Juno woke with a start.
Her heart hammered, pulse thudding in her throat. For a second, she had no idea where she was.
Dark canvas above. The faint glow of banked embers in the tiny stove. Mira’s soft breathing to her left. Kellan’s bulk a shadow near the tent flap.
The smell of pine, smoke, and pack.
She inhaled.
And smelled *him*.
Panic spiked.
The bond pulsed sharply, dragging her mind into sharper focus.
Something was wrong.
Not the low, constant wrongness that clung to Riven like a second skin. Something new. Closer. Slick and cold, like oil on water.
She threw off her blanket, scrambling upright.
Mira jerked awake. “Wha—?”
Kellan was already moving, hand going instinctively to where his knife would be if they hadn’t agreed to come unarmed into the mating circle area.
“What is it?” he hissed.
Juno didn’t answer. Her focus was elsewhere.
*Riven,* she thought sharply. *What’s happening?*
For a second, she slammed into a wall. Not his. Something else.
Then his presence flared, raw and panicked.
*Back,* he snarled. Not at her. At something. *Get back.*
Images flickered in her mind, disjointed — dark trees, a flicker of movement, eyes like coals in the black.
Her skin prickled.
“Alpha,” she snapped, lunging for the tent flap. “We need Lysa. Now.”
Kellan grabbed her arm. “Juno—”
She shook him off. “Something’s at the north line,” she said. “In the trees. The…*thing* that’s been playing with Riven just knocked on our door.”
Mira’s face drained of color. “You *felt* it?”
“Through him,” Juno said grimly. “Through the bond.”
“Then you sure as hell aren’t going out there alone,” Kellan said. “Mira—”
“I’m already gone,” Mira said, ducking under the flap. “I’ll get Lysa.”
Juno followed, Kellan on her heels.
The camp was dim, lit only by a few guttering lanterns. The blood moon had started its slow descent, staining everything a darker shade of red.
Most wolves slept. A few sat by low fires, murmuring.
Juno’s bare feet slapped the cold earth as she ran toward the northern edge, heart pounding.
Every step pulled the bond tighter, the feeling of Riven’s panic and anger getting stronger.
She could *hear* him now, breaths sawing, chain rattling.
*Stay back,* he snarled again, this time at *her* too. *You don’t—*
*Shut up,* she snapped back. *You don’t get to tell me what to do in my own camp.*
*This isn’t—* he started, then cut off with a strangled grunt.
She burst through a cluster of tents and skidded to a stop.
The scene at the cage hit her like a punch.
Riven stood at the very limit of his chain, body straining against the iron. His hands were white-knuckled on the links. Sweat sheened his bare chest despite the cold. His teeth were bared, a growl vibrating deep in his chest.
He wasn’t looking at her.
He was looking at the treeline.
At the shadow.
It stood just beyond the nearest lantern’s reach, tall and slender, cloaked in something that wasn’t quite fabric, wasn’t quite smoke.
At first glance, it could have been a human. A woman, maybe. The outline was right — curves in the right places, a fall of something like hair, the suggestion of a face.
But the longer Juno looked, the more wrong it became.
The edges of it wavered, as if the body it wore was just a hallucination it hadn’t fully committed to. Its “hair” shifted without wind. Its face, when she squinted, looked smooth as bark, features only implied.
Its eyes, though.
They were sharp.
Too sharp.
They glowed faintly, a sickly yellow-green, like swamp gas.
Cold seeped into Juno’s bones, unrelated to the night air.
The smell coming off it was worse.
Rot. Burnt herbs. Something sweet and cloying underneath, like old perfume covering decay.
The same scent she’d caught at the border. Stronger now.
Every instinct in her screamed to back away.
Her wolf, usually all teeth and stubborn pride, tucked her tail, snarling from a safe distance.
*Not right,* her wolf spat. *Not…alive. Not dead. Wrong.*
Juno’s lips peeled back in a silent snarl.
The thing tilted its head, as if curious.
“You brought company,” it said.
The voice didn’t come from its mouth.
It slid into Juno’s head like oil poured into water, coating everything it touched.
Her stomach heaved.
She resisted the urge to clap her hands over her ears. Useless. The sound wasn’t in the air.
Riven’s chain rattled as he lunged forward, stopping just short of the bars. “Get out,” he snarled out loud, voice rough. “Get *away* from them.”
“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” the thing asked. Its tone was light, almost playful, but there was a cold edge under it that made Juno’s skin crawl.
A shape shifted at the edge of her vision.
She glanced left.
The guard who was supposed to be on duty lay slumped in his chair, eyes closed, chest rising and falling shallowly. Asleep. Too deeply.
Magic sleep.
“Wake up,” Juno hissed, grabbing his shoulder and shaking hard.
He didn’t stir.
Panic sharpened her focus.
She straightened, planting herself between the cage and the thing, feet braced.
“Who are you?” she demanded, voice raw. “What do you want with my wolf?”
She didn’t mean to say *my wolf*. The word slipped out, pulled by the bond.
It rang in the air.
The thing’s head turned toward her, attention sharpening.
“Well now,” it said. “Isn’t *that* interesting.”
Riven swore. “Juno, *back off*,” he snarled. “You don’t—”
“Shut *up*,” she snapped without looking at him. “You’re chained. I’m not. I get to stand in front.”
The thing laughed.
The sound slithered over her skin.
“Brave little pup,” it said. “You smell delicious.”
Juno’s wolf bristled. *We are not food,* she snarled.
The thing’s not-face tilted. “Oh, you’ve got teeth,” it said. “I like that.”
Juno’s heart pounded, but she kept her chin up.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she said. “Who. Are. You?”
“Names,” it said with something like amusement, “have such…weight, in your kind’s stories. You think if you know a thing’s name, you own it.”
Juno wanted to shout *Lysa* for Alpha, to drag her here with sheer will.
She heard movement behind her. Boots on dirt. A low curse.
Lysa’s voice, cutting through the dark like a knife. “Everyone back.”
Juno exhaled shakily. Her legs had started to tremble.
She didn’t move, though.
Lysa strode up to her left, Corin at her right, Ivo close behind, spear in hand, eyes wide. Other wolves emerged from tents, gathering in a loose semi-circle.
The thing’s glowing eyes slid over them, lingering on Lysa.
“Ah,” it said. “The silver alpha. I’ve heard of you.”
Lysa’s lip curled. “Can’t say the same.”
“Liar,” it said, amused. “Your stories run deep in these mountains. Wolf with no mate, heart given only to her pack. The one who kept her people out of my hands…until now.”
Juno’s stomach flipped.
Her gaze darted to Lysa’s face.
For the first time since Juno had known her, true fear flickered in the alpha’s eyes.
Only for a second. Then it was gone, buried under steel.
“You talk too much,” Lysa said, voice flat. “My mountain has no place for things that rot from the inside.”
The thing laughed again.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” it purred. “Your mountain is *full* of rot. You’ve just been very good at pretending it doesn’t exist. Pushing it into caves and cracks. Ignoring the whispers.”
It shifted, the outline of its “body” blurring for a moment.
Riven snarled, the sound raw. “She’s not for you,” he rasped. “Leave her out of this. Take me back if you want. Cut me open. I don’t care. Just—”
“Always so dramatic, my beast,” it said fondly. “You think you get to bargain with me? After you ran?”
“I didn’t—” He choked off, frustration and helpless rage flooding the bond so hard Juno staggered.
She gritted her teeth.
“Why are you here?” Lysa demanded. “You’ve been scratching at our borders for weeks. Now you waltz into my camp. You could have done it any night. Why *this* one?”
The thing’s gaze slid to Juno again.
“The bond,” it said simply.
Bile rose in Juno’s throat.
“You planned this,” she whispered. “You…threw him here…so he’d…bond?”
The thing shrugged, the motion wrong. “I nudged,” it said. “The rest was nature. You and my beast were already…aligned. I just speeded the introduction.”
Riven made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. “You call this…an introduction?” he spat. “Chaining me in a cage and throwing her at me like a bone?”
“Don’t be crass,” it said. “I gave you a *gift.* Both of you. You, a wolf so stubborn she’d rather break than bend. You—” Its not-face tilted toward Juno. “—a wolf who’s spent four years pretending you don’t ache.”
Heat flushed Juno’s cheeks, fury flaring.
“You think this is a gift?” she snapped. “Binding me to someone you’ve…tortured? Throwing me into whatever game you’re playing? I’ll pass.”
“Ah,” it said. “There’s that spine. I see why you were chosen.”
Juno’s wolf snarled. *We were not chosen. We choose.*
“Chosen for *what*?” Lysa demanded.
The thing smiled, or rearranged its features in a way that suggested it. “You’ll see,” it crooned. “Stories take time. I’m very patient.”
Riven’s chain creaked.
“I won’t dance for you anymore,” he rasped. His voice shook with fury and something like despair. “I’m done. Kill me. Eat me. Whatever. I’m finished.”
“Oh, my sweet beast,” it said, almost fond. “You think you’re the star of this story. That’s adorable.”
Its eyes glowed brighter.
Juno felt something slide against her mind.
Not like the bond with Riven. That connection was raw but…clean, in its own way. Direct.
This was…sly.
Slippery.
A thin tendril of something reaching, testing, looking for cracks.
She stiffened.
Her wolf lunged at it, teeth snapping, fur bristling. *No,* she snarled. *Ours.*
The tendril recoiled, then pressed again, more insistent.
Her heart raced.
Outside, she saw nothing. No movement. No gesture.
All the action was inside her own head.
She felt the thing’s curiosity.
*Let’s see…what you do…* it murmured, its “voice” wrapping around her thoughts.
Pain spiked behind her eyes.
She gasped, hand flying to her temple.
Mira, who’d just arrived with a cluster of other wolves, cried out. “Juno!”
She stumbled forward, but Lysa’s hand shot out, stopping her. “Don’t touch her,” Lysa snapped. “It’s in her head.”
“In *all* your heads,” the thing corrected. “That’s the fun of packs. So easy to spread.”
Juno ground her teeth.
She imagined her mind as a den.
A place with walls and tunnels and hidden rooms.
She pictured the tendril as a snake slithering under the door.
Her wolf bared her teeth. *Our den,* she growled. *Not for you.*
She lunged at the tendril, mentally, snapping jaws.
It recoiled again.
Surprise flickered from the thing.
*Oh,* it said. *You bite.*
Pressure built.
Juno’s vision blurred at the edges. She dropped to one knee, breath coming fast.
*Get out,* she snarled. *Get…out.*
The bond with Riven flared suddenly, bright and hot.
Not intruding. Supporting.
His presence surged closer in her mind, no longer huddled in the corner.
He didn’t try to shield her. He didn’t know how; he’d never had to protect anyone in this space.
But he did something simpler.
He…*pushed back.*
Not at her. At the thing.
*She’s not yours,* he thought fiercely. *You don’t get to mark this one too.*
For a second, Juno saw herself through his eyes— standing there, stubborn, shaking, hand pressed to her head, baring her teeth at something older and darker than she could comprehend.
Something in his chest clenched.
Not lust. Not yet.
Respect.
Pride, almost.
His wolf raised its head and howled, the sound ringing through the bond.
The tendril shivered.
The thing hissed.
Its attention shifted, split between them now. Between its old toy and its new.
The pressure eased by a fraction.
Juno sucked in a breath.
Lysa’s voice cut through, sharp as a blade. “Enough.”
She stepped forward, placing herself directly between Juno and the thing.
Power rolled off her.
Not magic, not in the way witches or whatever this was used it.
Alpha power.
Pack power.
It rose from the ground, from the trees, from the wolves clustered around, eyes glowing.
“You’ve had your show,” Lysa said, voice low and deadly. “You’ve taken blood. You’ve thrown your broken dog at my border. You’ve sniffed at my wolves. That ends now.”
The thing laughed. “You think you can make me leave, little alpha?”
Lysa bared her teeth. “Yes.”
She threw back her head and howled.
It wasn’t a long, pretty song.
It was a short, sharp burst of sound, laced with command.
*Pack. Here. Now.*
Magic responded.
Not the thing’s.
Theirs.
Ridge Hollow wolves burst from their tents, Bram at their head, eyes wild. Silver Peak wolves appeared on the rocks, Soren grinning like a man about to start a bar fight.
Dozens of wolves, in human and fur, converged on the northern edge, forming a wall of teeth and muscle.
The air hummed.
The thing’s eyes narrowed.
“Oh, very good,” it said. “All together now. Makes it easier to count the bodies later.”
Riven’s chain rattled as he stepped as far forward as he could, putting his shoulder to the bars. “You touch them,” he snarled, voice shaking, “and I swear, I will—”
“You’ll do *nothing,*” it said, bored. “You’re mine.”
“Not anymore,” he spat.
Juno felt the truth of that declaration like a spark in her chest.
He wasn’t hers yet. Not fully.
But he wasn’t *hers,* either.
Not cleanly.
Not anymore.
Thin cracks ran through the old brand at his throat, where invisible chains had once sunk deepest.
The thing’s gaze slid between them again.
“You think mating him will save you?” it asked Juno idly. “You think your pretty little bond can overwrite mine?”
Juno’s stomach lurched.
She hadn’t thought that far.
She didn’t *want* to think that far.
The idea of accepting him— of putting her teeth in his neck, letting him put his in hers— made her heart race for a dozen reasons she didn’t have the space to unpack right now.
“That’s not why I’m here,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m here because you don’t get to walk into my camp and poke at my people like they’re toys.”
It hummed, amused. “Brave,” it said again. “Stupid.”
Soren stepped forward, smile gone now, eyes hard. “You talk a lot for something that hasn’t even given us a name,” he said. “What are you afraid of, little nightmare? That if we call you by it, you’ll shrivel up?”
Its head turned slowly toward him.
“Careful, pup,” it whispered. “Names are doors. Doors go both ways.”
Bram spat on the ground. “Enough of this shit,” he growled. “We’ve fought worse than talking shadows. We burn it. We bury the ashes. We move on.”
He shifted mid-sentence, bones cracking, fur bursting from skin. A massive dark brown wolf stood where the alpha had been, lips peeled back from huge teeth.
His pack followed suit, shifting in a cascade of popping joints and fur.
Silver Peak wolves did the same, Soren’s white-gray wolf slipping into the front, lean and dangerous.
Pine Crest wolves— Juno’s wolves— shifted around her.
The air filled with growls.
The thing’s not-face rippled.
“Ah,” it sighed. “Finally. Music.”
It spread its arms, or the illusion of them.
“I could eat you all,” it said. “I’d be sick for days, but what a story it would make.”
Juno’s hands curled into fists.
Her wolf pressed against her skin, begging to be let out.
*Shift,* her wolf snarled. *Fight.*
*We can’t fight what we don’t understand,* Juno shot back. *We don’t know its rules. Its teeth.*
*Then we learn fast,* her wolf retorted.
Lysa’s hand landed briefly on Juno’s shoulder, fingers squeezing.
Juno met her eyes.
A hundred silent words passed between them in a second.
*Stay back.*
*Let us fight.*
*Don’t be a hero.*
Juno’s jaw clenched.
She stepped back half a pace, enough to show she’d listen.
For now.
“Last chance,” Lysa said to the thing. “Leave. Or we make you.”
It cocked its head.
“You can’t kill me,” it said. “Not here. Not in the soft world. This—” It gestured at its borrowed body. “—is just a finger. You’d have to reach much deeper to hurt me.”
“Then we cut off the finger,” Bram growled, wolf-voice rough in all their heads.
“See if you still like stroking what’s mine,” Soren added.
Without waiting for a reply, they lunged.
Wolves surged forward, a wave of fur and teeth and fury.
Juno watched, breath held, as they hit the edge of the lantern light—
And staggered.
The thing didn’t move.
The world did.
The grass at its feet blackened. The air warped. The scent of rot thickened, coating Juno’s tongue.
Wolves trying to cross that invisible line flinched, paws scrambling as if they’d hit a wall.
Some were thrown back bodily, yelping.
Others pushed through by sheer weight, their fur standing on end, eyes rolling white.
They snapped at empty air, biting only shadows.
The thing laughed.
“Such heavy paws,” it said. “Such blunt teeth.”
It lifted one hand— a long, spindly thing that looked more like a branch than flesh— and flicked.
Something invisible slammed into the front line.
Wolves flew.
Juno ducked as a Ridge Hollow wolf sailed over her, slamming into the ground behind with a pained whine.
Soren’s wolf was thrown sideways, hitting a rock hard enough to crack it.
Lysa stumbled, catching herself on her hands, teeth bared in a silent snarl.
Riven roared, both in his throat and in Juno’s head.
*Stop it,* he howled. *Take me. Leave them. Leave *her*—*
His chain groaned as he threw his weight against it, muscles straining, veins standing out in his neck.
Iron bit into flesh, drawing blood.
Magic sparked along the metal, the old spell that had been woven into it reacting to his surge.
Pain lanced up his leg.
He didn’t stop.
The thing’s not-face turned to him.
“Always so loyal,” it said, almost cooing. “I tried to beat that out of you. Failed, apparently.”
It took a step toward the cage.
The air around Riven shimmered.
Fear spiked in Juno’s chest.
She didn’t think.
She moved.
One heartbeat she was behind the line of wolves, watching. The next, she was shoving past them, sprinting toward the cage.
“Juno!” Mira screamed. “No!”
Lysa snarled. “Juno, *stop*!”
Alpha power slammed at her back like a gust of wind.
She staggered.
The bond flared.
Riven’s presence surged up, wrapping around her mind like a rough hand.
*Don’t come near me,* he snarled. *You don’t know what she—*
*Shut up,* she snarled right back. *If she wanted you that badly, she wouldn’t have thrown you away.*
He choked on that, momentarily stunned.
Juno used it.
She threw herself forward, feet hitting dirt, then stone, then dirt again as she crossed the invisible threshold where lantern light met deeper dark.
The air changed.
Cold slammed into her lungs.
The smell of rot doubled.
Her ears popped, like she’d climbed too fast.
For a second, her vision went gray around the edges.
*Turn back,* her wolf whimpered.
*No,* Juno said.
She pushed.
She felt something give, like thin ice cracking under her weight.
The thing’s head snapped toward her, full attention now.
“Oh,” it said. “You *really* are interesting.”
Pain flared along Juno’s skin, as if a thousand needles pricked every inch of her. Her muscles spasmed.
She dropped to one knee, gasping.
Riven shouted her name, voice raw.
The bond screamed.
She used it.
She grabbed it like a rope, hauling herself forward mentally and physically.
She staggered the last few feet and slammed her palm against the bars of the cage.
The metal bit cold into her skin.
Riven flinched back as if she’d burned him.
“Idi—” he started.
She didn’t let him finish.
She grabbed his wrist with her other hand, fingers wrapping around his bruised, scarred skin.
The moment their bare skin met, the bond exploded.
Light.
Heat.
Pain.
Pleasure.
It all crashed over them at once.
For a heartbeat, there was no camp.
No cage.
No thing in the trees.
Just the two of them, suspended in a space that was nothing and everything.
She saw flashes— his earliest memory, chasing a red ball across a wooden floor, his father’s laugh thundering like a storm.
Her own memory— climbing a tree too high, branch snapping under her, the air rushing past, then her mother’s arms catching her, breath knocked out of both of them.
His first shift, bones cracking, fur bursting, the world exploding into scent and sound.
Her first hunt, paws pounding earth, lungs burning, the taste of rabbit blood hot on her tongue.
His pack, faces blurred, then sharp— a woman with eyes like his, hair braided back; a man with a scar over his brow, grin wide.
Her pack, pups tumbling over each other, Mira’s braids in her face, Lysa’s firm hand on her shoulder, guiding.
Then.
The mountain falling.
Stone roaring.
Screams.
Darkness.
Her parents’ bodies under white sheets.
His entire pack buried under rock.
The voice in his head afterward, sweet and cold.
*I can give you what you want. Say my name.*
He didn’t.
He *thought* it.
That was enough.
The brand burning into his neck. The chains. The blood. The commands.
Her, three years later, running the ridges alone, howling her grief into the wind.
Him, in a pit, ripping out throats because a voice purred in his ear, *Good dog.*
Her, standing at the edge of the mating circle each year, pretending she didn’t flinch when others found their mates.
Him, watching gatherings from the shadows, teeth aching, refusing to step close.
The blood moon over both of them, year after year.
Then tonight.
Impact.
Bond.
Now.
Juno ripped herself out of the flood with a gasp.
Her hands still gripped the bars and his wrist. His fingers had closed around her forearm without him meaning to, clutching hard enough to bruise.
They stared at each other, eyes wide, chests heaving.
The world rushed back in around them.
The thing hissed.
The air crackled.
It felt…less sure now.
Like the room it had been comfortably lounging in had suddenly gained new furniture it hadn’t accounted for.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” it said, voice colder. “You’ve tangled yourselves up in my threads now.”
Juno bared her teeth. “Then choke on them,” she spat.
Riven’s lips twitched, a wild, incredulous half-smile.
For the first time since she’d seen him, something like *light* flickered behind his eyes.
Lysa’s voice, sharper than a blade, cut through the haze. “Juno, let go. Now.”
Juno realized her fingers had gone numb.
The bars under her palms pulsed with something that felt alarmingly like magic.
Riven’s skin burned under her touch, heat seeping into her.
She forced her hands to unclench.
The moment their skin broke contact, the intensity of the bond dialed back from a scream to a roar.
Still loud.
But survivable.
She staggered backward, legs trembling.
Strong arms caught her.
Mira.
“Got you,” her cousin breathed into her ear. “Always got you.”
Juno sagged against her for a second, drawing in ragged breaths.
Riven stayed where he was, fingers wrapped around the bars now instead of her, knuckles white.
He looked…different.
Still bruised, still chained, still radiating danger and damage.
But something in his posture had changed.
He looked…anchored.
Like he’d been drifting in open water for a long time and had just, finally, found something solid to put his feet on.
The thing’s not-face rippled.
“Well,” it said. “That complicates things.”
“Good,” Lysa snapped. “I like my enemies’ lives as complicated as possible.”
“Careful, silver wolf,” it said. “You’re painting a target on that girl’s back.”
Lysa stepped physically in front of Juno, shoulders squared. “She’s had a target on her back since the day she drew breath,” she said. “So have I. So have all of us. It’s called being alive. You don’t scare us.”
The thing regarded her for a long moment.
Juno could feel it testing again at the edges of her mind, more cautiously now.
She and Riven, without speaking, pushed back together.
The bond hummed.
The pressure receded.
The thing sighed.
“Fine,” it said. “We’ll call this…act one.”
It took a slow, deliberate step backward.
Then another.
With each step, the rot-scent thinned. The blackened grass lightened fractionally.
“I’ll be back,” it said conversationally. “Stories don’t like being left unfinished.”
“We’ll be here,” Lysa said. “With better weapons.”
The thing laughed one last time.
Then it was gone.
Not with a pop, not in a puff of smoke.
It just…wasn’t there anymore.
The shadows under the trees were empty again.
Silence crashed down.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then sound returned all at once. Wolves panting. Someone sobbing quietly. Ivo muttering a prayer under his breath.
Juno sagged fully into Mira, knees buckling.
Mira lowered her gently to the ground.
Kellan appeared at her other side, hand hovering near her shoulder. “You okay?” he asked, voice rough.
She swallowed. “Define okay,” she rasped.
Her head throbbed. Her skin felt too tight. Her heart was doing a strange double-beat that she suspected was just…her now.
But she was alive.
He was alive.
The camp was battered but standing.
“I’ve been worse,” she said.
Mira snorted wetly. “Liar.”
Riven slumped against the post, letting it take his weight. His chest rose and fell harshly.
Blood trickled down his ankle where the chain had bitten deep.
Lysa strode to the edge of the cage, eyes burning.
“You alright?” she asked Juno without looking back.
Juno nodded, then realized Lysa couldn’t see her.
“Yes,” she said aloud. “Mostly.”
“Good,” Lysa said. “Now that we’ve had *that* little show—”
She turned fully to the cage, to Riven.
“Let’s try this again,” she said, voice deceptively calm. “Who the hell did you sell yourself to, and how do we kill her?”
Riven stared at her.
Then, slowly, painfully, he smiled.
It wasn’t pleasant.
It was tired. Bitter. Edged with a kind of wild gratitude.
“Alpha,” he said, voice raw. “If I knew how to kill her, I’d have done it before she ever learned my name.”
Lysa’s eyes narrowed. “Then we’ll learn together,” she said. “Because I’ll be damned if I let that thing use my wolves as her playground.”
Her gaze flicked to Juno, then back to him.
“And that includes *you,* apparently,” she added, not quite managing to keep the distaste out of her tone.
Juno’s stomach twisted.
Riven’s did the same.
They met each other’s eyes through the bars.
The bond thrummed between them, low and insistent.
They didn’t smile.
They didn’t reach for each other again.
But neither looked away.
“Get some sleep,” Lysa told Juno without turning around. “That’s an order. We start planning at first light.”
Juno almost laughed. “Sleep,” she muttered. “Sure. Right after…that.”
Mira squeezed her hand. “We’ll make you some tea so strong it’ll knock out a Ridge Hollow bull,” she promised.
Kellan’s gaze flicked between Juno and Riven, something hard and unresolved in his eyes.
“Don’t die before morning,” he said to Riven, voice flat. “I want a chance to punch you in the face properly.”
Riven huffed a mirthless chuckle. “Get in line,” he said.
Juno’s lips twitched despite the knot in her chest.
She let Mira and Kellan steer her away from the cage, each step heavier now that the adrenaline was ebbing.
At the edge of the lantern light, she glanced back one more time.
Riven watched her go, eyes dark, chain glinting at his ankle.
The blood moon hung lower now, staining the world darker red.
The thing was gone.
For now.
Her life, whether she liked it or not, had cracked open.
There would be no going back to four quiet, mate-less years of pretending she was fine.
She was tied now — to a broken man in a cage, to a shadow with too many teeth, to a fight that had been brewing in the dark long before she’d drawn her first breath.
In the morning, they’d start figuring out how to cut the right strings without shredding themselves in the process.
Tonight, all she could do was lie down, close her eyes, and feel the bond humming like a live wire under her skin.
*We are so fucked,* she thought into the dark.
On the other end of the bond, Riven’s weary, rough agreement brushed her mind.
*Yeah,* he said. *But at least we’re fucked together now.*
Heat shot through her at the double meaning of that word, unwelcome and sharp.
Her wolf perked up, wicked.
*Later,* Juno snapped at herself, flushing in the dark. *Way, *way* later. If ever.*
Riven caught the echo of that thought.
Even exhausted, even half-broken, he managed another flicker of humor.
*Didn’t know mountains could blush,* he murmured.
She growled, shoving a pillow over her head.
Tomorrow, they’d talk.
Tomorrow, they’d plan.
Tonight, she let herself feel the strange, awful, exhilarating new truth humming through every inch of her:
She was no longer alone.
And her fate was now chained, quite literally, to a feral wolf with old magic in his blood and a monster at his heels.
Sleep, when it finally came, was not kind.
But it was shared.
And somewhere, deep under the mountain, in a place where roots tangled with bones and old magic slept uneasily, something that had thought itself untouchable for a very long time…stirred.
The story, whether any of them liked it or not, had truly begun.