The Maw struck back in Juno’s sleep.
It started as a normal dream—if Juno’s dreams could ever be called normal after the last few weeks.
She was in the old mating circle, paws on stone, blood moon fat and low above. Wolves whirled around her, scents heavy and heady. Kellan’s wolf bumped her shoulder; Mira’s wolf trilled nearby.
She scented.
Listened.
Waited.
And then she smelled him.
Riven.
Except it wasn’t the mix of river and earth and old blood she’d come to recognize as his.
It was…more.
Richer. Darker.
Laced with that old, faint rot.
Her hackles rose.
She turned.
The wolf that stood at the edge of the circle wore Riven’s shape.
Same dark fur, same pale eyes, same scar along the neck.
But his gaze was wrong.
Empty.
Pupils blown black.
His muzzle dripped something thicker than saliva.
Her wolf snarled.
*Not ours,* she thought.
The dream-wolves around them blurred, their faces smearing, their scents turning to static.
The circle stretched.
Stone under her paws rippled like water.
The blood moon bulged, taking up more of the sky.
“Juno,” the Riven-wolf said.
Except it wasn’t his voice.
It slid into her head, slick and cold.
*You look tired, pup,* Mother Below purred through his mouth. *Too many teeth. Not enough sleep. Let me take one burden off your paws.*
His shape shifted.
Not to human.
To something else.
Something taller, thinner.
His fur receded, leaving skin that wasn’t skin.
Dark.
Slick.
His eyes stayed.
Pale gold, ringed with green.
Riven’s eyes.
They stared at her from a face with no features.
Her stomach lurched.
“Get out,” she snarled, voice echoing weirdly in the dream-air.
The not-Riven tilted its head.
*You called me,* it said. *Every time you think of the pit, every time you whisper my stolen names, you open a window. I’m just…peeking.*
The stone under her paws softened.
Her claws sank in.
She tried to move.
Her muscles responded like they were underwater.
*You can’t keep him,* Mother Below crooned. *You know that, right? Wolves like him don’t get to have mates. They get to have chains. And knives. And stories you tell your pups to make them stay close to home.*
Anger flared, hot.
“Fuck you,” Juno spat.
She felt Riven stir at the edge of her mind.
*Juno?* he thought, fuzzy with sleep. *What—*
The dream yanked her deeper.
The circle vanished.
She stood at the edge of the black pool in the eastern shaft again, torch flickering.
Riven stood across from her.
But this time, he wasn’t older, scarred Riven.
He was younger.
Eighteen, maybe.
Shoulders less broad.
Eyes less tired.
No brand at his throat.
He smiled.
It was a pure, open thing.
Her chest ached.
*This is what you wish you’d met,* the Maw whispered. *A wolf with no rot. No pit. No deaths on his teeth. Clean. Whole. Don’t you wish the bond had snapped then? On some blood moon before the mountain fell?*
The scene shimmered.
Juno saw herself, younger too.
Less scarred.
No grief carved into her spine yet.
They stepped toward each other.
Younger Juno’s eyes widened.
Younger Riven’s breath caught.
They reached out.
Their hands met.
The bond flared—not with roots and rot and scars, but with something bright and simple.
Excitement.
Possibility.
The dream tugged at that, tried to make it real.
*See?* Mother Below whispered. *I could have given you this. A version without blood. Without my touch. All you had to do was bargain earlier.*
Juno’s wolf snapped.
*Lies,* she snarled. *Could. Have. Didn’t. Won’t.*
The younger versions of them blurred, then shattered like glass.
Juno found herself back in the pit.
Stone walls.
Chains.
Blood.
The real Riven—older, scarred, branded—hung from the ceiling ring again, wrists bound, feet barely touching the floor.
His eyes met hers.
They burned.
She took a step toward him.
The ground tried to suck at her boots.
Hands clawed at the edges of her mind, trying to pull her attention back to the Maw’s version of the story.
She pushed.
Hard.
“Juno.” Riven’s voice, raw and *his,* cut through the static. “This isn’t her show. This is ours.”
He strained against the chains.
The brand at his throat—the brand that no longer existed in the waking world—glowed faintly red in the dream.
The Maw’s voice coiled around their heads. *You think you cut me out?* she hissed. *You cut one tooth. I have a thousand.*
Juno bared dream-teeth.
“You’re bleeding,” she said. “That’s a start.”
The stone under her feet rippled.
The hands at the edges of her mind clawed harder.
She could feel Riven’s presence beside her in waking life now—his body tossing under his blankets on the other side of the Hall wall, his breath coming faster.
*Get out,* she snarled at the Maw. *Get the fuck out of my head.*
The dream wobbled.
The Maw pressed.
Juno did something then she hadn’t tried before.
She reached not just for Riven in the dream, but for the *pack.*
For the hum under everything.
For the sense of Lysa’s steel, Kellan’s stubbornness, Mira’s laughter, Sari’s fussing, Garrik’s gruffness.
She thought of the Hall, full of wolves singing about biting back.
She dragged it all here.
Into the pit.
Into the dream.
The dark space brightened.
Not with light.
With *presence.*
Lysa’s voice snapped in her mind. *Juno. Report.*
*Dream attack,* Juno thought back, fast and messy. *Maw. Pit. Riven. Trying to rewrite…everything.*
Riven’s mental voice swore.
*She’s pissed,* he thought. *Good sign.*
The Maw hissed.
The pressure spiked.
But something else rose to meet it.
Teeth.
Not just hers.
Not just Riven’s.
The sense of dozens—hundreds—of wolf jaws snapping in unison.
Pack.
The chains around Riven’s dream-wrists cracked.
The brand at his throat flickered.
The dream-walls buckled.
Then—
The Maw retreated.
Not willingly.
Dragged.
Like a wave recoiling after slamming into rock.
Juno jolted awake.
She sat up, gasping, hand flying to her chest.
Sweat cooled rapidly on her skin despite the cold air of the bunkroom.
Mira snored on, oblivious, one arm flung over her face.
Juno’s heart pounded.
Her wolf paced, ears flat.
Her throat tasted like iron.
She shoved her blanket aside and swung her legs over the side of the bed, bare feet meeting the cold stone floor.
Across the hall, a door creaked.
Riven stepped out of his den, hair tousled, shirt hanging askew, eyes wide and bright in the dim.
Their gazes locked.
The bond thrummed—raw, still vibrating from the dream.
He crossed the hallway in two strides.
She met him halfway.
They didn’t speak.
He pulled her into his den.
Shut the door.
The ward-lines around the room hummed faintly, reacting to the spike in their energy, then settling.
She stood there, breathing hard, heart racing, as he leaned back against the door, eyes closed for a second.
“She’s angry,” he said hoarsely. “Good. She should be. We fucking ripped her tooth out.”
Juno laughed, a short, shaky sound. “She tried to—” Her voice faltered. “She tried to show me…you. Different. Earlier. Without…all this.”
He opened his eyes.
They were dark.
“And?” he asked quietly.
“And it wasn’t real,” she said. “It was…pretty. But it wasn’t *you.*”
Something in his face softened, then sharpened.
“She tried to make me watch you drown again,” he said. “In the pool. In the cave. Like when she dropped me on your border. Only this time, I wasn’t…alone.”
He pushed off the door, stepping closer.
His hands hovered near her upper arms, not quite touching.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She almost laughed.
“I’m…shaken,” she said honestly. “But not…cracked.”
He nodded slowly.
“Same,” he said. “She’s…testing. New ways in. We shoved her out. That matters.”
They stood there, close but not touching, breaths still hot and ragged.
“I pulled on the pack-mind,” she said after a moment. “In the dream. I didn’t know I could do that like that.”
He blinked. “I felt it,” he said. “Like…someone opened a door and a hundred wolves snarled in my ear. It was…loud.”
“Sorry,” she muttered.
He huffed a soft laugh. “Don’t be,” he said. “It worked.”
Silence stretched.
The dream’s aftertaste clung.
Not just fear.
Heightened everything.
Her skin felt too tight.
Every inch of her was aware of him—of the way his chest rose and fell, of the faint sheen of sweat on his collarbone, of the line of his throat.
His scent was a little wilder than usual—fear, adrenaline, the sour tang of interrupted sleep.
And under it, that same strange, burgeoning sweetness that had nothing to do with the Maw.
Desire.
Her own scent answered.
She saw him register it.
His pupils dilated.
His hands flexed.
“Juno,” he said, voice low.
She swallowed.
“Yeah,” she whispered.
He took the final step.
His hands closed gently around her upper arms, thumbs brushing the inside of her elbows.
Heat flared under his touch.
The bond pulsed.
He dipped his head.
Their foreheads touched.
He exhaled.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he murmured. “If that’s…okay.”
Her heart flipped.
“Yes,” she said, no hesitation.
He did.
It was different from the sled kiss and the fence kiss.
Deeper.
Pinned between his body and the door, she felt his warmth along the length of her. His hands slid down her arms to her waist, fingers gripping, then easing, as if testing how much pressure was safe.
She rose onto her toes without thinking, hands fisting in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.
His mouth opened under hers.
The taste of him flooded her senses.
Something in her unraveled.
Her wolf howled in delight, rolling in the heat.
She pressed closer.
He groaned, low and rough, a sound that went straight to her core.
For a moment, she forgot about gods and caves and dreams.
There was only this.
Him.
Her.
Teeth and tongue and the drumbeat of their hearts against each other’s ribs.
His hands slid up her back, under the hem of her sleep shirt, palms rough and hot against the bare skin of her spine.
She gasped into his mouth.
He froze.
Pulled back a fraction.
His breath sawed.
“Too much?” he rasped. “Too fast?”
She shook her head, dizzy.
“No,” she said. “Just…new.”
His eyes searched hers.
He swallowed.
“We can stop,” he said. “We should probably stop.”
She wanted to say *no*.
Wanted to drag him to the floor and learn every inch of him with her hands and mouth.
Her wolf encouraged that idea wholeheartedly.
Her rational mind—small, but not dead—whispered about consequences.
About waking up tangled with him and then having to walk into a war council.
About the Maw’s hands at the edges of her dreams, hungry for anything that tasted like joy.
“We…” She forced the word out. “We should…slow.”
His jaw clenched.
“Yeah,” he said thickly. “Yeah. Slow.”
Neither of them moved away.
He rested his forehead against hers again, eyes closed, breathing hard.
His hands stayed on her waist, fingers digging in just enough to remind her of his presence.
Her own hands slid down to his sides, thumbs tracing the lines of his ribs through the thin fabric of his shirt.
He shivered.
The silence between them wasn’t empty.
It crackled.
“I hate her,” he whispered after a long moment.
Juno didn’t have to ask who.
“The Maw,” he clarified anyway. “For trying to…pollute this. For putting her hands on…this…space.”
Juno nodded, throat tight.
“Me too,” she said. “Makes me want to…hold it harder. Just to spite her.”
He huffed. “Spite is a strong foundation,” he said.
She laughed weakly.
“It’s a start,” she said.
They stood there until their breaths evened and the tremor in their muscles eased from urgent to bearable.
Finally, reluctantly, she stepped back.
His hands dropped.
The distance between them felt huge.
Too huge.
She pressed her palm lightly over the spot on his neck where the brand had been.
The scar under her hand was warm.
His pulse thudded.
“Mine,” she said, quietly but firmly.
His eyes flared.
“Yours,” he agreed. “Not hers.”
He lifted his own hand and rested it against the side of her throat, fingers careful, thumb feeling the steady beat there.
Her breath stuttered.
“Mine,” he echoed.
Something settled in her bones at the word.
Not a formal claiming.
Not a ritual.
Just a statement of fact.
The bond hummed in agreement.
Outside, a wolf howled once, short and sharp—a patrol call. The den murmured in response.
Life went on.
Juno dropped her hand.
“So,” she said, voice rough. “We tell Lysa?”
He snorted. “About the dream or the kissing?” he asked.
“Both,” she said.
He grimaced. “Can we just tell her about the dream and let her assume the kissing?” he suggested.
She glared.
He smiled, small and crooked.
“We’ll tell her,” he said. “She needs to know how the Maw’s trying to slip in now.”
Juno nodded.
“And we’ll keep…” She gestured vaguely between them. “…this…ours. As much as we can.”
His gaze softened.
“Gari,” he murmured.
She smiled.
“Gari,” she agreed.
They stepped out into the hall together.
The mountain, still shaken from the dream, seemed to hum under their feet.
The Maw had teeth.
So did they.
And now, their dreams did too.
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