Her hand looked small against his forearm.
Juno stared at the span of skin between her fingers and his, throat tight. The cage, the watching wolves, the cold air, all narrowed to that inch of space.
“Now or never,” Corin murmured behind her, voice low.
Riven’s muscles tensed under his bruised skin. His pulse beat a rapid staccato in the hollow by his elbow.
“On three,” he said hoarsely. “So we both jump at the same time.”
Her lips twitched despite herself. “I don’t need coaching to touch my own mate,” she muttered.
His eyes flashed. A flare of heat pulsed through the bond, quickly banked.
“Humor me,” he said. “One. Two—”
On “two,” she moved.
So did he.
Their skin met.
It wasn’t like last night.
Last night had been an explosion. A dam breaking, water rushing through.
This was…pressure.
Heat flared where their skins touched — palm to forearm — and spread up her arm like someone had poured hot wine into her veins. Her wolf yowled inside her chest, half-wild with relief.
*Ours,* her wolf breathed, awed. *Warm. Alive.*
Riven sucked in a sharp breath. His hand flexed under hers, calluses scraping her palm.
The bond swelled, filling her head with his nearness. This time, though, she was ready for it. She braced, anchored herself in the feel of her own feet on cold dirt, the smell of pine and smoke, the weight of Corin’s hand on her shoulder.
No cascade of memories battered her. No involuntary slide into his past.
Just…him.
Tense. Tired. Holding himself very, very still.
The wards around the cage thrummed louder.
Irena’s lips moved faster, the old woman’s fingers dancing over the stones. “Stronger now,” she muttered. “But no breach. No…sliding.”
Juno felt it too — a faint sting on the back of her hand, like standing too close to a crackling fire. Something probing at the edge of her joined skin and the air around it, finding resistance.
Her jaw clenched.
*Stay out,* she thought sharply, not sure if she was aiming it at Mother Below or at the fear curling in her own belly.
Riven’s fingers shifted, turning just enough that his hand half-encircled her wrist. Not a grip. A brace.
“You still with me?” he asked under his breath.
She nodded, unable to trust her voice.
He exhaled. She felt it ghost over her knuckles.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because I think she just noticed.”
The slight prickle on her skin spiked— became needles.
Juno hissed, grip tightening instinctively.
A slick, cold sensation brushed the outside of her thoughts, like an eel sliding along a glass wall.
*There you are,* a voice purred. *My little crack.*
Juno’s stomach twisted.
The voice was fainter than last night. Less…intrusive. But it was there.
“Wards are holding,” Irena said through clenched teeth. “She presses. We…push back.”
The air inside the cage thickened, suddenly hard to pull into her lungs.
Juno’s wolf planted her feet.
*She does not come in,* her wolf snarled. *This is our den.*
Riven’s presence surged up beside hers.
He didn’t try to shield her. That wasn’t his instinct — he’d never been allowed to protect anyone in the pit except by hurting others.
But he knew how to push.
*Not this one,* he thought fiercely, aiming the words outward, at the cold presence scraping at their joined hands. *You don’t get her.*
Heat flared hotter between their skins, a golden, burning line.
The sting spiked— then…receded.
Like something had reached, met resistance, and slid off.
Juno’s breath whooshed out.
The slick sensation pulled back from her mind, like a tongue withdrawing.
*Hmmm,* Mother Below’s voice mused. *Stubborn little stones. This will be…fun.*
Then the presence thinned, fading into the background hum of the mountain.
The wards’ glow dimmed from bright to steady.
Juno realized belatedly that she’d dug her nails into Riven’s skin hard enough to leave crescent moons.
“Sorry,” she muttered, loosening her grip.
He huffed a breath that was half-laugh. “I’ve had worse,” he said. Sweat beaded at his temples. “You okay?”
She swallowed. “Define okay,” she rasped.
He smiled faintly. “Breathing. Not possessed. Still snarky.”
“Then…yes,” she said. “I’m fine.”
“Good,” Lysa said crisply. “Let go.”
Every instinct in Juno screamed to hold tighter.
She obeyed.
Fingers trembling, she peeled her hand off his forearm.
Heat clung for a second, then dissipated.
The bond didn’t recede like it had last night when she’d let go in panic. It stayed…full. Less blinding, but strong. A steady connection.
Her hand throbbed.
She looked down.
A faint red line wrapped halfway around her wrist where his fingers had braced her — not from pressure, but from the wards’ sting where his skin and hers and the magic had met.
She flexed her fingers.
The line pulsed once, then faded slowly, leaving only a faint warmth.
“Well?” Lysa asked Irena.
The elder wolf exhaled, shoulders dropping a fraction. “She pressed, then pulled back,” she said. “Like a wave hitting rock. Wards held. Your girl and your…stray…held too.”
Juno bristled faintly at *your girl*. Riven twitched at *your stray*.
But the core of Irena’s words sent relief singing through Juno’s veins.
“The bond didn’t…pull her in?” Corin asked.
“No,” Irena said. “If anything, it…repelled. She pushed harder when they touched, yes. But their…line—” She gestured vaguely between Juno and Riven. “—is not hers. She can’t ride it like she rides his chain.”
“Not directly,” Riven muttered grimly. “She’ll find another way.”
Lysa’s gaze cut to him. “Probably,” she said. “But for now, we know this: Juno touching you doesn’t immediately hand her a key into our heads.”
Juno let out a shaky laugh. “What a low bar,” she said.
“Welcome to my standards,” Riven replied.
Lysa’s mouth curved. “Again,” she said. “Juno, step back. Clear your head. Then we’ll try something else.”
Juno’s stomach dipped. “Something else?”
Corin’s hand squeezed her shoulder. “We need to see what happens when you *both* drop your guards,” she said. “Just briefly.”
Riven stiffened. “Absolutely not,” he snapped. “Last time that happened we practically rewrote each other’s life stories.”
“And you survived,” Lysa said. “Barely. We need to know how far that can go.”
“You’re playing with fire,” Riven said through his teeth.
“Yes,” Lysa said evenly. “The world is on fire. I’d rather hold the torch than wait to be burned.”
Juno’s heart pounded.
Part of her — the part that had flinched at the sheer intimacy of last night’s accidental mind-meld — recoiled.
Another part — the one that had seen her parents’ laughter through his eyes and felt his mountain fall around his ears — was…curious.
What else lived in him?
What pieces of herself would she see more clearly in his reflection?
*You don’t have to prove anything,* he thought to her alone, his mental voice softer. *You already stuck your hand in the trap. That’s enough.*
She swallowed.
*It’s not about proving,* she replied. *It’s about…not being surprised later.*
He huffed. *You’re very fond of that,* he said. *Not being surprised.*
*Surprises in my world tend to come with blood,* she shot back.
*Same,* he conceded.
Aloud, she said, “What exactly do you want us to do?”
Lysa’s expression was cool, calculating. “You touch again,” she said. “Brief contact. This time, instead of bracing against each other, you both…open. Let the bond swell. Let it show you what it wants to show you.”
“Oh, that sounds lovely,” Riven said. “What could possibly go wrong?”
“Plenty,” Irena muttered. “Which is why I’m here.”
“If either of you starts to lose yourself,” Corin said, voice hard, “we drag Juno out and knock you unconscious.”
Riven’s mouth twitched. “Romantic,” he said.
Juno drew in a breath.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s do it.”
But this time, she didn’t reach.
He did.
Slowly, as if approaching a skittish animal, Riven extended his hand.
Palm up.
An invitation.
Her chest squeezed.
She placed her hand in his.
His fingers closed around hers. Firm. Warm.
The bond flared.
This time, she didn’t brace against it.
She stepped into it.
Light rushed up— not blinding, but bright. It filled her chest, pushing her ribs outward, tugging at the space behind her eyes.
She felt him do the same — loosening his death-grip on his own mind, letting the walls he’d built in the dark crack open a fraction.
For a heartbeat, they hovered on the edge.
Then they fell.
***
She was falling through him.
Not just memories this time. Not discrete scenes.
*Him.*
Fear was a color here — a deep blue-black that stained things at the edges. It lived in the corners, under the bed, behind the door.
Grief was heavier. A gray weight pooled in his lungs, making every breath an effort.
Underneath, so deep it had almost been smothered, something glowed.
Anger. Not the sharp, reactive kind she’d seen when he’d snarled at Bram.
Older. Hotter.
At himself. At the Maw. At the gods who’d let his mountain fall.
She tasted it. Bitter and electric.
She fell deeper.
And there was…love.
Not for her. Not yet.
For his pack. For the idea of pack.
Faces she hadn’t seen last night came clearer now — pups tumbling over his feet, a grizzled old wolf slapping his back after a successful hunt, a middle-aged woman with his same stubborn jaw scolding him for coming home late.
Warmth threaded through those images, so at odds with the blood and stone that came later it almost hurt to look at.
Her chest ached.
*He had this,* her wolf whispered. *Like we did.*
She brushed against the memory of the avalanche again — stone roaring, trees snapping, the air full of choking dust.
This time, she didn’t let it swallow her whole.
She skimmed past, following a thread that glimmered faintly at the edge of his awareness.
Hope.
Tiny. Foolish.
He’d clung to it even in the pit.
*Maybe,* he’d thought, over and over, *maybe I can still pull someone back.*
Juno recognized that flavor of self-delusion painfully well.
*If I just do this,* *if I just hurt myself enough,* *if I just hold on,* *maybe the dead won’t be so dead.*
Her own memories rose to meet his— her parents’ bodies under blankets, elders telling her “they’re with the Mother now” in gentle tones, her running to the ridge and howling until her throat bled because *maybe* if she screamed loud enough, they’d answer.
The bond braided those threads together.
Pain + Pain = Something that wasn’t less painful, but…less lonely.
Her eyes stung.
She blinked.
She was still standing in the cage. Riven’s hand still wrapped around hers. His eyes were closed now, lashes dark smudges on his bruised cheek.
His breathing had gone shallow.
She saw herself through him again, but clearer than last night — shoulders squared despite the tremor in her fingers, jaw set, eyes fierce.
He didn’t see pity there.
He saw…recognition.
And that scared him more than any monster in a cave.
He didn’t *want* to be seen.
Not like this.
Not by someone he might have to leave.
Juno’s heart clenched.
*You’re not leaving,* she thought fiercely, sending it down the line.
His eyes flew open.
Gold flared in them, bright.
The bond bucked.
Outside, Irena gasped. “Easy,” she hissed. “Ease.”
Juno forced herself to breathe.
In.
Out.
She didn’t break the contact.
She didn’t drop deeper.
She stayed *here*— in this strange, shared space where they both stood and watched.
“Enough,” Lysa’s voice cut through, sharp.
Corin yanked Juno’s shoulder.
Her hand was torn free.
The connection snapped back like a stretched cord.
Juno staggered, knees dipping.
Riven dropped back against the bars, breath sawing.
The cage rang faintly with the impact.
The ward-stones around them glowed bright for a heartbeat, then dimmed.
The air tasted like ozone.
“Report,” Lysa snapped, already looking to Irena.
The elder blew out a breath. “Close,” she said. “Very close. But no…entry. She pressed again when they opened. Harder. Didn’t get purchase. Their…line pushed her back.”
“She’ll try again,” Riven rasped, voice raw. “She doesn’t like…losing.”
“But she *can* be forced back,” Corin said, eyes bright. “That’s something.”
“More than something,” Lysa said, gaze on Juno. “That’s leverage.”
Juno licked her dry lips. “I feel like my brain got wrung out,” she muttered.
“You’ll live,” Irena said briskly. “You’ve got a thick skull. Helps.”
Juno wasn’t so sure.
Her heart still hammered.
Her hand still tingled where his had held hers.
And deep inside, where her wolf curled, something new had taken root.
Not trust.
Not yet.
But an understanding.
He was a mess, yes. Dangerous. Tainted.
But he was also…hers.
A fact, as immutable now as the mountains.
Whether she ever claimed him fully or not, that truth hummed under her skin.
“Enough poking the bond for one morning,” Lysa said. “Juno, you’re done. Go eat. Sleep. Throw yourself at a rock wall. Whatever you need to get your head back.”
“What about him?” Juno asked, nodding toward Riven.
The question came out before she could stop it.
Lysa’s mouth thinned. “He gets to sit in his pretty cage and contemplate his life choices,” she said. “And talk. If he’s smart.”
Riven snorted softly. “I’ve never been called that before,” he muttered.
Juno’s lips twitched.
She backed toward the open door of the cage.
For a second, she hesitated.
She glanced back at Riven.
He sat there, legs bent, arms resting on his knees, eyes on her.
There was something raw in his gaze now, stripped of some of the numbness.
“You okay?” she heard herself ask again, softer.
He blinked.
His eyes dropped briefly to her wrist, where a faint red ring still marked where their skins and the wards had met.
His hand flexed, like he wanted to touch, then tightened into a fist.
“I will be,” he said roughly. “If you are.”
A stupid warmth spread through her chest.
“Then we’re both stuck,” she said. “Because I have no idea if I will be.”
He huffed out a breath that might have been a laugh.
Her wolf pressed against the inside of her ribs, wanting to step forward again. To press nose to neck. To *claim.*
Juno ignored her.
She stepped out of the cage.
The wards’ hum dropped a notch around her.
Corin’s hand left her shoulder.
Cold rushed in where Riven’s heat had been.
She shivered.
“Go,” Lysa said quietly. “Before I change my mind and lock you in there for the week.”
Juno didn’t have the energy to tell if she was joking.
She walked back toward camp, legs a little unsteady.
Behind her, she felt Riven’s eyes on her.
The bond thrummed.
Their story, it seemed, was not done tangling yet.
***
The day blurred.
Juno napped in starts and fits, jolting awake whenever a memory of rockfall or pit walls swam up.
Mira brought her food, fussed, then left her alone when Juno’s glare got sharp enough.
Kellan hovered like a restless shadow, pacing outside the tent, circling in and out, unable to sit for long.
He cracked jokes when she was awake, then fell silent, jaw tight, when he thought she wasn’t looking.
Guilt gnawed at her.
Not because she’d done anything wrong — not yet — but because he’d been her…comfort, these last years. Her safe place. Her easy sin.
And now the universe had handed her a harder one.
She didn’t have the room in her chest to sort out that knot yet.
Late afternoon slid toward dusk again.
Lysa didn’t call for her.
Juno was grateful. And restless.
By the time the first stars pricked through the darkening sky, she found herself standing near the edge of the training ring, watching younger wolves spar.
Her muscles twitched.
She needed to hit something.
Preferably something that wouldn’t break.
“Juno.”
She turned.
Bram loomed at the edge of the ring, massive and solid as a boulder.
She straightened instinctively. “Alpha.”
He grunted. “Walk with me,” he said.
Not a request.
Mira, mucking out near the ring, shot Juno a worried look.
Juno subtly shook her head: *It’s fine.*
She hoped.
She fell into step beside Bram.
They walked in silence for a bit, boots scuffing over the packed earth.
He said nothing.
So did she.
Finally, when they were far enough from tents and ears, he huffed.
“You and that…rogue,” he said. “You see things when you touch.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” Juno said. “Some things.”
“You saw my wolves,” he said flatly. “In him.”
Juno hesitated.
“I saw…” She swallowed. “I saw…echoes. Not…them. Not whole. Just…pieces.”
His jaw bulged. “Screaming,” he said.
Juno nodded once.
“Yes,” she whispered.
His hands clenched into fists.
“Can you…” He grimaced, like the words hurt. “Can you tell if…they’re…still…?”
He couldn’t say it.
Alive.
Juno let the memory brush her again — the way those echoes had pressed against the pit walls, thin and stretched. The way Mother Below had plucked at them like harp strings, making them cry out.
“They’re not…here,” she said carefully. “Not in our world. Not…in their bodies. Whatever’s left is…caught. In *her.*”
He closed his eyes briefly.
Juno’s stomach twisted.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He exhaled through his nose. “Don’t apologize for telling the truth,” he said roughly. “Too many people lie to make themselves feel better.”
He walked a few more paces in silence.
“You think…killing him will free them?” he asked abruptly.
Juno blinked. “Riven?”
“Who else?” he snapped.
She swallowed. “No,” she said. “I think if killing him could do that, she’d never have let him leave the pit. He’s more useful to her alive. Doing things. Breaking things.”
His mouth twisted. “Useful,” he repeated. “That’s one word for it.”
He stopped, turning to face her fully.
Up close, the lines on his face looked deeper. He was old, yes, but not weak. His eyes burned.
“You’re going to drag my wolves’ killer into this fight,” he said. “You’re going to…touch him. Share his mind. Let him into yours. Into *ours.*”
“Yes,” Juno said. “If it means we can cut her teeth.”
“And if he bites instead?” Bram demanded. “If he turns on you mid-battle? If she yanks his chain and sends him for your throat while we’re busy with her tentacles or whatever the fuck she grows out of the ground?”
Juno’s wolf bristled. *He couldn’t win,* she said.
Juno wasn’t quite that arrogant.
“We’ll be ready,” she said. “Lysa already layered the wards so they can fry him if he lunges.”
“That’s here,” Bram said. “In your nice neat circle. Out there—” He jerked his head toward the looming tree line. “—it’s rock and root and teeth.”
“I know the mountain,” Juno said.
“So did he,” Bram shot back.
She fell silent.
He studied her.
“You’re not the first wolf to stand at that cage and decide to…see the person instead of the threat,” he said. “Won’t be the last. Your kind always want to fix broken things. Bleed for them. Bed them.”
Heat crept up Juno’s neck. “I’m not—”
“Not yet,” Bram cut in. “But you will be. Sooner or later, you’ll look at him and forget the blood on his teeth. Or tell yourself it doesn’t matter because he was…forced. Puppeted. Poor wolf. So tragic.”
Anger flared.
“I haven’t forgotten,” she said sharply. “I *won’t* forget. But if we make this all about personal vengeance, we’ll lose the bigger fight.”
He grunted. “Lysa’s words in your mouth,” he said. “Maybe she’s rubbed off on you too much.”
His gaze bore into her.
“You’re strong,” he said. “Stubborn. I see why she targeted you. And why he…clings.”
Juno’s chest tightened. “I don’t—”
“I’m not blind, girl,” Bram said, not unkindly. “I see how he looks at you. Like you’re a rope thrown into a pit.”
Her throat thickened.
“I’m telling you this,” Bram went on, voice lower now, “because once this starts, you don’t get to…hesitate. If he falters, if he fails, if for one second it’s him or your alpha, him or your pack, him or your *self*—”
He leaned in, eyes hard.
“You choose you,” he growled. “Every time. You hear me?”
“Yes,” she said, hoarse.
“Say it,” he insisted.
“If it’s him or my pack,” she said, forcing the words out, “I choose my pack. If it’s him or Lysa, I choose Lysa. If it’s him or me… I choose me.”
The last words scraped her throat.
Her wolf snarled in protest.
Bram nodded once, curt. “Good,” he said. “Now go tell him the same thing.”
Her stomach dropped. “What?”
“You heard me,” he said. “Before you tangle yourselves any tighter, you make it clear where the line is. He deserves that honesty. So do you.”
He turned away, trudging back toward his own cluster of tents.
Juno stood there, the weight of his words heavy on her shoulders.
Then she squared them.
He was right.
If this bond was going to be anything but a liability, she had to be ruthless. With him. With herself.
She headed for the cage.
***
Night had fallen fully by the time she reached the northern edge.
Lanterns cast soft pools of light. The ward-stones glowed faintly.
Fenn had been replaced by Ivo again, who sat on his overturned crate, whittling, humming under his breath.
Riven sat inside the cage, back against the post, one knee bent, the other leg stretched out. His bandaged ankle rested lightly on the ground.
He looked up as she approached.
Even in the dim, she saw the way his shoulders eased when he recognized her.
Her wolf glowed smugly.
Ivo perked up. “Ah, my favorite reckless wolf,” he said. “Come to put your hand in the magic blender again?”
“Shut up, Ivo,” she said without heat.
He grinned and wandered a polite distance away, though he didn’t go far. Enough for them to talk without him hearing every word. Not enough to leave his post.
She stopped a few feet from the bars.
“We need to talk,” she said inanely.
Riven snorted. “That’s usually followed by ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’” he said.
She huffed. “It’s…both of us,” she said. “And also a third party ancient evil.”
He cracked a tired smile. “Polyamory wasn’t exactly what I pictured when people talked about mates,” he said.
She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
She took a breath.
“Bram cornered me,” she said bluntly. “He made me promise something.”
Riven’s gaze sharpened. “Which was?”
“That if it ever comes down to you or my pack,” she said quietly, “I choose my pack. If it’s you or Lysa, I choose Lysa. If it’s you or me… I choose me.”
The words hung between them like a blade.
He went very still.
For a moment, she thought she saw something in his eyes crack.
Then he nodded.
“As you should,” he said simply.
Her breath hitched. She hadn’t realized how much she’d braced for argument.
“You’re not…angry?” she asked.
He huffed a breath. “At what?” he asked. “You having a survival instinct? I’d be more worried if you said the opposite.”
He looked past her toward the heart of camp, where wolves moved in the lamplight.
“I don’t have a pack,” he said. “Not anymore. You do. If you chose me over them, I’d…I’d *hate* you a little. For letting me take that from you.”
Her throat burned.
“I won’t pretend that doesn’t…hurt,” he added, more quietly. “But I’d rather be hurt than watch you die for me. I’ve seen enough people die for me.”
“Who?” she asked softly.
His jaw tightened. “Later,” he said. “When I’m drunk. Or when we’re both seconds from death and need something dramatic to say.”
She almost laughed. “You’re very…practical,” she said. “For a man in chains.”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about priorities,” he replied.
He studied her for a second.
“Your turn,” he said. “What do you want me to promise?”
The question surprised her.
“What makes you think I—”
“You always want something,” he said. “From *everyone.* Lysa. Bram. Me. Yourself. You just usually dress it up as ‘doing what’s right for the pack.’”
She blinked. “You don’t know me enough to say that,” she said, more sharply than she intended.
He tilted his head. “I’ve been in your head,” he reminded her. “Remember? I saw the way you drag yourself out of bed every morning thinking ‘what needs fixing,’ not ‘what do I want.’”
Her cheeks heated. “Lots of wolves are like that,” she muttered.
“Doesn’t make it less…you,” he said.
She looked away.
“I want you to promise me something,” she said finally. “Two things.”
His attention sharpened. “Okay.”
“First,” she said, “if she…pulls you. In a fight. In your head. If there’s a moment where it’s either give in to her or…hold on to me… you pick me. Every time. Even if it hurts. Even if it means…losing whatever scrap of hope you’re still clinging to about…bringing any part of your old life back.”
His face went utterly still.
Silence thickened.
“That’s not small,” he said eventually, voice very quiet. “What you’re asking.”
“I know,” she said. “But you can’t serve…two masters. Not in something like this.”
“And the second thing?” he asked.
She took a breath.
“If I ever…” She swallowed. “If I ever start…sliding. If my judgment goes. If I start making choices that put my pack at risk because of you…you tell Lysa. You don’t cover for me. You don’t protect me from the consequences. You *expose* me.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You want me to snitch on you,” he said.
She glared. “I want you to stop me if I start being stupid,” she said. “And if you can’t stop me, I want you to make damn sure someone else does.”
He stared at her.
“Do you really think you’re that…weak?” he asked, something like anger threading his tone now. “That a few dreams and a pretty face and some shared trauma are going to turn you into a traitor?”
Heat flashed through her. “It’s not about weakness,” she snapped. “It’s about…knowing how this works. Bonds make wolves do stupid things, Riven. I’ve seen it. Wolves who were perfectly rational turn into snarling idiots when their mates were threatened. I don’t want to be an idiot.”
He looked at her for a long moment.
“Alright,” he said finally. “I promise. If you start being an idiot, I’ll throw you under the alpha’s feet.”
“Good,” she said.
“I’m not promising the first thing,” he added quietly.
Her breath caught. “What?”
He held her gaze.
“I *already* chose you last night,” he said. “In the pit. In the cage. When she pressed and I pushed *your* way. I don’t know if I can do it again. If she dangles…what she dangles. If she offers me…”
He trailed off, jaw clenched.
She saw it again, unbidden— the flash of a blurred face in his memories. The one that hadn’t come out of the rock.
“Your…missing,” she said softly.
His hand curled in the dirt. “My little brother,” he said, hardly more than a whisper. “Fog. She took him. Or what was left of him. Sometimes she lets me…hear him. Or whatever piece of him she puppets. If she…puts *that* on the other side of the scale… I don’t know what I’ll do.”
The honesty of it cut her.
Her first instinct was anger.
*How dare he put some half-dead echo over me? Over my pack?*
Her second was understanding.
If Mother Below dangled her parents’ voices in front of her…
Would she hold?
Her hands shook.
“I appreciate your honesty,” she said stiffly.
He huffed a bitter breath.
“No, you don’t,” he said. “You want a clean answer. Yes, Juno, of course I’ll pick you over the only scrap of family I might have left in the dark. I’d *like* to be that wolf. The noble one. But I’ve already…sold myself once. I don’t trust myself not to do it again.”
His eyes were very tired.
“What I *can* promise,” he said, “is that I’ll try. That I *want* to pick you. More now than I did yesterday. And that if I fail…you do what you have to. You cut the chain on your side. You cut *me*.”
Her throat worked.
“That’s not—” Her voice broke. She cleared it. “That’s not the same as promising.”
“No,” he said softly. “It’s not.”
Silence stretched.
Wolves laughed somewhere back in camp, the sound thin and strained.
She thought about Bram’s words. About choosing herself.
She thought about Soren’s face when he’d talked about his dead mate making bargains alone in the dark.
Juno let out a long breath.
“Alright,” she said quietly. “Try. That’s all I can ask.”
He blinked, surprised.
“I expected you to…walk away,” he said. “Or start screaming.”
“I might still scream,” she said. “Later. Into a pillow.”
His lips twitched.
He watched her thoughtfully.
“This is going to get messy, isn’t it?” he asked.
She snorted. “You think?”
He chuckled.
For a heartbeat, with him leaning against the bars and her wrapped in her jacket, with the night around them and Ivo humming somewhere to the side, it almost felt…normal.
Like two wolves talking at the edge of camp at any other Gathering. Trading confessions and snark before sneaking off to do something stupid.
Except there was an ancient hunger in the trees.
Her hand still tingled from touching him.
And every choice they made from here on out could crack the mountain.
Slow burn, Juno thought grimly. Lysa’s golden rule.
They had time.
To plan. To fuck up. To fix.
Assuming Mother Below didn’t decide to skip to the finale early.
She pushed off the post.
“I should sleep,” she said. “Apparently, I’m very emotionally hungover.”
He nodded. “Same,” he said. “Go. Dream something other than my pit, if you can.”
“I’ll try,” she said.
She hesitated.
Then, quickly, before she could overthink it, she leaned forward and pressed her fingers briefly against the bars near his shoulder.
Not skin to skin. Not enough to trigger another flare.
Just…contact.
“Goodnight,” she said.
His eyes warmed, just a fraction.
“Goodnight, mountain,” he murmured.
Her chest squeezed.
She turned and walked away before her wolf could do something truly stupid.
Behind her, the cage creaked softly as he shifted position.
Their bond hummed like an ember, waiting for kindling.
The terms were set.
The mountain, and everything under it, held its breath.
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