The night before Helvar was due to arrive, Bram finally did what everyone had been waiting for him to do.
He cornered Riven.
It happened in the Hall, after most wolves had drifted away to bed or guard posts.
Juno was perched on the edge of the hearth, turning a small carved wolf between her fingers — a pup had shoved it at her earlier and declared it “her spirit animal,” then run off.
Riven sat on the floor near her, back to the fire-warmed stone, long legs stretched out. He’d been telling Mira and Ivo about a ridiculous Ridge Hollow festival he’d once snuck into as a teenager, complete with painted wolves and too much spiced ale.
Mira had been laughing so hard she’d almost spilled her tea.
Then Bram’s shadow fell over them.
The Ridge Hollow alpha loomed, broad and solid, beard bristling.
Conversation around the fire stuttered, then went quiet.
Mira’s eyes flicked between Bram and Riven.
Ivo made a subtle show of slipping away.
Juno stiffened.
Riven turned his head slowly.
“Alpha,” he said, inclining it in a bare nod. He didn’t stand. He was in Pine Crest’s Hall. Under Lysa’s roof. Bram had jurisdiction, yes. But not *dominance* here.
Bram’s gaze narrowed faintly at the subtle line.
Then he grunted. “Walk,” he said.
Riven’s jaw tightened.
He glanced at Juno.
Her wolf bristled.
Lysa, sitting at a table across the room with Corin and Sari, lifted her head, eyes narrowing, but she didn’t intervene.
Yet.
Riven pushed himself to his feet.
“Okay,” he said. “Where?”
“Outside,” Bram said. “I don’t like talking with walls listening.”
They stepped out into the cold together.
Juno hesitated a heartbeat, then followed.
Not close enough to be in the conversation.
Not far enough to miss it if it went sideways.
Mira ghosted behind her, eyes wide.
Snow crunched under their boots.
The sky was clear, stars sharp.
Their breath steamed.
Bram didn’t stop until they were at the far edge of the courtyard, near the fence that overlooked the lower slopes.
He planted himself there, hands on the rough wood.
Riven stood a few feet away, arms loose at his sides, shoulders squared.
Juno hung back in the shadow of a support beam.
Mira pressed against her shoulder.
“You don’t hide well,” Mira whispered.
“I’m not trying to,” Juno whispered back.
Bram spoke without turning.
“How many,” he said.
Riven frowned. “How many what?” he asked.
“Wolves,” Bram said. “Before my three. How many did you kill for her.”
The words hit like thrown rocks.
Riven flinched.
Old images rose — a blur of faces, fur, blood, under the pit’s dim light.
“I don’t…know,” he said hoarsely.
Bram’s head turned slowly.
“Guess,” he said.
Riven swallowed.
His hands curled into fists.
“Fifteen,” he said. “Twenty. Maybe more. Some were…half-dead already. Sick. Broken. She…finished them through me. Others were…whole. Packs that made bad bargains. Wanderers who stumbled too close. I stopped counting after the first year.”
Mira’s fingers dug into Juno’s arm.
Juno’s stomach turned.
She resisted the urge to step in, to undercut, to soften.
This was Bram’s grief.
Riven’s guilt.
Her place was witness.
Not shield.
Bram’s jaw clenched.
“And you remember all their faces,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” Riven whispered.
“Good,” Bram said. “Don’t ever forget them.”
“I won’t,” Riven said.
Silence stretched.
Juno’s breath puffed in short bursts.
Bram finally turned fully to face Riven.
Up close, the age in his eyes was more apparent. Lines of tiredness. Of too many winters watching too many wolves buried.
“You killed three of mine,” he said. “Torun. Shale. Viri. Torun had a mate and a son. Shale was courting my niece. Viri was sixteen. Thought she was invincible.”
Riven’s throat worked. “I know,” he said. “I smelled their lives. I’ve heard their…echoes…in the pit. In her walls. I’ve...seen...what’s left.”
Bram’s lip curled. “And yet Lysa keeps you in her Hall,” he growled. “Lets you share her fire. Lets you kiss one of her best wolves under the blood moon.”
Riven flinched.
Juno’s body flooded with heat and cold at once.
Mira’s breath hitched.
Bram’s eyes flicked briefly toward their shadowed corner.
Juno’s wolf bared her teeth.
He looked back at Riven.
“I’ve wanted to break your neck since the moment I smelled my wolves’ blood on your fur,” Bram said. “I still do. Some part of me always will.”
Riven didn’t look away.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
“But,” Bram went on, the word heavy as stone, “Helvar’s letter changed something. Not for you. Don’t get your hopes up.” He snorted. “For *me.*”
Riven’s brows drew together.
Bram stared out over the snow.
“I’ve lost wolves to the Maw before,” he said. “Not just those three. Pups with fevers. Old wolves too proud to admit they heard whispers. I buried them and blamed bad winters. Weak stock. My own mistakes.”
His hand flexed on the fence.
“Now some valley pup writes Lysa and says his spring turned black and he heard we bit back,” he said. “Suddenly, this isn’t just my shame. Or yours. Or Lysa’s. It’s…everyone’s. The Maw’s rot doesn’t give a damn about borders or who’s wearing whose mark. She’ll chew whatever falls in her mouth.”
He turned back to Riven.
“You’ve been in her gut,” he said. “You’ve seen what she does to wolves who fall for her whispers. You hate her more than I do. That’s the only reason you’re still breathing in my vicinity.”
Riven swallowed hard.
“Understood,” he said.
“And because,” Bram added grudgingly, “you bit her. You and Juno. You took a piece back. My wolves’ voices are…quieter. Not gone. But less…sharp. That…matters.”
Riven’s eyes burned.
He blinked rapidly.
“Thank you,” he said, voice rough.
Bram grunted. “Don’t thank me,” he said. “I’m not forgiving you. I’m not…blessing…this…thing.” He waved a hand vaguely between Riven and where he knew Juno lurked.
Heat flared in Juno’s cheeks.
Mira smirked.
“But I am…” He grimaced, as if the word tasted sour. “…accepting that for now, in this fight, you’re more useful alive than dead,” he finished. “And that killing you would probably piss off a god we just taught to fear us. I like my enemies scared. I’d rather not give her a martyr.”
Riven huffed a laugh that was dangerously close to a sob. “Practical,” he said.
Bram’s mouth twitched. “Always,” he said.
He stepped closer.
Riven tensed.
Bram didn’t punch.
He extended a hand.
It hovered in the cold air between them, big and rough and scarred.
Riven stared at it.
Then at Bram.
“What is this,” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Truce?”
Bram grunted. “Don’t get fancy,” he said. “It’s a hand. You take it, you’re saying you won’t run the first time this gets uglier. You won’t hide behind Lysa’s skirts when your past comes scratching. You’ll stand in front of my wolves and take hits meant for them when you can. And you’ll let them do the same.”
Riven’s throat worked.
The bond thrummed with his turmoil.
Juno held her breath.
He lifted his hand.
His fingers curled around Bram’s.
Heat sparked where skin met skin.
Alpha power brushed the air — not a full, formal bond. Not a mark.
A…recognition.
A line drawn.
“Deal,” Riven said.
Bram squeezed once, hard enough to hurt, then released.
“Good,” he said. “Now if you ever hurt Juno, I *will* kill you. Agreement or no.”
Riven almost laughed.
Instead, he nodded. “Understood,” he said.
Bram snorted and turned away, trudging back toward the Hall.
Mira let out a long, low whistle. “Well,” she murmured. “That was…a lot.”
Juno exhaled shakily. “Yeah,” she said.
Riven turned toward their shadowed corner.
His gaze found her.
Of course it did.
“I know you’re there,” he said.
She stepped out.
Mira followed, unabashed.
Riven’s eyes were bright in the starlight.
“You heard,” he said.
“Most of it,” Juno said.
He lifted a shoulder. “It’s…something,” he said. “Not forgiveness. Not...anything clean. But…something.”
She nodded. “It’s enough,” she said. “For now.”
Mira elbowed her. “And he mentioned your kissing,” she said. “So now it’s officially a pack matter.”
Juno groaned.
Riven’s ears went pink.
“You two,” he muttered. “Are going to be the death of my dignity.”
“You didn’t have any,” Mira pointed out.
He huffed a laugh.
Juno’s gaze slid to his hand — the one Bram had grasped.
His fingers flexed unconsciously.
“You okay?” she asked softly.
He looked at her.
Really looked.
“For the first time in a long time,” he said slowly, “I think…maybe.”
Her chest swelled.
She stepped closer.
The urge to reach for him, to press her palm over Bram’s lingering warmth on his skin, burned.
She didn’t.
Not here.
Not now.
Instead, she bumped her shoulder against his lightly.
“Gari,” she murmured.
His mouth curved.
“Gari,” he echoed.
The word settled over them like a cloak.
Two wolves.
Teeth turned.
Ready to bite again.
With a Ridge Hollow alpha at their back now instead of at their throats, and a valley pack on the horizon about to ask for help, the fight was only getting bigger.
But so was their pack.
In numbers.
In names.
In the tangle of threads between them.
Under the mountain, something old and hungry shifted.
Above, under the stars, Juno and Riven stood shoulder to shoulder.
Not chained.
Not alone.
Not hers.
Not his.
Theirs.
And the Maw, for all her teeth, had no idea how dangerous that was going to be.