Morning came gray and thin.
The blood moon had slipped below the horizon sometime after dawn, leaving the sky washed-out and colorless, like someone had bleached the world while they slept.
Juno didn’t feel like she’d slept.
She dragged herself upright on her bedroll, every muscle aching, head throbbing dully. Mira snored softly next to her, hair a wild halo around her face. Kellan lay just inside the tent flap, one arm flung over his eyes.
Juno rubbed at the crease line on her cheek from the pillow and inhaled.
The camp smelled…tired.
Wolves who’d been high on blood moon energy a few hours ago now trudged around like they’d run a marathon. The scents of coffee, stale beer, sweat, and the metallic tang of magic hung in the air.
Under it all, steady and unavoidable, she smelled him.
Riven.
Even half-asleep, her body reacted. Her pulse picked up. Her wolf stirred.
*Down,* Juno told her.
Her wolf huffed, unimpressed.
Memories from the night before rose sluggishly — the thing in the trees, its slick voice in her mind, the wolves thrown like ragdolls, Lysa’s howl, and then—
Her hand on the bars.
His hand on her wrist.
The way the bond had exploded, turning them inside out.
Heat burned in her cheeks.
“Morning,” Kellan mumbled, voice scratchy. He pushed himself up on one elbow, squinting at her. “You look like death warmed over.”
“You smell like it,” she shot back automatically, grateful for the familiar banter.
He snorted. “Love you too.”
Mira groaned and flopped onto her back. “Tell the sun to go away,” she mumbled. “It’s rude.”
“The sun’s not the problem,” Juno said. “Reality is.”
Memory finished crashing in.
Her stomach flipped.
“Oh, Goddess,” Mira breathed, sitting up faster than her body liked. “Last night. I thought…maybe I dreamed some of it.”
“You didn’t,” Juno said. “I checked.”
“On a scale of one to ten,” Kellan said, sitting up fully now, “how bad is your hangover-from-being-mentally-groped-by-an-ancient-monster?”
Juno glared at him. “That’s not a scale.”
“It is in my head.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I had nightmares about roots growing out of my eyes. That…thing…did not come here to make friends.”
Juno shuddered. “No.”
She felt an itch at the back of her skull, like something had scratched there and left a faint residue.
She reached inward cautiously.
The bond with Riven hummed, a steady, low presence. Not invasive. Just…there. Like a second heartbeat in the background.
He was awake.
Tired. Sore. On edge.
She could feel that much.
*You alive?* she thought tentatively.
A pause.
Then: *Unfortunately.*
His mental voice was rough, edged with dry humor.
Despite everything, her lips curved.
*How’s your ankle?* she asked.
A flash of pain, quickly muted. *I’ve had worse.*
*That wasn’t an answer.*
*It hurts,* he admitted, almost grudgingly. *Chain bit deep. It’ll heal. Eventually.*
She swallowed. Images from their mind-sharing flickered — his blood on cold stone, on rusted iron, on snow.
She cleared her throat.
“We should go,” she told Mira and Kellan. “Lysa wanted to start planning at first light.”
Mira groaned. “Lysa always wants to start planning at first light.”
“Some of us aspire to be functioning alphas one day,” Juno said, grabbing her boots. “You can keep aspiring to sleep.”
Mira stuck her tongue out at her, but she swung her legs out of her blanket.
They dressed quickly — Juno in worn jeans, a dark green thermal, and her beloved leather jacket; Mira in thick leggings and a red sweater that brought out the warmth in her skin; Kellan in a faded T-shirt that clung to his chest and worn cargo pants.
When Juno laced up her boots, her fingers trembled slightly.
She flexed them.
*Get it together,* she told herself. *You’re not going to fall apart in front of him. Or her. Or anyone.*
Mira squeezed her shoulder. “You okay to see him again?” she asked quietly, reading her too easily.
“No,” Juno said honestly. “But I’m going anyway.”
Kellan leant against the tent pole, watching her with that same hard, unresolved look from the night before. “You don’t have to do this,” he said. “Lysa can keep you out of it. You can…cut the bond, if you have to.”
Juno’s chest squeezed.
Rejection.
The word lurked behind everything now.
“I *have* to do this,” she said, meeting his gaze steadily. “I won’t spend the rest of my life wondering if I walked away from something that could have stopped…whatever *that* is.”
Kellan’s jaw worked. “And if it stops you instead?”
“Then you’ll get to say ‘I told you so’ at my funeral,” she said dryly.
He didn’t laugh.
Mira elbowed him gently. “She’s stubborn, Kell. You know this. Best we can do is be stubborn with her.”
He huffed out a breath. “Fine,” he said. “But if he so much as looks at you wrong, I’m ripping his throat out.”
Juno snorted. “That’s not how mate bonds work.”
“Not *yet,*” he said darkly.
She rolled her eyes, but warmth— and guilt— flickered under her ribs.
Kellan had never pushed for more than they’d agreed to. Friends. Fuck-buddies, occasionally. No strings.
They’d both always known that if a mate bond snapped into place for either of them, this…whatever it was…would end.
Knowing it in theory and watching him stare down that reality were two different things.
She reached out and squeezed his forearm. “You’re not losing me,” she said. “I’m just…gaining complications.”
He snorted. “You’re very bad at pep talks.”
“I know.” She managed a small smile. “Come on. Before Lysa sends Corin to drag us by the ears.”
***
The command tent buzzed with tension.
Lysa was already there, of course, standing over the map table with Corin and Ivo. Dark circles smudged the skin under her silver eyes. Her braid was slightly less immaculate than usual.
Bram lurked near the back of the tent, arms crossed over his barrel chest, beard bristling. Soren lounged against a post, expression deceptively relaxed.
A few other high-ranking wolves from each pack clustered near the sides — scouts, healers, elders.
Everyone looked tired.
Everyone looked wired.
“Juno,” Lysa said as she entered. “Good. Sit.”
Juno folded onto the cushion from last night, Mira flanking her, Kellan hanging back a bit but within arm’s reach.
“Before we discuss…her,” Lysa said, nostrils flaring slightly at the pronoun, “we need to establish what just happened.”
Corin nodded, dropping a pebble onto the map where the northern border lay. “She crossed the ward line,” she said. “Or reached through it. Either way, the stones didn’t stop her.”
Ivo shifted his weight. “It was like the wards…weren’t even there,” he said. “Or they saw her and decided to pretend they didn’t.”
“Wards are built against physical intrusion,” one of Ridge Hollow’s older wolves, a gray-haired woman named Irena, said. “And some kinds of magic. This…thing…wasn’t fully either.”
“She called this world ‘soft,’” Soren mused. “Said we couldn’t kill her here.”
Juno suppressed a shiver. The way the thing had said *soft* had made her skin crawl.
“Whatever she is,” Lysa said, voice clipped, “she’s not a basic witch or hedge mage. This is older. Wilder. The kind of thing we tell pups not to make deals with in the deep woods.”
“Mother’s Maw,” Irena said quietly, making a warding sign with her fingers. “That’s what my grandmother called things like that. The hungry places that talk back.”
The phrase slotted into something in Juno’s mind.
Mother’s Maw.
A place. A presence.
A mouth that never stopped chewing.
“Does the name mean anything to you?” Lysa asked Juno.
Juno shook her head. “Stories,” she said. “Whispers. Caves you don’t go into. Pools you don’t drink from. Don’t follow lights in the bog. That kind of thing.”
“The Maw’s not one thing,” Irena said. “It’s…many. Mouths. Voices. Hungers. They live where the world is thin. In cracks. They like…bargains with bad fine print.”
Juno’s gaze slid toward the edge of the tent, where the cage would be if there wasn’t canvas in the way.
*He* would know more.
He’d made a deal.
He’d paid.
“Riven said she’s not a witch,” Juno said. “He said witches have circles and codes. She doesn’t.”
“Witches are bound by their magic,” Irena agreed. “These things aren’t. They are…holes. Where magic falls.”
Kellan shifted uneasily. “Fantastic,” he muttered. “We’re fighting a talking sinkhole.”
Bram grunted. “I don’t care what fancy name you slap on her,” he said. “She killed my wolves. She walked into our camp. She *touched* our heads.” His hand flexed into a fist. “I want her gone.”
“We all do,” Lysa said. “But rushing at something we don’t understand is how we end up feeding it.”
Her gaze swept the room. “We need information. As much as we can get. And like it or not, the chained wolf at our border has more of that than anyone else.”
Bram’s lip curled. “You trust him?”
“No,” Lysa said flatly. “But I trust his hatred for her. That, I can work with.”
Juno’s shoulders loosened fractionally.
She cleared her throat. “When I touched him last night,” she said slowly, “it wasn’t just…the bond. I saw…pieces. Of his memories. His deal. The brand. The…pit.”
All eyes snapped to her.
Soren’s brows rose. “You got the highlight reel already?” he said. “Quick work.”
Juno resisted the urge to throw something at him. “I didn’t ask for it,” she said tightly. “It just…happened.”
“Did you see her?” Lysa asked. “Her real face?”
Juno shuddered. “No,” she said. “Just…hands. A shape. The smell. The voice. Enough.”
Enough to haunt her.
Corin studied her closely. “You said ‘pit,’” she said. “What kind of pit?”
“Underground,” Juno said, closing her eyes briefly, pulling the memory up. The smell alone made her stomach roll. “Stone walls. Chains. Rings in the rock. Blood on everything. Riven in the middle, shifting back and forth while she…watched.”
Mira’s hand found hers under the table, fingers lacing tight.
“How long?” Lysa asked quietly.
“Three years,” Juno said. “Since his pack died. Before that, he had…normal life. Pack. Parents. A mountain like ours. Then there was a…slide. Rockfall. Avalanche. Half his pack was buried.”
Including, Juno knew, someone whose face he hadn’t let her see clearly. A blur, like the memory was too raw to sharpen.
“Instead of grieving like a normal wolf,” Bram grunted, “he goes crawling into a cave to make a deal with a shadow.”
Juno’s hackles rose. “His whole world collapsed,” she snapped. “He was desperate. Grief does…strange things.”
Bram snorted. “We’ve all lost wolves. We don’t all sell our souls for a chance to dig them up.”
“Enough,” Lysa said sharply. “We’re not here to debate his choices. They were bad. We can all agree on that. We’re here to deal with the consequences sitting in my camp.”
She turned to Juno again. “When you…connected, did you feel anything you didn’t recognize as his? Any…hooks?”
Juno swallowed. “I felt *her* in him,” she said. “A…stain. But no new…threads in me. Nothing that feels like…possession.”
“What about now?” Corin asked. “Anything…moving around that shouldn’t be?”
Juno took a breath.
She went inward, carefully.
She felt herself — her mind, her wolf, the familiar shapes of her own thoughts.
She felt the pack-mind, a low, distant hum.
And she felt the bond.
Riven. A knot of presence. Tired. Wary. Watching.
Nothing else.
“No,” she said. “Nothing that feels like her. Just me. And him.”
“That’s something,” Lysa said. “But we’ll have Irena and our healer double-check you later, just in case. No offense.”
“None taken,” Juno said faintly. The idea of someone else rummaging around in her head made her stomach flip, but compared to last night, it was a small violation.
Lysa straightened. “Here’s what we do,” she said. “We talk to Riven. Properly. Not just vague answers and half-truths. We push. We find the edges of what he knows and what she lets him say.”
“And if she doesn’t like him talking?” Kellan asked.
“Then we find that out too,” Lysa said. “Better now, while we’re alert, than in the middle of some festival ten years from now when our guard is down.”
Bram grunted. “You want me there,” he said. Not a question.
“Yes,” Lysa said. “He killed your wolves. You deserve to hear his answers firsthand. And you’re blunt enough to ask the questions I won’t think of.”
Bram’s beard twitched. “Flattery won’t get you out of this one, girl.”
“I wasn’t flattering you,” Lysa said.
Soren stretched lazily. “And me?” he asked. “Do I get an invite to the interrogation party, or am I relegated to the cheap seats?”
“You’re coming whether I like it or not,” Lysa said dryly. “Might as well have you where I can see you.”
He pressed a hand to his heart. “You wound me.”
She ignored him. “Juno,” she said, turning back, “you come too.”
Juno swallowed. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asked. “Last time I got near him, I almost ripped my own brain out.”
“You anchored him,” Lysa said. “You pushed back with him. That matters. And you see things in him we don’t. You smell things. Feel things. We’d be stupid not to use that.”
Juno’s wolf perked up at the word *use*, offended.
“I’m not a tool,” Juno said quietly.
“No,” Lysa said. “You’re my wolf. That’s why I trust you to tell me when this bond starts pulling you in directions that aren’t yours.”
The words hit Juno like a steadying hand on her spine.
She nodded. “Alright,” she said. “When?”
“As soon as you eat something,” Lysa said. “None of us think straight on an empty stomach.”
“Speak for yourself,” Bram muttered.
“And wash your face,” Soren added to Juno, eyes gleaming. “You’ve got sleep lines. Very intimidating.”
Juno flipped him off.
Corin smirked, just for a second.
***
Breakfast was a blur of hot porridge, strong coffee, and muttered curses.
Juno barely tasted any of it. Her mind kept drifting toward the cage.
Toward him.
She tried not to let herself think too hard about what she was about to do. She’d gone into dangerous situations before. Patrols where they didn’t know what was lurking in the trees. Negotiations with prickly neighboring alphas.
She’d always had a plan. A map in her head. A sense of how the ground lay.
With Riven, the map kept shifting under her feet.
“Breathe,” Mira said, nudging her tray when Juno realized she’d been staring at her food without moving.
“I am,” Juno lied.
Mira arched an eyebrow. “Your shoulders are trying to reach your ears again. That’s your ‘I’m composing my own funeral dirge’ face.”
Kellan snorted. “She has a separate one for ‘I’m about to punch someone important,’” he said. “You’ll know it when you see it.”
Juno rolled her eyes, but made a conscious effort to drop her shoulders.
“You two are very helpful,” she said.
Mira leaned in. “We’ll be right outside the circle,” she whispered. “If anything feels…off…I’ll drag you out myself.”
Juno squeezed her hand. “I know,” she said softly. “Thanks.”
Kellan bumped her knee with his under the table. “And if he tries to charm you with his tragic eyes, I’ll remind you that you like your men less…possessed.”
She snorted. “Noted.”
He sobered. “Seriously, Juno. Be careful.”
She met his gaze. “I will.”
He searched her face, then nodded once. “Good.”
Lysa’s voice cut across the murmuring camp. “Juno. With me.”
Juno swallowed the last of her coffee, set the mug down, and stood.
Her legs didn’t feel entirely steady. She made them move anyway.
The group that walked toward the northern edge was small but heavy.
Lysa in front, steady as ever. Corin at her right. Bram stomping on her left like a one-man avalanche. Soren sauntering behind, Irena and another elder at his side. Ivo brought up the rear with two more guards.
Juno walked near the middle, an odd hybrid of participant and…subject.
Everyone they passed watched them.
Whispers trailed in their wake.
“—that rogue—”
“—mated—”
“—thing in the trees—”
Juno kept her gaze fixed ahead.
The cage came into view.
Riven was already on his feet.
His posture when he realized they were coming straight for him was…interesting.
He stiffened, obviously. His hand tightened on the chain.
But he didn’t bare his teeth. Didn’t snarl. Didn’t posture like a cornered animal.
He went very still. Watchful.
His gaze flitted over the group as they approached, assessing. It landed briefly on Bram, on Soren, on Lysa.
Then it found Juno.
The bond pulsed, quick and sharp.
His expression didn’t change much — just a tiny easing around his mouth, like he’d been braced for something worse and seeing her made it fractionally better.
Her wolf, traitorous thing, preened.
*Of course it’s better with us here,* she said smugly. *We are his pack now.*
*We are not his pack,* Juno snapped. *We are his…complication.*
Her own lips twitched, just a little.
They stopped a few feet from the bars.
Lysa planted herself squarely in front of Riven. Bram stood to her right, Soren to her left. Juno hovered just behind and to the side, within his line of sight but not center stage.
Corin took up position at Juno’s shoulder, a silent reminder not to do anything too stupid.
“Riven,” Lysa said. “You slept?”
He made a face. “Define slept.”
“Closed your eyes for more than an hour without screaming,” Soren said helpfully.
Riven’s mouth quirked. “Then no,” he said. “Didn’t sleep.”
“Good,” Bram said. “You don’t deserve rest.”
Riven’s gaze flicked to him, cool. “You must be Bram.”
“I am,” Bram said. “You killed my wolves.”
“Yes,” Riven said. “I did.”
Juno’s fingers curled.
He didn’t flinch away from the words. Didn’t try to soften them. There was no pride in them either. Just flat acknowledgment.
“Why?” Bram demanded.
Riven’s jaw flexed. “Because your scent was the first thing in reach when she yanked my chain,” he said. “Because she wanted to see what your patrol would do. Because I was still stupid enough to think if I followed orders, she might loosen the leash enough for me to breathe.”
His hand went unconsciously to his throat, fingers brushing the brand Juno knew was there.
“You expect me to pity you?” Bram growled. “Because the butcher’s knife was forced into your hand?”
Riven’s eyes flashed. “I don’t want your pity,” he snarled. “I want her dead. And I want to know that if there’s anything of your wolves left in whatever pit she dragged them to, they’re not…screaming anymore.”
Silence dropped.
Something twisted in Juno’s chest.
Bram’s nostrils flared. “What do you know of my wolves?” he asked roughly. “You tore their throats out. You didn’t drag them anywhere.”
Riven’s gaze didn’t soften. “You think she let their souls go?” he asked. “She eats *stories.* Pain. Fear. Death. The ones she likes, she…keeps. Plays back. Like…songs.”
A muscle ticked in his cheek.
Juno’s stomach turned.
“How—” She cleared her throat. “How do you know?”
He met her eyes.
She saw it, then. The pit. The blood. The...echoes.
He didn’t speak for a moment. His hands curled against his thighs.
Finally: “Because she made me listen,” he said softly. “When she was in a generous mood.”
Irena sucked in a sharp breath.
She made a warding sign again, fingers shaking slightly.
“Mother’s Maw,” she whispered. “She is of it. Or close to it.”
“That name again,” Soren said. “Care to explain, grandmother?”
Irena shot him a sharp look. “Don’t call me grandmother like you’ve ever listened to a story in your life,” she snapped. Then, to the group at large: “The Maw isn’t a person. It’s…a place under places. A hunger. It takes form when it needs to. Through…mouths. Hands. People who make deals.”
She jerked her chin at Riven. “Him.”
Riven’s shoulders hunched, the barest fraction.
Juno’s wolf growled at the sight, bristling at him being pointed to like a thing.
*We are not defending him,* Juno reminded her.
Her wolf bared her teeth. *We defend what is ours.*
She pretended she didn’t hear that.
“Names,” Lysa said. “I want a name to curse when I spit. Did she give you one?”
Riven’s gaze flicked away, then back.
He hesitated.
Juno felt the weight of that pause.
There was something tightly coiled in him. A fear that had nothing to do with teeth and claws.
“She said names are doors,” he said finally. “And doors go both ways.”
“That sounds like something a manipulative bitch says to keep power,” Soren remarked. “Not naming her just makes her sound scarier.”
“She is scarier,” Riven said flatly. “You haven’t seen what’s on the other side of the door.”
“I’ve seen worse things than you can imagine, boy,” Bram growled.
Riven’s eyes went distant for a second. Juno caught a flicker of something green-black and deep.
“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not.”
“Enough poetry,” Lysa cut in. “We don’t need her *true* name. But she has to call herself something when she whispers promises in dark corners. What did she say when she introduced herself?”
Riven’s jaw clenched.
“She didn’t,” he said. “First time, she just…was. Then she said if I wanted to think of her as anything, I could call her…Mother Below.”
The words dropped like stones.
Juno felt them in her teeth.
Irena hissed. “Blasphemy,” she spat. “Twisting the old names.”
“What does it mean?” Juno asked quietly.
“Above and Below,” Irena said, eyes flashing. “Old stories. The Mother Above — moon, sky, snow. The Mother Below — earth, root, dark. We honor both. But the one in your head? She’s not the old Below. She’s…something that crawled into that space and put on her dress.”
Soren’s mouth twisted. “Well,” he said. “Cheerful.”
Lysa’s fingers drummed against her thigh once. “Mother Below,” she said. “Fine. We’ll call her that when we spit.”
Her eyes returned to Riven. “You said she ‘yanked your chain’ at our border,” she said. “Explain.”
Riven took a breath.
“She doesn’t…live in one place,” he said. “Not like we do. She…spreads. Through deals. Through caves where the stone is thin. Through…people. She put a piece of herself in me when I made the bargain. A…hook.”
He swallowed. The brand at his throat seemed to tighten.
“She can tug on it,” he continued. “When she wants me to move. To fight. To…break something. Most of the time, I can…resist. A little. Push the command…sideways. But when the blood moon rises, and everything in me is already howling, the leash gets…shorter.”
His lips twitched in a humorless smile. “She thought it was funny,” he added. “To see what new toys I’d find if she threw me at a new mountain on a red night.”
Juno’s stomach knotted.
“And you didn’t…try to warn anyone?” Bram demanded. “To stay away?”
Riven barked a laugh that was closer to a sob. “She dropped me in the middle of your patrol,” he said. “Mid-leap. One second I’m in a cave. The next, I’m airborne, teeth in someone’s throat. I didn’t exactly have time to put up a sign.”
He grimaced. “I tried to run. After. Away from your border. Away from your scents. But the pull—” He broke off, jaw tightening. “She didn’t like that. Next tug slammed me *through* your ward-stones. Felt like…lightning. When I woke up, I was here.”
“In our camp,” Lysa said. “On our mountain. Under *our* blood moon.”
His gaze flicked to Juno briefly. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “That part she didn’t plan.”
Heat crawled up the back of Juno’s neck.
“You didn’t know the bond would snap?” she asked before she could stop herself.
He met her eyes. “I hoped it wouldn’t,” he said bluntly. “I’ve been staying away from circles for three years. Last thing I wanted was to drag someone else into my mess.”
Something in her chest twisted.
Her wolf bristled at the implication that *she* was weakness.
But another part of her — the part that knew too well what it felt like to carry grief alone — recognized the shape of his fear.
“How do you know she can’t use me?” Juno asked. “Through you. Through this.” She tapped her chest where the bond thrummed.
Riven’s expression tightened. “I don’t,” he said quietly. “That’s what terrifies me.”
Lysa’s voice cut in, firm. “We won’t let her,” she said. “That’s the point of this conversation. To find the cracks before she does.”
She stepped closer to the bars, eyes hard. “What exactly did you trade her?” she asked. “For your…strength. Your leash. Your pit.”
Riven’s throat bobbed.
“Everything,” he said. “At first, I thought it was just…my future. My freedom. My…soul, if you believe in those. Whatever. I didn’t care. I just wanted—”
He broke off, looking away.
Juno saw it again— the blur of a face in his memory. The one body they hadn’t found in the rockfall.
She knew what he’d wanted.
He didn’t say it out loud.
“She gave me teeth and chains,” he said instead. “The more I used them, the tighter they got. The more I…killed…for her, the more pieces she took. Of me. Of…others.”
“Our dead,” Bram growled.
“Yes,” Riven said. “And before them, others. Villages. Travelers. Packs. She doesn’t discriminate. She just…eats.”
His lip curled. “Sometimes she gives pieces back,” he added. “To…play. Voices in the dark. Faces in the stone. I thought—”
He cut himself off again, jaw clamped.
Juno’s chest ached.
“You thought you could yank them out,” she said softly. “Drag them back.”
He laughed, bitter. “Yeah,” he said. “Turns out, you can’t pull something out of a stomach once it’s been chewed.”
The tent seemed suddenly too small.
Juno drew in a breath through her nose, forcing it to be slow.
“Why did she back off last night?” Corin asked, cutting through the heavy silence. “She waltzed in like she owned the place. Threw our alphas around. Then she left. Why?”
Riven’s gaze flicked to Juno again.
Juno’s skin prickled.
“Because you pushed back,” he said quietly, eyes on her.
She swallowed. “Me?”
“You,” he said. “And me. Together. She’s been…comfortable in my head for three years. She knows every corner. Last night was the first time I’ve had something *else* in there with her.”
His eyes held hers.
“Something she doesn’t own.”
Heat crawled up Juno’s neck again, for a different reason.
“You think the bond…startled her,” Lysa said slowly. “Made her…reevaluate.”
Riven nodded once. “She doesn’t like surprises,” he said. “She likes…patterns. Cracks she can push into. Juno—” Saying her name clearly still seemed to taste strange in his mouth. “—doesn’t…crack. Easily. She bit back. She…shoved. That’s new for Mother Below. She wasn’t expecting to be…crowded.”
Juno’s wolf preened shamelessly at *doesn’t crack easily*.
*We are rock,* she said smugly. *She is rot. Rot slides off rock.*
*You are extremely proud of yourself,* Juno thought dryly.
*Yes,* her wolf said.
Lysa’s mouth curved, just slightly, at the corners. “You’re saying my wolf pissed off an ancient hunger,” she said. “Good. That’s half her job.”
Juno’s cheeks warmed further.
“Careful,” Soren murmured. “Compliment her too much and she’ll start walking around like she owns the mountain.”
“She *does* own the mountain,” Bram rumbled. “Or she will, if Lysa ever drops dead.”
“Bite your tongue,” Irena snapped.
Bram just shrugged.
Lysa shook her head once, like she was clearing it. “We know more now than we did last night,” she said briskly. “We know what she calls herself. We know how she moves. We know she doesn’t like sharing headspace.”
Her gaze sharpened on Riven. “What we don’t know is how to cut your chain without dragging her teeth deeper into our mountain.”
Riven’s hands tightened on the bars. “If breaking me breaks it,” he said quietly, “do it.”
Juno’s heart kicked.
“No,” she said, before she could think.
Every head swiveled toward her.
Riven’s brows rose slightly.
“Juno,” Lysa said, tone warning. “We’re not making decisions yet. We’re gathering options.”
She heard the unspoken: *Including the option of killing him if we have to.*
Her stomach turned.
She forced herself to meet Lysa’s gaze. “If…killing him would stop her, he’d be dead already,” she said. “She’s been using him for three years. He’s expendable to her. If his death cut her line, she wouldn’t have thrown him away. She’d have swallowed him whole.”
Riven went very still.
“It’s a risk,” Corin said quietly. “We don’t know her limitations.”
“Exactly,” Juno said. “We don’t know. Which means killing him now is…shooting in the dark and hoping we hit the right thing. And giving up a weapon we might need.”
“Weapon?” Kellan, from behind her, echoed, voice sharp. “He’s a *person,* Juno. Not just a…tool.”
Juno flinched.
“Yes,” she said, throat tight. “He is. But we don’t have the luxury of pretending this is just about one man’s tragic story. There’s a…hole…chewing at the edges of our world. We need every advantage we can get.”
She felt Riven’s gaze on her.
It burned.
“I’m not opposed to dying,” he said, voice rough. “You’ve probably gathered that. But if I die, I want it to hurt her. Not just…tidy up your camp.”
Lysa’s expression softened by a degree. “Trust me,” she said. “If we kill you, it won’t be tidy. I like my revenge messy.”
Soren chuckled. “I do so enjoy it when you talk like that,” he said.
She ignored him.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Lysa said, straightening. “We keep you alive. For now. We feed you. We clean that ankle before it rots off. We strengthen the wards. We dig into every story we know about the Maw and Mother Below and whatever other names she’s worn.”
Her gaze flicked to Irena, who nodded, already mentally riffling through decades of lore.
“In return,” Lysa went on, fixing Riven with a hard stare, “you give us *everything.* No more half-answers. No more evasions. You tell us what she likes. What she avoids. What she *fears.* You show us the teeth she never thought we’d see.”
Riven’s throat worked.
“And if she punishes me for talking?” he asked quietly.
“Then we stand between you and the worst of it,” Lysa said. “That’s what packs do.”
His jaw clenched. “I’m not pack.”
“You’re mated to one of mine,” Lysa said. “That makes you my problem.”
Heat flared under Juno’s ribs.
Riven’s gaze slid to her again.
His eyes were unreadable.
“Terms of engagement, then,” he said hoarsely. “You protect me from her. I help you try to kill her.”
Lysa’s mouth curved in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “You say ‘try’ like we’re capable of anything less than success,” she said.
He huffed a breath that might have been a laugh. Might have been a cough.
“You’re very sure of yourself,” he said.
“I have to be,” she replied. “Or wolves like her win.”
She extended her hand, palm up, through the bars.
The gesture startled Juno.
Riven stared at it like it was a snake.
Slowly, as if moving underwater, he lifted his own hand.
His fingers hovered over hers for a second.
Juno felt his hesitation through the bond.
He knew what touching an alpha meant. The weight of territory, of law, of…belonging.
His hand dropped the last inch.
His calloused palm met Lysa’s.
Power surged.
Not magic. Not the Maw’s slippery wrongness.
Pack power.
Lysa’s eyes glowed briefly.
Riven’s jaw clenched, teeth grit.
Juno felt something click.
Not a bond — not in the way hers to him was. But a…thread. A thin, new line connecting him to Pine Crest. To this mountain.
Lysa released him.
“There,” she said. “Now you’re in this with us. No more running. No more hiding.”
He swallowed. “Never been very good at running anyway,” he muttered.
Bram grunted. “If this blows up in our faces,” he said, “I’m telling everyone this was your idea, Lysa.”
“Of course you are,” she said. “You blame me when it rains.”
“It *does* rain more when you’re angry,” Soren put in.
“Out,” Lysa said, exasperation edging her voice for the first time that morning. “All of you. Go eat. Train. Sleep. I don’t care. Just get out of my sight for an hour so I can think without your commentary.”
“I like it when you’re bossy,” Soren murmured.
“Out, Soren,” Corin said, stepping toward him with a look that promised pain.
He went, laughing softly.
Bram lingered a moment longer, meeting Riven’s eyes.
“You break this truce,” he said quietly. “You so much as breathe wrong on my wolves, and I’ll rip your heart out with my teeth.”
Riven didn’t flinch. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said.
Bram snorted and stomped away.
Soon, only Lysa, Corin, Ivo, Juno, and Riven were left.
Lysa turned to Juno.
“You did well,” she said. “Better than I expected, given…” She waved vaguely at the invisible bond.
Juno wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or an insult. She took it as both.
“What now?” she asked. “Do I…just…go about my day? Pretend I don’t feel him every time I breathe?”
Riven’s lips twitched.
“Pretty much,” Lysa said. “We can’t press the bond too hard too fast. That’s how wolves break. You need time to…adjust. To learn where you end and he begins.”
“And in the meantime,” Juno said slowly, “what if she…comes back?”
“Then we handle it,” Lysa said. “Together. With better preparation than last night. We’re not caught flat-footed again.”
Her gaze softened slightly as she studied Juno. “You alright?”
Juno thought about lying.
“No,” she said. “But I will be.”
Lysa nodded once. “Good answer.”
She stepped away, murmuring something to Corin about patrol rotations.
Ivo lingered for a second, giving Riven a crooked smile. “Welcome to the dysfunctional family,” he said. “We bite.”
Riven huffed. “Better than licking,” he muttered.
Ivo chuckled and wandered off.
Leaving Juno and Riven with only a few feet — and a set of bars — between them.
Silence stretched.
Juno shifted her weight.
She was acutely aware of every inch of herself — the way her jacket pulled across her shoulders, the scuff on her left boot, the strand of hair tickling her cheek.
Riven leaned his knuckles against the bars, head tipped slightly, studying her openly now that a dozen alpha gazes weren’t pinned to his back.
Up close, in daylight, he looked worse.
The bruises on his jaw and cheek stood out starkly. His eyes were bloodshot, dark circles smudged beneath. Stubble shadowed his jaw more thickly than last night.
His mouth, though.
That she tried not to notice.
Full. A little cracked. With a small scar at the corner of his bottom lip, like he’d bitten it too hard once.
“You…” he started, then stopped. He exhaled. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said finally.
“Do what?” she asked.
“Put your hand on the bars,” he said. “Last night. Let me see…you. That was…stupid.”
She bristled. “You’re welcome,” she said dryly. “Next time I’ll let your pet monster use you as a chew toy alone.”
His mouth twitched. “I didn’t say it wasn’t…helpful,” he said. “Just…you didn’t owe me that. Or this.” He gestured vaguely at the space between them. “Any of it.”
Anger flared, sharper than she expected.
“Owe you?” she repeated. “Is that what you think this is? Some…debt?”
He frowned, thrown. “Isn’t it?”
She took a step closer, heat prickling under her skin. “We’re *mated,*” she hissed. “Whether I like it or not. That’s not…a favor. It’s not…charity. It’s a bond. A fucking knot the universe tied between us without asking. If you think I’m doing this because I *owe* you—”
“Then why *are* you doing this?” he shot back, sudden roughness in his voice. “Why aren’t you out there demanding Lysa cut my throat and throw me off your mountain? You’d be within your rights. Clean. Simple. No complications. You seem like the type who likes things neat.”
She laughed, sharp. “You don’t know me at all,” she said.
His eyes held hers. “Then tell me,” he said. “Why are you here?”
Her heart thudded.
Why *was* she here?
Because Lysa needed her. Because the pack needed answers. Because the thing had looked at her like a snack.
Because her wolf had shoved past fear and pain to slam her palm against these bars.
Because when she’d felt the bond snap into place, it had felt like finally.
“Because I don’t walk away from fights I can win,” she said finally. “And because I don’t run from things that scare me.”
“Even if that thing is…me,” he said quietly.
She swallowed. “You scare me less than she does,” she admitted. “Which is saying something.”
Something like surprise flickered across his face.
“Besides,” she added, because honesty seemed to have become a habit with him whether she liked it or not, “I’ve spent four years standing at the edge of the circle telling myself I was fine without a mate. That I didn’t…need…this.”
She tapped her chest again.
His eyes dropped briefly to the motion, then back up.
“And?” he asked, voice rough.
“And,” she said slowly, “the second it snapped into place with you, I realized I’d been lying to myself.”
His throat worked.
“That doesn’t mean I’m happy about *you,* specifically,” she added quickly. “Or that I’m ready to…accept this. Or that I’m going to fall into your arms and start swooning.”
His lips quirked. “I’d pay good money to see you swoon,” he muttered.
She glared. “Don’t get used to jokes,” she warned. “I’m still mad at you.”
He blinked. “What did I do?”
“You killed Bram’s wolves,” she said flatly. “You brought *her* here. You made a deal with something you shouldn’t have and then dragged the consequences to my mountain.”
Guilt flashed across his face.
“On the other hand,” she said grimly, “if you hadn’t, she would’ve found another way. Another wolf. Another mountain. This isn’t just your mess, Riven. It’s…bigger.”
He looked at her like he wasn’t sure what to do with that.
“You call me by my name,” he said slowly. “Like it doesn’t burn your tongue.”
“It doesn’t,” she said. “Yet.”
He huffed a breath. “You really are…direct,” he said.
“You said that last night,” she reminded him.
“I know,” he said. “Still true.”
They stared at each other for a second longer than was strictly comfortable.
The bond hummed.
Heat curled low in Juno’s belly, unwelcome.
She shifted her feet, looking away first.
“I should go,” she said abruptly. “Lysa told me to…live my life. Not hover around your cage like a…creepy stalker.”
He snorted. “You’d be the least creepy thing that’s ever hovered near my cage,” he said. “But…yeah. Go. Breathe. Pretend I’m not…in your head for a few hours.”
“Not possible,” she muttered.
He tilted his head. “You feel…crowded?” he asked, something like concern threading his voice.
She hesitated.
“Yes,” she said. “But…not just by you. By…everything. Her. Lysa’s expectations. Bram’s anger. My own…shit.”
He nodded slowly. “I’ll…stay small,” he said. “In here.” He tapped his temple. “I’ll keep to my corner unless you…knock.”
Surprise flickered in her.
“You can do that?” she asked. “Control…how much…?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Learned to make myself small a long time ago,” he said. “Doesn’t hurt to…practice with someone who isn’t trying to eat me.”
Her throat tightened unexpectedly.
“Okay,” she said. “Deal.”
She stepped back.
The bond tugged, like a stretched elastic.
She ignored it.
Mira caught her eye from the edge of the clearing, worry etched into the lines around her mouth.
Juno gave her a small nod.
“I’ll be around,” she told Riven. “You’re not…alone in this.”
He blinked slowly.
Something like raw gratitude flickered, so fast she almost missed it.
“I know,” he said roughly. “That’s what scares me.”
She huffed a breath that was half-laugh, half-sigh.
“Get used to it,” she said.
Then she turned and walked away, feeling his gaze on her back the whole time.
She resisted the urge to look back.
Barely.
***
By midday, the camp had settled into a tense new rhythm.
Wolves ran patrols along the border in heavier numbers. Healers tended to bruises and sprains from the night’s magical tossing. Elders muttered over old texts and traded scraps of lore like currency.
Juno tried to lose herself in familiarity.
She ran the ridge trail twice, legs burning, lungs aching. The cold wind knifed through her, clearing some of the cobwebs from her head.
Her wolf stretched gladly, grateful for movement.
But even pounding along the cliff edge, eyes on the horizon, she felt Riven.
He kept to his promise — stayed small, quiet, in the corner of their shared space. But his awareness brushed hers occasionally, like their shoulders bumping in a crowded room.
She thought about ignoring it.
She didn’t.
*You ever run like this?* she thought, rounding a bend where the view dropped away into a sheer fall of rock and trees.
A pause.
Then: *Once.*
He sent her a flash — a memory of a different mountain, wider and less jagged, his paws pounding packed earth, his pack around him, laughter echoing.
She swallowed.
*You miss it,* she said.
*Every breath,* he replied simply.
She crested the highest point of the trail and slowed, chest heaving.
The view stretched out in front of her — valley, distant river, other peaks.
Home.
*You’ll see it for real one day,* she found herself thinking before she could stop herself. *Not just from a cage.*
A beat.
Then: *You planning a jailbreak, wolf?* His mental tone was amused, but there was an ache under it.
*Don’t get excited,* she retorted. *I’m not stupid enough to let you roam free while you’re still dragging her stink around.*
*You like my stink,* he said.
Heat shot to her cheeks so fast she stumbled.
*I do not,* she snapped.
*Your wolf does,* he murmured. *She purrs every time you get close.*
“She does not purr,” Juno muttered out loud, scandalized.
A crow nearby croaked, offended.
She scowled toward the sky. “Not you,” she told it.
The crow stared at her, unimpressed, then flapped away.
*You are not supposed to be listening to my wolf,* she thought furiously, turning back toward camp.
*I’m not trying to,* he protested. *She’s loud.*
Juno’s wolf bared her teeth in a grin. *He likes us,* she sing-songed.
*Shut up,* Juno told them both.
She ran harder on the way back, trying to burn off the embarrassment.
By the time she reached camp again, sweat cooled on her skin, hair damp, she felt marginally more in control.
Until she saw Soren sitting on a rock near the path, watching her.
He had that look on his face — the one that meant trouble.
“How’s the mate?” he asked as she approached, voice light.
Juno rolled her eyes. “Hello to you too,” she said. “Stalking other packs’ wolves again?”
He smiled lazily. “When they’re as interesting as you, yes.” He tilted his head. “Well?”
“Well what?” she asked, wiping her face with the hem of her shirt.
His gaze flicked briefly to the strip of bare skin she exposed, then back up. If it affected him, he hid it well.
“How’s your new shadow?” he asked. “Whispering sweet nothings in your ear already?”
She snorted. “Mostly he’s whispering ‘kill me now,’” she said. “Very romantic.”
Soren laughed. “Ah, tragic men. They do make the best stories.”
“You say that like you haven’t starred in a few,” she said.
He pressed a hand to his chest. “Always the supporting character,” he said. “Never the hero.”
She gave him a look.
He smiled. “Fine,” he admitted. “Once or twice.”
He hopped off the rock, falling into step beside her as she walked.
“Be careful,” he said, more serious now. “Bonds like this…entangle. Especially when there’s…pain in the threads.”
“You speaking from experience?” she asked lightly.
His mouth tightened. “Maybe.”
She glanced at him.
“Who?” she asked softly.
He looked at her sharply.
She held his gaze.
He sighed, rolling his eyes heavenward. “Nosy pup,” he muttered. “It was a long time ago.”
He didn’t *not* answer.
She waited.
He exhaled through his nose. “Valley pack,” he said finally. “Small. Stubborn. She was…sharp. Like you. Didn’t like authority. We met at a Gathering like this. Bond snapped. We argued for six months about whose territory we’d live on.”
“And?” Juno asked, genuinely curious.
“And then the Maw took her pack,” he said, voice flat.
Her breath caught.
“Rockfall?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “Pestilence. Sickness that spread too fast. Wolves coughing blood. Witches couldn’t stop it. She tried to fight it. Bargained.” His lip curled. “With something in the caves.”
Juno’s skin went cold.
“She didn’t tell me,” Soren said. “Thought she could…carry it alone. That I’d…stay clean. She died in my arms. Smiling. Because she thought she’d…saved me.”
He laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. “Joke’s on her. I’ve been rotting inside ever since.”
Juno swallowed hard.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
He shrugged one shoulder. “Don’t be,” he said. “Just…don’t be her. Don’t decide for *him* what burden he gets to carry. Or for yourself.”
She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Soren said, stopping and turning to face her fully, “if you decide this bond is too dangerous and you cut it, make sure you’re doing it for you. Not because you think you’re…protecting him. Or anyone else. Martyrs make lovely statues. Terrible mates.”
His eyes were very sharp.
She felt suddenly seen in a way she didn’t like.
“I’m not…cutting anything,” she said stiffly. “Not yet. Maybe not ever. I don’t know.”
“Good,” he said. “Uncertainty looks good on you. Keeps you from doing anything too heroic.”
He turned away, already sauntering off.
“Soren,” she called.
He glanced back over his shoulder.
“If you had the chance to…go back,” she asked slowly. “To do it differently. With her. Would you?”
His mouth crooked.
“Yes,” he said simply. “I would have asked harder questions. Pushed more. Not let her make bargains alone in the dark.”
He held her gaze a heartbeat longer.
“Ask him hard questions, Juno,” he said. “Even when it hurts. Especially then.”
Then he was gone, weaving between tents, already smiling at someone else.
Juno stood there for a long moment, heart thudding.
Hard questions.
She was good at those.
She just hadn’t expected to be asking them of someone whose heartbeat was tangled with hers.
***
By late afternoon, the camp had settled into a tense kind of almost-normal. Wolves sparred in the training ring. Pups chased each other between trees. Cook fires crackled.
The thing — Mother Below, the Maw, whatever name she wore — hadn’t reappeared.
Juno’s skin still itched, waiting.
But for now, there was quiet.
Lysa, being Lysa, refused to let that quiet go to waste.
“We’re holding joint training drills at dusk,” Corin announced to the assembled unmated wolves of all three packs. “If we’re going to fight something that throws us like twigs, we might as well learn how to land.”
Groans and cheers mixed.
Juno found herself paired with a Silver Peak female — tall, broad-shouldered, with cropped black hair and a half-healed scar over her eyebrow — for a series of take-downs and counters.
It helped, a little.
Throwing other bodies around, getting thrown, feeling the jolt of impact — it brought her back into herself.
Her wolf liked it. Fighting was familiar.
When they took a break, panting and sweating, Juno flopped down on a log at the edge of the ring, gulping water.
Her gaze drifted, inevitably, to the cage.
Riven sat cross-legged now, chain slack between his ankle and the post. Someone — probably Ivo — had cleaned the wound and bandaged it. He watched the training with a strange expression — half-hungry, half-detached.
Like a man watching a fire from the wrong side of the glass.
As if feeling her eyes, he turned his head.
Their gazes met.
The bond hummed.
She lifted her water skin slightly in a sarcastic salute.
His lips twitched.
He mimed clapping, slow.
She flipped him off.
He chuckled, silent but visible.
Her wolf purred.
She told her wolf to shut up.
“Flirting with the prisoner?” Kellan dropped onto the log beside her, raising an eyebrow. “Bold move.”
She jumped. “I’m not flirting,” she hissed. “I’m…antagonizing.”
“Ah,” he said. “The classic enemies-to-lovers pipeline.”
She stared at him. “Sometimes I forget you read as many trashy romance novels as Mira.”
He spread his hands. “I contain multitudes.”
Mira appeared on Juno’s other side, shoving Kellan’s shoulder. “Stop projecting your kink onto her,” she said. “She’s stressed enough.”
“I’m not—” Kellan started.
Juno sighed. “Both of you, shut up,” she said. “We have drills.”
“Later tonight,” Mira murmured under her breath, “we also have a bottle of that plum wine I smuggled in. You’re getting at least a little drunk, Juno. I don’t care how strong you think you are. Your brain needs the lies.”
Juno snorted. “We’ll see,” she said.
Her brain felt too full already.
Adding alcohol to the mix might tip something over.
Or it might finally let her sleep.
She wasn’t sure which scared her more.
***
Night fell.
Lanterns flickered on. The mating circle stayed empty — no howls tonight, just the echo of last night’s chaos hanging over the stones.
Pine Crest wolves clustered at one end of the camp, Silver Peak and Ridge Hollow at others. Lines were blurry, but still visible.
The cage at the northern edge stood like a punctuation mark.
Juno, Mira, and Kellan sat outside their tent, sharing the promised plum wine in dented metal cups.
It was sweet and sharp and stronger than it tasted.
By Juno’s second cup, some of the buzzing at the back of her skull had softened.
“Tomorrow,” Mira said, lying flat on her back to stare at the stars, “we should sneak up to the hot springs. My muscles hurt in places I didn’t know I had places.”
Kellan sprawled on his side in the dirt, propped up on one elbow. “Your alpha is dealing with a demonic pit-mouth thing and you’re thinking about baths,” he said.
“I am entirely capable of thinking about two things at once,” Mira said serenely. “Saving the world. And not smelling like wet dog.”
Juno snorted, finishing her cup. The warmth in her belly coiled pleasantly.
Her gaze drifted.
The cage was a dark square at the edge of the lantern light.
A guard sat outside it — not Ivo tonight, but another Pine Crest wolf, a quiet woman named Fenn. She whittled absently at a piece of wood, eyes occasionally flicking to the trees.
Riven was a shadow inside the cage, back against the bars, knees drawn up.
He wasn’t asleep.
Juno could feel that through the bond.
He was…listening.
To the camp. To the wind. To her.
*You’re brooding,* she thought at him.
A pause.
*I brood a lot,* he replied. *It’s one of my more charming traits.*
The wine loosened her tongue.
*I can think of others,* she thought, then flushed.
The bond hummed, amused.
*Oh?* he said. *Do tell.*
She cursed herself.
*Your self-loathing is very…impressive,* she said dryly. *Truly next-level. Inspiring, even.*
*I aim to please,* he replied.
Mira poked her in the side. “You’re doing your distant-staring thing again,” she said. “What did he say?”
Juno hesitated.
“Nothing useful,” she said. “Mostly being a sarcastic ass.”
Kellan grunted. “At least you have a type,” he muttered.
She shot him a look. “Don’t start,” she warned.
He raised his hands. “Hey, I’m not saying *I’m* not a sarcastic ass,” he said. “I’m saying you’re collecting us.”
She rolled her eyes.
Mira sat up, leaning against Juno’s shoulder. “Do you…” she started, then trailed off.
“What?” Juno asked, softer.
Mira chewed her lip. “Do you *want* him?” she asked bluntly. “Like…physically?”
Juno choked on air.
“Mira,” Kellan hissed.
“What?” Mira said, unrepentant. “Everyone’s thinking it. She’s mated to a half-naked stranger in chains. That does things to a girl.”
Heat scorched Juno’s face.
She was grateful for the dim lantern light.
“I don’t…know,” she said, which was maddening in its own way. “It’s…complicated. My body…reacts. When he looks at me. When I smell him.”
“So…yes,” Mira translated.
“It’s not that simple,” Juno protested. “He’s…hurt. And dangerous. And half-possessed. I’m not going to jump his bones in a cage.”
Mira hummed thoughtfully. “But if he *weren’t* in a cage…”
“Mira,” Kellan groaned.
Juno scrubbed a hand over her face. “Can we not?” she muttered. “There’s enough going on in my head without adding…that.”
Mira’s expression softened. “Okay,” she said. “Sorry. I’ll save the thirsty questions for when you’re less…fragile.”
“I’m not fragile,” Juno objected.
“You’re emotionally hungover,” Mira said. “Same thing.”
Juno huffed.
The wine made everything feel both heavier and lighter.
She leaned her head back against the tent, closing her eyes.
The bond pulsed.
Images flickered up unbidden — his hands, rough and scarred, closing around the bars; the way his throat moved when he swallowed; the strip of skin above his waistband when he shifted.
Heat curled low.
She cursed her biology.
*Stop thinking about me naked,* he said suddenly.
She startled so hard her cup nearly spilled. “I am *not*—” she protested out loud.
Mira and Kellan both turned to stare.
She flushed. “Not talking to you,” she muttered.
In her head: *I am not thinking about you naked.*
He snorted. *You literally just imagined my hands on you,* he said. *I’m not blind in here, you know.*
Mortification exploded in her.
*Get out of my brain,* she snarled.
*Trust me,* he said dryly. *I’d love not to see whatever weird shit goes through your head all day. But bond’s a two-way street, wolf. You ogle me, I feel it.*
She buried her face in her hands.
Mira patted her back soothingly, assuming panic about something else.
Kellan watched her, brow furrowed.
*Fuck,* Juno thought helplessly.
*Later,* Riven said, surprising her.
There was something raw and resigned in the word.
*I’m a mess,* he added, brutally honest. *Physically. Mentally. Magically. Whatever you’re…feeling…right now…tuck it away. For when I’m not a walking curse.*
The way he said *for when,* not *if,* made her breath catch.
“You good?” Kellan asked, studying her.
She dropped her hands. “Peachy,” she lied.
“Liar,” Mira murmured.
Juno blew out a breath.
“I’m going to bed,” she announced, standing a bit unsteadily.
Mira scrambled up too. “I’ll come. We can braid each other’s hair and talk about boys.”
Juno snorted. “You can braid my hair,” she said. “And *you*—” She jabbed a finger at Kellan. “Stay.”
He blinked. “Uh. Okay.”
“Guard duty,” she clarified. “Outside the tent. If Mother Below comes back, I want you between her and us.”
He sighed. “Hot,” he said. “I love being objectified for my protective bulk.”
“Good,” she said, and ducked into the tent before he could see her smile.
Inside, with the lantern turned low, she stripped down to her underwear and an old oversized T-shirt, teeth tugging at her lower lip.
Mira’s eyes were soft as she watched her.
“You’re doing better than I would,” Mira said quietly. “If I’d woken up mated to a man in chains and an ancient evil, I would have just laid down and screamed.”
Juno huffed. “Tempting,” she admitted.
Mira came over and wrapped her arms around her from behind, chin on Juno’s shoulder. “We’ll get through it,” she whispered. “One disaster at a time.”
Juno closed her eyes, soaking in the warmth.
“Yeah,” she said. “We will.”
She didn’t entirely believe it.
But the bond hummed.
Riven’s presence brushed hers, careful and small.
*Sleep,* he murmured. *I’ll keep watch from my…corner.*
She wanted to tell him he didn’t have to.
She didn’t.
She crawled onto her bedroll, pulled the blanket up, and let the wine and exhaustion drag her under.
Her dreams were less sharp this time.
Still full of teeth and chains and tunnels.
But also — just once — a glimmer of something else.
Hands — his — brushing hair from her face.
A warmth that wasn’t just blood-magic.
A voice — hers — laughing.
She woke before dawn with her heart pounding and her thighs pressed together, breath shallow.
“Fuck,” she whispered into her pillow.
On the other end of the bond, Riven’s weary, wry voice answered.
*Tell me about it.*
The slow burn, it seemed, had just moved a few degrees closer to actual flame.
And morning had barely begun.
---