Juno had never believed in destiny.
She believed in trail maps and training, in knowing exactly how many breaths she needed to clear a log and how many more to reach the next ledge. She believed in instincts, sure — her wolf’s low warning rumble when a storm rolled in, the way her hands moved without thinking when someone threw a punch.
But destiny?
That was a story pups were told to make their hearts beat faster.
The mate bond was real. She’d seen it with her own eyes, felt the echo of it hum through the pack-mind when others found theirs. But it wasn’t destiny in the way old wolves made it sound — stars aligning, fates weaving.
It was biology and magic mixed and muddled, something ancient that sometimes got it wrong.
She’d seen that too.
So when the bond hit her, she didn’t think, *Ah. Destiny.*
She thought, *What the hell?*
One second, she was padding around the edge of the mating circle on steady paws, doing her usual combination of participating and patrolling. The next, something slammed into her chest from the inside.
It wasn’t a gradual tug, no slow building warmth. It was a fist closing around her heart and *yanking*.
Her legs went out from under her. Her knees smacked the stone hard enough to jar her teeth.
The world spun.
Scent, sound, sight— everything sharpened painfully.
The circle around her surged and swirled as unmated wolves continued to sniff and choose and play. Their scents crashed over her in a dizzying wave— musk, sweat, perfume, pine, spice.
But beneath all that, a new scent cut through. Singular. Clear.
Dark. Wild. Cold.
Her wolf went still, then lunged toward it with a snarl that wasn’t all anger.
*Mine,* her wolf breathed, voice rough and shaken.
*No,* Juno snapped back, equal parts panic and disbelief. *No way. Not now. Not like this.*
Her chest heaved. Her claws scraped stone.
Around her, a few wolves paused, flicking their ears her way. Kellan’s sandy-brown wolf appeared at her shoulder, concern flaring through the pack-mind.
*Juno?*
She shook her head once, hard, trying to clear it. The scent was stronger now. It didn’t come from the circle. It came from the edge of camp, from the north.
She followed it like a line, her head snapping up, eyes tracking past the stones, past the tents—
To the cage.
To him.
The world narrowed to a tunnel.
Bars. Chain. A man standing with his hands wrapped around iron, eyes fixed on her like he’d forgotten how to blink.
Even from this distance, she saw the shock in them. The disbelief. The bleak humor that flashed for a moment before something softer, more dangerous, tried to push through.
He was…not what she would have expected.
If she’d ever let herself imagine a mate, she wouldn’t have pictured *him*.
He was tall, yes, but not in the careless, easy way of so many mountain wolves. His height looked like it had been fought for — every inch hard-earned. His shoulders were broad, but there was no extra flesh on him. He was all angles and lines, a body honed by necessity, not vanity.
His dark hair hung in tangled waves around his face, too long in places, as if he’d been cutting it himself with whatever sharp edge he could find. A scruff of beard shadowed his jaw, uneven and rough.
Even from here, she could see the grime, the old blood staining the collar of his shirt, the bruises coloring his jaw and cheek. His bare feet were filthy, toes curling against the packed dirt.
A chain circled his ankle, leading to a post driven deep into the ground.
And his eyes.
Gods. His eyes.
They were a strange, pale hazel — almost gold in the torchlight, ringed with darker green. If she’d seen them in any other face, she might have called them beautiful.
In *his* face, right now, they were a storm.
Shock. Fury. Something like horror. And, beneath that, buried under layers of scar tissue and numbness, a flicker of wild, stunned…hope.
Her wolf roared.
*Mate.*
Juno’s stomach dropped. The world wobbled.
*No,* she told herself, told her wolf, told the moon. *No, no, no. Absolutely not.*
The universe, predictably, did not respond.
The bond pulsed between them, hot and metallic, like a new bruise. Every breath she took tasted like him now. Every beat of her heart echoed in *his* chest, a weird, off-sync double-thump.
Her wolf pushed against her bones, wanting to get closer, to circle him, to put teeth in his throat in warning and then—
She cut that thought off with a strangled growl.
“Juno!”
The shout came from the platform. Lysa’s voice, sharp as a whip.
Wolves around Juno jolted. The hum of the bonding circle faltered.
Juno realized she was shaking.
She forced her legs under her, pushed herself upright, claws clicking against stone. Her fur bristled along her spine.
Across the camp, the man — *her mate,* her mind supplied treacherously — sucked in a breath. His hands tightened on the bars until his knuckles went white.
The chain at his ankle went taut, biting into skin. He didn’t seem to notice.
Her wolf drank in every detail.
The rawness around his wrists where iron had rubbed skin bloody. The old, pale scars crisscrossing his forearms, some thin and precise, others jagged. The way his chest rose and fell, too fast, as if he was caught between the urge to bolt and the impossibility of it.
He smelled like—
She inhaled, and it staggered her.
Under the grime and old blood and iron, he smelled of cold rivers and deep caves, of damp stone and old leaves. Of something wild that had never been fully tamed.
Threaded through that was another scent. Faint, but wrong. Burnt herbs. Rot. Magic gone sour.
Her wolf snarled, recoiling.
*That smell,* her wolf spat. *Not ours. Wrong.*
*He’s chained in our camp,* Juno shot back. *If he was the one Lysa warned us about…*
Her thoughts scattered as the bond pulsed again, syncing for a moment with the pounding of his heart.
She felt something then that wasn’t hers.
Panic. Not at the idea of being caged or killed — he’d made some uneasy peace with that. Panic at the idea of *her* being pulled into the mess that clung to him like shadow.
*No,* he thought, and she heard it with shocking clarity. *Not you.*
Her legs wobbled.
She’d heard fragments of others’ thoughts before, in the pack-mind — flashes during shared hunts, echoes of emotion. But this was different.
This was intimate. Direct.
Him.
Her.
No one else.
The bond hummed, throbbing like a fresh cut.
“Juno!” Lysa’s voice snapped again. “Shift.”
The command rode the pack-law, threaded with alpha power. It wasn't an order to submit — not quite — but it left little room for refusal.
Juno’s wolf bristled, torn between baring her teeth in defiance and obeying the alpha they respected more than anyone.
Her own panic tipped the scale.
Better human eyes for this.
She let the shift take her.
Bones cracked, rearranged. Fur receded. The world lurched from saturated scent and sound to the duller, narrower bandwidth of human senses.
She landed on her bare knees on the stone, gasping. Sweat slicked her skin despite the cold night air. Her hair fell around her face in damp curls.
She heard a muffled curse from somewhere nearby — probably Kellan, catching sight of her naked on the circle with that look on her face.
Hands appeared at her shoulders, warm and steady.
Mira, also human now, crouched beside her, blanket already in hand. “Juno. Hey. Breathe. What happened?”
Juno clutched the fabric and dragged it around herself with shaking fingers. “I—”
Her words died in her throat as her gaze was dragged back to the edge of camp.
He’d shifted too.
She hadn’t seen him move, hadn’t heard the bones break, but there he was — human, pressed up against the bars, eyes locked on her like she was the last thing anchoring him to the ground.
The sight of him without fur, without the distance of the wolf, hit her like another punch.
If his wolf had been wild, his human form was no less.
He was…well-made, she had to admit, even as she hated herself for noticing.
His chest was lean, muscles roped and defined under skin that looked like it belonged to a man who’d lived too long under open sky and too close to hard surfaces. Scars mapped his skin — one long pale line down his left side, a cluster of bite marks on his shoulder, thin, precise slashes across his ribs.
His abdomen was tight, the faint hint of a six-pack there, but this wasn’t gym muscle. This was survival muscle. Every line on him said he’d fought for every breath, every step.
A dark trail of hair led down from his navel to the waistband of the pants someone had given him — too big, tied tight with a rope at his hips.
His throat moved as he swallowed. A muscle jumped in his jaw.
And his eyes.
Gods, those eyes.
Without the wolf’s glow, they were more human. Easier to read. Worse, somehow.
He looked...younger than she’d thought. Early thirties, maybe. But his gaze was old. Tired.
And now, lit with something new: bone-deep terror.
Not of her. Not of being chained.
Of the *bond*.
Good, Juno thought viciously. They could be terrified together.
“Who is that?” Mira whispered, following her gaze. “Juno…what—”
Kellan dropped to a crouch on her other side, his face pale under his tan. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “Tell me I’m imagining it.”
Juno’s throat worked. “You’re not,” she said, her voice coming out thin and disbelieving. “He’s…he’s—”
Her wolf finished for her, because her mouth couldn’t.
*Ours.*
Lysa appeared at the edge of the circle, Corin hot on her heels. The crowd parted for her like water, wolves in human and fur form instinctively making space.
“Everyone back,” Lysa ordered, voice carrying easily. “Circle’s closed. Go to your tents. Now.”
There was a moment of startled hesitation, then wolves began to move. Some grumbled. Others lingered, eyes flicking between Juno and the cage like they were watching the start of a play they desperately wanted to see.
“Now,” Lysa repeated, alpha power threading through the word like steel.
Wolves scattered.
Mira squeezed Juno’s shoulder. “I’ll get your clothes,” she whispered, then darted off toward their tent.
Kellan stayed, jaw tight. “Lysa—”
“Later, Kellan,” Lysa said curtly. “Back up.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, then caught the warning flash in Corin’s eyes and grudgingly retreated a few paces, though he didn’t go far.
Lysa stepped into the circle, coming to stand a few feet from Juno.
Juno scrambled to her feet, clutching the blanket tighter around herself. Her legs wobbled. The stone beneath her felt unsteady.
“Report,” Lysa said. No preamble. No softening.
Juno swallowed. “I—”
Her gaze dragged back to the cage yet again, like a compass needle snapping north.
He hadn’t moved. He still stood with his fingers curled around the bars, chain taut, eyes locked on her as if blinking would make her vanish.
When their gazes met again, the bond flared.
Her pulse kicked.
*Don’t,* his voice whispered in her head. Not a command. A plea. *Not you.*
Her lips parted. A sound emerged — a strangled half-laugh, half-snarl.
“How long?” Lysa asked quietly.
Juno tore her gaze away with effort. “Just now,” she managed. “In the circle. It hit me like—” She made a helpless gesture. “Like being punched from the inside.”
Lysa’s mouth thinned. “The bond.”
It wasn’t a question.
Juno nodded once, sharply. “Yes.”
“With *him*.”
The word dripped incredulity and something darker.
Juno’s jaw clenched. “Yes.”
The blood moon hung heavy above them, watching.
Lysa exhaled slowly through her nose, eyes flicking briefly toward the cage.
Riven — she remembered his name from earlier whispers — stared back.
“Fuck,” Corin muttered under her breath. It was not a word she used lightly.
A murmur rippled through the few wolves still within earshot. Kellan swore softly behind Juno.
“So,” Soren drawled from the edge of the platform, where he’d remained during the whole commotion, arms folded, eyes glittering with avid interest. “The fates do have a sense of humor.”
Bram grunted, less amused. “Or they’re cruel bastards.”
Lysa ignored them both.
“Come with me,” she said to Juno. “Now.”
Juno’s stomach dropped. “Alpha, I—”
“Now, Juno.”
Alpha voice. No room for debate.
Juno’s wolf bristled— then, reluctantly, lowered her head.
She followed Lysa out of the circle, blanket swirling around her legs. Every step away from the cage stretched the bond thinner, tighter.
It didn’t weaken with distance. It sharpened.
She was viscerally aware of where he was behind her, of the weight of his gaze between her shoulder blades. Of the way his breathing hitched when she passed a certain invisible line.
Her own lungs responded in kind, stuttering.
She bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste blood.
Mira met them halfway, breathless, clothes in hand. “Here—” She stumbled to a stop, eyes bouncing between Juno’s face and Lysa’s.
Lysa jerked her head toward the trees at the edge of camp. “Get dressed,” she told Juno. “Then you’re coming to the command tent.”
Juno took her clothes with fingers that felt half-numb. “Yes, Alpha.”
She ducked behind a boulder, Mira close behind, shielding her from prying eyes.
Once out of direct sight, Juno sagged against the rock for a second, eyes squeezing shut.
The bond pulsed again. Not as violently as the first time, but enough to steal her breath for a beat.
“Hey,” Mira said softly, stepping close, hands gentle as she held out Juno’s underwear and dress. “Look at me.”
Juno forced her eyes open.
Mira’s face filled her field of vision — warm brown skin, freckles across her nose, green eyes wide and worried.
“What does it feel like?” Mira whispered. “The bond? What is it *like*?”
Juno’s throat tightened. “Like I’ve been…plugged into something too big for me,” she said hoarsely. “Like my heart’s trying to beat in someone else’s chest too.”
“Is it…good?” Mira’s voice was small.
Juno laughed, a short, harsh sound. “It’s…overwhelming,” she said honestly. “And terrifying. And infuriating. And—”
She cut herself off before she could say *and it feels like finally*.
Mira’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry it’s…him,” she said quietly.
Juno flinched. “You don’t know him,” she snapped, the edge in her voice more about herself than Mira.
Mira held up her hands. “I know he’s in chains in our camp,” she said simply. “And that Lysa looks like she swallowed a wasp. And that your face right now is…not what I pictured when I dreamed about you meeting your mate.”
Juno’s shoulders slumped. “Me neither,” she muttered.
She struggled into her underwear and dress with Mira’s help, fingers fumbling at the zipper.
Her skin felt too tight. Too aware. Every brush of fabric was a reminder that she was clothed and he— she cut that thought off with a curse.
“Do you…” Mira hesitated. “Do you *want* to go to him?”
Juno froze.
Her immediate instinct was to snap *no*. To insist she wanted nothing to do with a chained stranger who smelled like old magic and trouble.
Her wolf’s answer was the opposite. A resounding, visceral *yes*, accompanied by a flood of images — pressing her nose to his neck, breathing him in, biting down, *claiming*.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
“Yes,” she said through clenched teeth. “And no. And… I don’t know. Everything in me is…lurching. Like I’ve been asked to run in two directions at once.”
Mira’s hand found hers, squeezing. “You don’t have to decide anything tonight,” she said firmly. “It’s just…a bond. Information. Not a chain around your throat.”
“Feels like one,” Juno muttered, fingers brushing unconsciously over the spot where a mating mark would sit if she ever accepted him. Right at the junction of neck and shoulder. Vulnerable.
Empty.
For now.
Mira’s gaze followed the motion. “Lysa won’t force you,” she said. “You know that, right?”
Juno did. Intellectually. Lysa had been very clear — especially to the younger wolves — that mate bonds were sacred but not prisons. Choice mattered.
But choice had always felt theoretical when the bond remained a story other wolves lived.
Now that it was in her skin, humming like a live wire, the idea of *choosing* not to follow it felt…like tearing something out with her bare hands.
She took a breath, then another. The bond steadied into a background thrum, like the bass line of a song she couldn’t turn off.
“Come on,” she said, voice rough. “Better not keep Lysa waiting.”
***
The command tent was set apart from the others, near a cluster of rocks that formed a natural barrier. Inside, it was warmer than the night outside, thanks to a small brazier burning near the center.
Maps covered one side, weighted at the corners with smooth stones. A table held rolls of parchment, a few crystal vials, and a dagger that gleamed even in the low light.
Lysa stood behind the table, arms crossed. Corin hovered near the entrance, effectively blocking it.
Bram and Soren were already there, along with a few of their betas. The air crackled with thick, overlapping scents — Ridge Hollow’s coppery river musk, Silver Peak’s spicy heat, Pine Crest’s cool pine.
Juno stepped inside, tugging her dress straight. Her bare feet felt strange against the rough rugs thrown over the ground.
“Juno,” Lysa said. “Sit.”
There were no chairs.
Juno folded down onto a cushion near the table. Her back was straight, chin up, the way Lysa had taught her to carry herself in front of other alphas.
Inside, she was shaking.
“Congratulations,” Soren said lazily, lounging against a post. “You’ve managed to make this Gathering more interesting than the last five combined.”
Bram grunted. “Girl, you sure about what you felt out there?”
Juno met his gaze. “I am.”
His heavy brows drew together. “You’re saying your mate—” he spat the word slightly, as if it tasted wrong— “is that…thing we caught chewing on my wolves.”
Rage flared through Juno, hot and surprising.
“He’s not a *thing*,” she snapped before she could rein it in.
Silence dropped.
Lysa’s eyes cut to her, sharp.
Juno flushed, but didn’t look away.
“I don’t know who or what he is yet,” she said more carefully. “But I know what the bond feels like. It’s him.”
Soren hummed quietly. “And what does it feel like?”
She wanted to tell him to go to hell. To protect the raw, messy inside of this moment from becoming a spectacle.
But these were alphas. This was bigger than her.
“It feels like…being caught in a current,” she said slowly. “Like something that’s been…looking for me finally found me. Whether I wanted it or not.”
“Poetic,” Soren said. “You missed your calling, Lysa. Should’ve raised her as a bard instead of a scout.”
Lysa ignored him. “You saw him,” she said to Juno. “Properly. What’s your impression?”
Juno hesitated.
She thought of the chain around his ankle. The grime under his nails. The raw, flayed look in his eyes when the bond snapped into place.
“Broken,” she said quietly. “He looked…broken. But not…gone.”
Corin’s jaw ticked. Bram snorted.
“Broken wolves bite,” he said. “You should cut the throat before the infection spreads.”
“And you should keep your threats away from my people while you’re in my camp,” Lysa said coolly.
They locked eyes for a moment, alpha power brushing the air like static.
Soren watched, amused.
“Juno,” Lysa said, turning back to her. “Before tonight. Had you interacted with him at all?”
“No,” Juno said. “Saw him when they brought him in this morning. From a distance. He was in wolf form. Chained. I kept moving. Didn’t go near the cage.”
“No strange dreams?” Soren asked, head tilting. “Whispers? Visions of a tragic, handsome stranger calling your name across a misty field?”
His eyes glinted, mocking.
Juno stared at him flatly. “No.”
“Pity,” he said. “I like a good cliché.”
“Riven claims he was cast here by someone using a spell,” Lysa said. “We don’t know if that includes you, Juno.”
Juno’s stomach knotted. “You think I was…targeted?”
Corin shifted her weight. “We know something’s been skirting our borders for weeks,” she said. “Smells like old magic and rot. You felt that last night.”
Juno nodded. “Yes.”
“And tonight, in the middle of our circle, in the heart of our camp, you suddenly bond with the one wolf we know for certain brought that scent with him?” Corin continued. “That’s not coincidence. That’s…aim.”
The idea of being aimed at made Juno’s skin crawl.
“I don’t…feel any magic on me,” she said, more to herself than them. “Nothing…wrong.”
Soren’s gaze sharpened. “You’d be surprised how subtle some bindings can be. Not all magic feels like fire and chains. Some feels like warmth. Like comfort. Like…home.”
There was something in his tone — a thin thread of old bitterness — that made Juno look at him more closely. But whatever story lay there, he wasn’t offering it.
“Riven says this…she,” Lysa said, distaste dripping from the pronoun, “likes to experiment. To see what things do when she drops them in new places.”
“So she threw her pet monster at your mountain and sat back to see which way the pieces fall,” Soren said. “Including which poor wolf he might stick to.”
“Enough,” Bram snapped. “You talk about this like a game. My wolves are dead.”
“And more could die,” Lysa said sharply. “If we don’t understand what we’re dealing with. That includes this bond.”
Juno’s stomach dropped further. “What are you saying?” she asked. “You think…what? That the bond’s…fake?”
The word tasted wrong. Blasphemous.
Lysa’s gaze softened by a degree. “No,” she said. “I believe what you felt. The moon doesn’t lie.” She reached across the table and tapped one of the crystal vials. “But bonds can be…manipulated. Twisted. There are stories. Old ones. I don’t like how this looks.”
“So what do I do?” Juno asked. Her voice came out thinner than she liked.
“You do nothing,” Bram said gruffly. “We kill him. We burn the body. Problem solved.”
Heat flashed through Juno.
Her wolf surged up, teeth bared.
“No,” she snapped.
Every head in the tent turned toward her.
Bram’s lip curled. “You forget yourself, girl.”
“I forget nothing,” she shot back, surprising even herself. “You want to kill him because he killed your wolves. I understand that. If he killed Pine Crest wolves, I’d want the same. But if you’re saying there’s some…*thing* behind him, controlling him, using him—”
“We don’t know that,” Bram cut in.
“Then maybe we should find out before we spill more blood just to make ourselves feel better,” Juno said.
Silence fell.
Soren’s mouth slowly stretched into a grin. “Oh, I like her.”
“Of course you do,” Corin muttered, then looked at Juno, eyes hard but not unsympathetic. “You’re not thinking clearly. The bond’s new. It’s loud. You can’t trust everything it makes you feel.”
“I know that,” Juno snapped. “I’m not saying we trust him. I’m saying we don’t *rush* to kill him just to prove how strong and righteous we are. Lysa—” She turned to her alpha, heart pounding. “You said yourself last night, this rogue smelled…different. Old. If he has answers, killing him before we hear them is…stupid.”
Lysa watched her, expression unreadable. “And if those answers come with a trap attached?” she asked. “If *talking* to him is how whatever puppets him slips its strings into you?”
Juno swallowed.
She thought of the way his thoughts had brushed hers without meaning to. How easy it had been to feel him.
She thought of his panicked *Not you*.
“If someone’s targeting me,” she said, voice steadier than she felt, “hiding won’t help. The bond’s already there. Ignoring it won’t make it go away.”
“You sure?” Soren asked lightly. “I’ve ignored plenty of inconvenient feelings in my time. They eventually dry up and float away.”
“Ever ignored a mate bond?” Juno asked flatly.
He opened his mouth, then paused. Something flickered behind his eyes. “Touché.”
Bram huffed. “You can’t honestly be considering letting her near that thing,” he said to Lysa. “She’s one of your best. You’d feed her to a trap because you’re curious?”
Lysa’s jaw tightened. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”
Soren spread his hands. “Well? What *are* you going to do? Chain her to her tent? Chain *him* to a rock and dump him down a ravine? I’m open to creative solutions.”
“She could reject him,” Corin said quietly.
The words hung heavy.
Juno’s breath caught.
Rejection.
It was allowed. Lysa had made that clear. No wolf would be forced into a bond they didn’t want.
But rejection wasn’t…clean.
She’d seen it once, three years ago. A Silver Peak male had found his mate in a Pine Crest female who wanted nothing to do with him. Too much history between their families. Too much pain.
She’d rejected him.
The look on his face as the bond snapped — as something invisible tore — had haunted Juno for weeks.
The female had doubled over, gasping. The male had dropped to his knees, clutching his chest.
They’d both lived.
They’d both changed.
“I won’t…” Juno’s voice came out hoarse. She cleared her throat. “I’m not rejecting anything until I know what it *is* I’m rejecting.”
Corin exhaled quietly. “I figured you’d say that.”
Lysa rubbed the bridge of her nose briefly. Juno had seen her do that when a patrol report came in with more problems than solutions.
“We can’t delay dealing with him indefinitely,” Lysa said. “Bram’s right about that much. His pack will only wait so long before demanding blood.”
“Damn right,” Bram muttered.
“But I also won’t make a decision like this in the middle of a blood moon high,” Lysa continued. “Everyone’s instincts are too loud. Including mine.”
She shifted her gaze to Juno. “You will stay away from his cage for the rest of tonight.”
Juno’s wolf snarled. Her mouth opened in automatic protest.
Lysa held up a hand. “You *will*,” she repeated, alpha power sliding under the words. “That’s not a request, Juno. It’s an order. Your bond is new. You’re vulnerable. The thing that threw him here might be watching, waiting. I won’t give it the satisfaction of seeing us dance on its strings.”
Juno’s jaw clenched so hard it ached. “And tomorrow?” she forced out.
“Tomorrow,” Lysa said, “when the moon’s hangover has faded and we’ve all had at least a few hours of sleep, *I* will speak to him again, with you present. You will not touch the bars. You will not step into the cage. You will not let him into your head any more than the bond forces.”
Easier said than done.
“And then,” Lysa finished, “we will decide. Together.”
Juno exhaled shakily. “Yes, Alpha.”
“Good.” Lysa’s eyes softened by a hair. “Mira will stay with you tonight.”
Mira, who’d slipped quietly into the tent during the last exchange, nodded quickly. “Of course.”
Kellan spoke up from near the entrance, where he’d been hovering just outside. “And me,” he said. “I’ll sleep outside her tent if I have to. If anything…weird…happens, I’ll be right there.”
Juno shot him a look. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“We all need backup sometimes,” Kellan said quietly, meeting her gaze without flinching. There was no teasing in his eyes now. Just worry. “You’re not a lone wolf, June. Don’t start acting like one now.”
The nickname — one he rarely used — made something twist in her chest.
She nodded, grudging but grateful.
“Fine,” she said. “But if either of you snore, I’m kicking you out.”
Mira snorted. “Please. You’re the one who growls in her sleep.”
Soren’s brows shot up. “Oh? Do tell.”
“Get out,” Lysa said to him, exasperation threading through the word. “Go torment your own wolves, Soren. Leave mine alone for tonight.”
He held up his hands. “As you wish, oh silver tyrant.” He winked at Juno as he passed. “Try not to fall too hard, little wolf. The landing from that height can be…messy.”
She resisted the urge to flip him off. Barely.
Bram lingered longer. His gaze swept over Juno, assessing, then returned to Lysa.
“You spill Ridge Hollow blood for him,” he said, voice low, “and we’re done here.”
Lysa’s shoulders drew back, chin lifting. “You threaten my wolves, and we’re done,” she said. “I will not have this discussion in front of her.”
Their stares locked again.
Eventually, Bram snorted and turned away. “You’ve gotten soft,” he said. “Too many blood moons. Not enough real winters.”
“Go to bed, Bram,” Lysa said. “You get meaner when you’re tired.”
He stomped out, grumbling.
The tent felt smaller once they were gone. The air looser.
Juno sagged back onto the cushion, the adrenaline crash hitting her all at once.
Lysa watched her for a moment, then came around the table and knelt in front of her, bringing their eyes level.
“Look at me,” she said softly.
Juno did.
Lysa reached out and, in a rare gesture, placed her hand over Juno’s heart.
The contact sent a small jolt through her. Alpha power hummed, not oppressive but…steady. Grounding.
“What you’re feeling right now,” Lysa said, voice gentle in a way Juno rarely heard from her, “is real. I won’t tell you it isn’t. I won’t tell you to suppress it. But I will tell you this: you are still you. You are still Pine Crest. You are still Juno. This bond doesn’t erase that. Do you hear me?”
Tears stung Juno’s eyes unexpectedly. She blinked them back.
“I hear you,” she whispered.
“Good.” Lysa squeezed once, then withdrew her hand. “Now go. Eat something. Try to sleep. Tomorrow will be worse if you’re half-dead.”
Juno nodded, rising on unsteady legs.
As she stepped out of the tent, the night hit her like a cool cloth. The air was sharp with pine and smoke and the faint metallic tang of blood moon magic.
And under it all…him.
She couldn’t un-smell him now. He was threaded through the camp for her, a new scent only she could truly follow.
Her gaze, traitorous, flicked toward the northern edge.
She couldn’t see the cage from here. Lanterns and tents blocked the view. But she felt him.
A tugging at her center. A restless pacing at the edges of her mind.
*Stay,* she sent, not sure if he could hear her. *Just…stay alive.*
For a heartbeat, the bond flared.
A flash of grim humor. *Wasn’t planning on dying today anyway,* came the faint thought. *Ruins the mood.*
Despite everything, a snort of unwilling laughter escaped her.
“Come on,” Mira said quietly at her elbow. “Before you collapse.”
Kellan fell into step on her other side.
They flanked her all the way back to their tent, like a buffer between her and the invisible line that led to the cage.
Inside, the small space felt suddenly too close, the canvas walls too thin. Juno dropped onto her bedroll, staring up at the dark curve of the roof.
Mira busied herself making tea on a small camping stove, clattering just a bit too much. Kellan stretched out near the entrance, hands laced behind his head, eyes on the flap.
Silence settled, thick.
“Do you…feel him?” Mira asked eventually, voice barely above a whisper. “In your head? Right now?”
Juno let her eyes slip closed.
“Yes,” she said. “Like a…presence. Off to the side. If I focus, I can almost…hear…edges. Emotion. Not words. Unless he…pushes.”
“Is he pushing?” Kellan asked.
“No,” Juno said. “He’s…trying very hard to be quiet, actually.”
She could feel that. A sense of him huddling in the farthest corner of their shared space, as if afraid to take up too much room.
Something in her chest twisted.
“Tomorrow,” Mira said, handing her a mug, fingers warm against Juno’s for a second, “you’re not going in there alone.”
Juno nodded. “I know.”
Her wolf prowled, restless. *We should be there now,* she muttered. *He’s ours. He smells wrong. We fix it.*
*We don’t even know if it *can* be fixed,* Juno shot back. *And going near him tonight is asking for trouble.*
Her wolf huffed, dissatisfied.
“Sleep in shifts?” Kellan suggested. “One of us awake at all times?”
“Don’t be dramatic,” Juno said wearily. “I’m not going to sprout fangs and murder you in your sleep.”
“Wasn’t worried about *you*,” Kellan said. “I was thinking more about…visitors.”
Juno thought of the scent she’d picked up at the edge of camp last night. Of Lysa’s words.
She swallowed. “Fine,” she said. “Shifts.”
Mira and Kellan exchanged a glance over her head that she didn’t miss.
Protective. Worried.
She could almost hear Mira’s unspoken: *We won’t let anything take you.*
Juno turned on her side, facing the tent wall. She curled her hands under her cheek.
The bond pulsed, a soft ache.
*Riven,* she thought experimentally, testing his name in the quiet of her head.
He flinched in their shared space, like she’d run a nail down his spine.
*Don’t,* he whispered. *Don’t say that like it matters.*
*It *does* matter,* she thought fiercely. *Whether we like it or not.*
A pause. Then, dryly: *You’re very…direct.*
*You don’t know me,* she shot back.
*I know enough,* he said. *You smell like mountains that don’t move for anyone.*
Despite herself, her lips twitched. *Flattery won’t get you out of that cage.*
*Didn’t expect it to,* he replied. There was a thread of something almost like amusement under the weariness now. *Nothing gets me out of cages. That’s the point.*
Her chest tightened. She rolled onto her back, staring at the canvas.
*We’re meeting tomorrow,* she told him. *Properly.*
A pause. A flicker of…fear? Anticipation? Both.
*I’ll try not to bite,* he said.
*I might,* she replied.
His answering huff brushed her mind like a faint exhale.
Outside, the camp slowly quieted, wolves settling into sleep or low-voiced conversations.
The blood moon hung heavy, bathing the tents in red light.
Somewhere at the edge of camp, a chain rattled softly.
Juno closed her eyes.
Sleep, when it finally came, was full of tunnels and chains and eyes like pale gold watching her from the dark.
***
On the far side of camp, Riven sat with his back against the post, head tipped up to stare at the blood moon.
The guard on duty snored softly in his chair, spear tipped at an awkward angle. Riven could have laughed at the irony.
He was wide awake.
His wolf had plastered itself against the inside of his skin, all teeth and desperate, painful yearning.
*Go,* it whined. *Find. Touch. Ours.*
Riven pressed his hand against his chest, palm flat over his thudding heart.
“Shut up,” he muttered. “We’re not… that’s not—”
Words failed him.
He could still feel her. A warm, bright knot of presence in the back of his mind, pulsing faintly in time with her heartbeat.
He hadn’t lied to her — he was trying very hard to be quiet. To curl himself into the smallest shape possible in their shared space, to not contaminate her with the dark thing that clung to him.
He’d thought he was done wanting anything.
He’d thought *she* had burned that out of him, along with so much else.
Apparently his wolf hadn’t gotten the memo.
“Stupid,” he whispered to himself. “Stupid, stupid…”
He knew what mates were. What they meant. He’d grown up in a pack where the bond was sacred. Where mates were celebrated, protected.
He’d watched his parents dance around each other in the kitchen, laughing, their bond stretching between them like a golden cord.
He’d watched that cord snap when the mountain fell.
He’d sworn never to put that kind of power in anyone’s hands again. Not his. Not anyone else’s.
Now here it was, coiled between his ribs — a new cord, thin and fragile and terrifyingly bright.
He wanted to cut it.
He didn’t know how.
“Fuck,” he said quietly, to the moon, to the night, to himself.
The moon didn’t answer.
It just hung there, fat and red, watching.
In the shadows beyond the camp’s light, something rustled.
Riven’s head snapped toward the sound.
His wolf’s ears pricked. His lips peeled back from his teeth in a silent snarl.
For a moment, he thought it was just a restless rabbit or a drunk Silver Peak wolf stumbling off to piss in the trees.
Then the smell hit him.
Rot. Old blood. Burnt herbs.
The wrongness he’d been trying not to think about all day.
His breath caught.
*No.*
Not here. Not *now*.
Not with her sleeping less than a hundred paces away.
A shape moved between the trees. Tall. Shadowed.
Too smooth.
Too deliberate.
It stopped just outside the circle of lantern light, where the darkness was thickest.
Riven’s skin crawled.
His chain rattled as he surged to his feet without meaning to. The sound was loud in the quiet camp.
The guard jerked awake, snorting. “Whazzat—?”
Riven didn’t look at him. His eyes were locked on the shadows under the trees.
They watched back.
A voice slid into his head.
*Found you, my beast,* it purred. *And you brought me such an interesting new toy.*
Riven’s blood ran cold.
His fingers curled around the chain, white-knuckled.
On the other side of camp, Juno shifted in her sleep, brow furrowing.
The bond tightened.
Tomorrow, they’d meet face-to-face.
Tonight, something else had already arrived.
---