said more softly, as if reading her mind again. “And neither is he. This isn’t a market. It’s a war council.”
Corin nodded reluctantly. “We do need allies, though,” she said. “We can’t be the only ones on this mountain poking at the Maw. We’ll burn out.”
Juno forced herself to breathe.
“What if we…send knowledge,” she suggested slowly, “instead of wolves. At first. Warded instructions. Stories. A witch liaison. We don’t have to hand over our…core.”
Lysa’s mouth curved. “That’s why I wanted you here,” she said. “You think like a scout and a strategist. We don’t throw our best blades into unfamiliar hands without dulling the edges first.”
Juno exhaled.
Lysa tapped the parchment once. “I’ll send a reply,” she said. “Offer Helvar a meeting at the new camp on the blood moon mountain. Neutral ground. We share what we know. We see what *he* knows. We decide from there.”
Corin nodded. “Smart,” she said. “Keeps him off our main den. Keeps us from walking blind into his.”
Lysa’s gaze slid back to Juno. “You’re part of that meeting,” she said. “So is Riven.”
Juno’s pulse jumped. “You sure?” she asked. “You don’t think…waving him in front of another alpha this soon is…risky?”
“Everything we do is risky,” Lysa said dryly. “Better I control how he hears about our…knife…than let rumors warp it.”
Juno grimaced. “He’s going to hear ‘bit a god’ and ‘mated to a half-feral ex-rogue’ and think ‘perfect fodder for my problems,’” she said.
“Then we disabuse him of that notion,” Lysa said. “Politely. With teeth.”
Juno nodded slowly.
“Write the answer now,” Corin said to Lysa. “Send the runner back before his paws freeze off.”
Lysa sank into the chair and reached for ink and quill.
Juno slipped out.
The air in the Hall felt different now. The den, once their whole world, suddenly felt like just one den among many.
The Maw’s reach was wider than their ridges.
So was their story.
Riven found her on the steps outside, hands shoved in his pockets, watching pups hurl snowballs at each other near the gate.
“You look like someone told you we’re out of coffee,” he said.
“That would be worse,” she said.
He huffed a laugh. “What happened?”
“Message from Alder Run,” she said. “Their spring turned black. They heard about our bite. They’re asking for help.”
His jaw tightened.
“Fuck,” he said softly.
“Yeah,” she said.
He leaned against the stone railing, shoulder brushing hers.
“They’re not the only ones,” he murmured. “I’ve seen signs like that elsewhere. Before. A well gone bad. A pond that curdled overnight. The Maw likes...water. Veins. Things that spread.”
Her stomach twisted.
“Lysa’s going to meet with their alpha on the blood moon mountain,” she said. “Neutral ground. She wants us there.”
He grimaced. “Of course she does,” he said. “Why wouldn’t she bring her shiny new cursed couple to show off?”
“Shiny?” she echoed.
He smirked. “You know what I mean,” he said. “We’re...symbols now.”
The word sat heavy.
Juno scraped frost off the stone with her thumb.
“You ever think about…what she called you,” she asked. “Mother Below. Before. Before all this. What name she *gave* you.”
He stiffened.
The brand at his neck itched.
“Beast,” he said flatly. “Dog. Weapon. Pet. Never...Riven. Not unless she wanted something.”
Juno’s throat tightened.
“Names matter,” she said quietly. “Helvar’s letter…he used ‘Maw.’ ‘Mother Below.’ The old words. The mountain names. But he didn’t put a name to *us.* To what we are. What we did.”
Riven’s gaze slid to her.
“What are we?” he asked.
Her lips twisted. “Idiots,” she said. “Lunatics. Wolves with too much teeth and not enough sense to stay out of caves.”
He snorted. “Fair,” he said. “But you mean…more.”
She sighed.
“I’ve been thinking about that ever since Soren called us a ‘story,’” she admitted. “Not in the romantic way. In the…dangerous way. Stories travel. They get retold. Names change. Meanings shift. We can’t control that. But maybe we can…shape it. A little.”
He arched a brow. “You want to pick our…title?” he asked. “Brand the branders?”
She huffed. “Something like that,” she said. “If we leave it to others, we’ll end up ‘the cursed pair’ or ‘the Maw’s mistake’ or ‘the tragic lovers’ or some bullshit. I’d rather we be ‘the ones who bit back.’”
His lips curved.
“The Biters?” he suggested. “Very dignified.”
She elbowed him. “You know what I mean.”
His smile lingered.
Then softened.
“Bite-back wolves,” he said. “Kind of like it.”
“Sounds better in the old tongue,” she murmured. “Granda used to say ‘gari’ for wolves that turned on their hunters. Means…’teeth turned.’”
He rolled the word in his mouth. “Gari,” he repeated. “I like that.”
She shrugged. “Helvar doesn’t have to use it,” she said. “No one does. It’s just…for us. A way to say we’re not *hers.* Not theirs. Not just ‘rogue’ and ‘alpha’s pet project.’”
His eyes warmed.
“For us,” he echoed softly.
The bond hummed.
A private word.
A private name.
Something they chose.
Not given.
It shouldn’t have meant as much as it did.
It did.
Footsteps crunched in the snow behind them.
Lysa emerged, cloak wrapped tight around her shoulders, Corin at her side.
“The runner’s gone,” she said. “Helvar will be at the blood moon camp in five days. With a small party. No more than six wolves.”
“Plenty,” Corin muttered.
Lysa’s gaze flicked between Juno and Riven. “You’ll both be rested by then,” she said. “Use the time. Train. Talk. Sleep. Because after that, we’re not just fighting for this den. We’re giving other packs excuses to show up at our door with their own black springs and expect answers.”
Juno nodded.
Riven swallowed.
“Understood,” he said.
Lysa’s eyes lingered on him.
“You’re doing well,” she said abruptly. “Better than I expected.”
He blinked.
“I—” He cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he said, genuinely thrown.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” she said. “You’re still a mess.”
He huffed a laugh. “Yes, Alpha,” he said.
She smirked, just a fraction, then turned back inside.
Corin followed, but not before giving them both a look that said *I’m watching you* and *don’t screw this up* in equal measure.
When they were alone again, Riven let out a long breath.
“Did your alpha just…compliment me?” he asked.
“Don’t get used to it,” Juno said. “Those are rare. Like blue moons. And relaxed Lysa.”
He smiled.
Then, more quietly: “Gari, huh?”
She nodded.
He rolled the word again.
“Feels…right,” he said.
Warmth spread through her chest.
“Good,” she said. “Because whether Helvar uses it or not, that’s what I’ll call us.”
His eyes darkened.
“You have no idea how much I like hearing you say ‘us,’” he murmured.
Her breath caught.
Heat climbed her neck.
“Shut up,” she muttered, bumping his shoulder with hers.
He laughed.
The mountain watched.
Names whispered.
The story of the bite-back wolves slithered beyond their ridges, carried on crows’ wings and river currents.
They couldn’t control all of it.
But some of it?
Some of it, they could claim.
Gari.
Teeth turned.
Their teeth.
Their choice.
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