They didn’t have the luxury of letting the bond settle gently.
By mid-morning, the next day, Lysa had the three alphas, their betas, Irena, and Juno gathered around the map table again.
The mood was darker.
“We have until the last night of the blood moon,” Lysa said, tapping a finger on the calendar scratched into a piece of bark. “Three days. After that, we break camp. We go back to our valleys. We spread out.”
“And she picks us off one by one,” Bram grunted. “Easier than chewing through a circle like this again.”
“Exactly,” Lysa said. “So whatever we do, we do *here.* Together.”
Soren lounged with infuriating grace against a post. “A preemptive strike, then,” he said. “I do love a good offensive maneuver.”
“We can’t strike at something we can’t hit,” Corin said. “She’s not…here. Not fully.”
Juno leaned over the map, tracing the drawn lines of the mountain ridges with a calloused fingertip. “What if we don’t go *to* her,” she said slowly. “What if we make her come to *us*?”
Silence fell.
Bram snorted. “You volunteering to stand in the middle of a magic circle with a ‘Free Buffet’ sign on your chest, girl?” he asked.
She ignored him. “She wants stories, right?” she said. “Pain. Fear. Drama. She talked about acts. About fun. She likes…watching.”
Soren’s eyes lit. “You’re suggesting a performance,” he said. “How…theatrical.”
Lysa shot him a look. “Explain, Juno,” she said.
“She’s been…nibbling,” Juno said, searching for the right metaphor. “Scratching at wards. Throwing Riven at borders. Poking at my mind. She’s testing. Because right now, from her perspective, this is…interesting. But not…urgent. If we want her to overcommit, we need to give her something she can’t resist.”
“Like what?” Ivo asked from the edge of the tent. “A full-on wolf orgy? Because I’m just saying, if that’s the plan I need more warning.”
Mira, who’d slipped in behind Juno at some point, smacked him lightly. “Not everything is about your dick, Ivo,” she said.
“Says you,” he muttered.
Juno fought a smile.
“We fake a…ritual,” she said. “Something big. Something shiny. Something that screams ‘power’ and ‘vulnerability’ at the same time. We bait her into focusing as much of herself as she can here. Then we…slam the door.”
Irena’s brows rose. “Slam?”, she repeated. “On something that big?”
“We don’t need to kill all of her,” Juno said. “Not yet. Just…cut off a piece. Trap it. Hurt it. Show her that this mountain bites back.”
“Make her bleed,” Bram said, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “So she thinks twice about chewing.”
Soren tapped his lip. “What kind of ritual?” he asked. “The Maw knows our usual tricks. Blessings. Oaths. Pairings.”
Juno’s hand drifted unconsciously toward her own neck, fingers brushing the place where a mate mark would lie.
“I have an idea,” she said slowly, “and I hate it.”
Lysa’s gaze sharpened. “Out with it,” she said.
“A binding,” Juno said. “A *public* binding. Between…me and Riven.”
Mira sucked in a breath.
Kellan, leaning against the tent pole, went rigid.
Soren’s smile went feral. “Oh, I like where this is going,” he purred.
Bram’s lip curled. “Absolutely not,” he snapped. “You’re not tying one of our strongest scouts to that…thing. Not for real.”
“I said *fake*,” Juno shot back. “We make it look real. Make it feel real enough that she believes the bond is being…sealed. Empowered. Something she could hijack. We build the ritual around that. Runes, circles, blood, the whole show. Meanwhile, Irena and the witches—”
“We are not witches,” Irena muttered automatically.
“—and whoever else knows enough magic weaves a net under it,” Juno continued. “So when she lunges for the line, she ends up in our trap instead.”
Corin frowned. “You’re assuming she’ll take the bait,” she said. “That she cares that much about your bond.”
“She came here because of it,” Juno said. “Her words. ‘The bond.’ She wants to see what we do. She wants to…play. If we make the game big enough, she won’t be able to resist.”
Lysa steepled her fingers, considering.
“It is risky,” she said. “If anything goes wrong, we could end up handing her a stronger grip instead of cutting it.”
“Or she might just…watch,” Bram said. “Lick her lips and file it away for later.”
Soren’s eyes gleamed. “Or she might be arrogant enough to think no mountain can snare her,” he said. “Creatures like that often are. They underestimate rock. And teeth.”
Juno’s stomach knotted.
“It’s a bad plan,” she said. “But I haven’t heard a better one.”
“Because there isn’t one,” Soren said cheerfully. “All good plans against ancient horrors sound insane.”
Mira grabbed Juno’s hand under the table, fingers tight. “This is more than a ‘fake’ binding,” she whispered. “Even if it’s…ritual-only. You know that, right? Marks cut. Words spoken. Magic layered. It…lingers.”
“I know,” Juno said softly.
Her wolf pressed against her ribs, eager.
*Yes,* her wolf growled. *Tie him. Bind. Make him ours.*
*It’s a trap,* Juno reminded her. *For someone else.*
*We can trap her and keep him,* her wolf argued.
Juno sighed internally.
Lysa turned to Irena. “Could we weave something like that?” she asked. “A binding that…looks…real. Feels…real. But isn’t. Not entirely.”
Irena’s mouth pursed. “You’re asking me to counterfeit the oldest magic we have,” she said. “The mate bond sits under the world’s skin. It doesn’t like being…faked.”
“I know,” Lysa said. “Can we?”
The elder hesitated.
“Maybe,” she said slowly. “If we build the ritual around what’s already there. Use the existing bond as…thread. We can…amplify. Shape. Make noise that sounds like…a feast to her. Enough to draw a bigger part of her attention.”
“And while she’s chewing, we slam the pot on her head,” Soren said, eyes bright.
“Crude,” Irena said. “But yes.”
“We’d need all three packs,” Corin said. “All alphas. Betas. Elders. A circle that big…that *visible*…we can’t half-ass it.”
Bram’s jaw clenched. “You’re asking me to stand in a ring and bless the wolf who killed mine,” he growled. “Even for show.”
Juno met his gaze. “I’m asking you to help me make sure your wolves’ voices don’t stay trapped in that pit forever,” she said quietly. “You want her to choke on them? This is how.”
He stared at her.
Anger. Grief. Pride.
Finally, he snarled. “Fine,” he spat. “But if he so much as *looks* at one of mine wrong, I’ll rip his damn head off in the middle of your pretty ritual.”
“Duly noted,” Lysa said.
Kellan spoke up then, voice tight. “What about…consent?” he asked. All eyes turned to him. He flushed but pressed on. “You’re talking about using their bond. Their…bodies. Their blood. Fake or not. They’re not…props. You can’t just…decide.”
Lysa’s jaw softened. “We’re not,” she said. “We ask. If either of them says no, we don’t do it.”
Her gaze slid to Juno. “You brought this idea,” she said. “Are *you* willing?”
Juno’s stomach flipped.
She thought of standing in a circle with Riven, with every eye on them. Of cutting her palm, pressing it to his. Of words spoken aloud that would echo in the mountain, even if the magic was skewed.
She thought of Mother Below’s gaze, glittering in the dark.
She thought of her parents’ faces. Of Riven’s brother’s blurred one.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m willing.”
Mira’s hand tightened on hers.
Kellan’s jaw clenched so hard she heard his teeth creak.
Lysa nodded once.
“Then we ask him,” she said. “And we make damn sure we don’t walk into this blind.”
***
He knew something was up the moment he saw their faces.
Riven sat cross-legged, back to the post, when Lysa, Juno, Bram, and Soren approached the cage together.
Their scents were…tight. Coiled. Even Soren’s usual lazy swagger had an edge.
Ivo abandoned his whittling and stood, spear in hand.
“New game?” Riven asked, trying for casual. His fingers dug into his knees.
Lysa’s eyes were sharp. “New plan,” she said. “We want to use your bond to bait her.”
He snorted. “Of course you do,” he said. “That’s what I would do.”
Bram grunted. “You’d use anything,” he muttered.
“Not *anything,*” Riven said. His gaze slid briefly to Juno. “I didn’t exactly sign up to be the chew toy in the middle of the circle last night.”
“You’re alive,” Bram said. “Count your blessings.”
“I’m not much of a counter,” Riven replied.
Lysa cut in. “Juno suggested a binding,” she said. No softening. “Ritual. Public. Big. We fake making the bond…formal. Permanent. We build a spell under it. When Mother Below lunges for that line, we grab what we can.”
Riven stared at her.
Then at Juno.
“A fake mating ceremony,” he said slowly. “With real knives and real blood and real magic that could really go wrong.”
“I said it was a bad idea,” Juno muttered.
Soren smiled. “Bad ideas are the only ones worth doing at this scale,” he said.
Bram’s eyes bored into Riven. “I hate that we need you,” he growled. “But we do. Question is: are you wolf enough to stand still while we paint a target on your chest?”
Riven leaned his head back against the post and laughed.
It was a rough sound. Edged with hysteria.
“I’ve been a target for three years,” he said. “This would make it official. At least this time I’d see the arrow coming.”
Juno’s stomach twisted.
“What do you get out of this?” he asked, eyes on Lysa. “Besides the chance to poke the Maw in the eye.”
“Leverage,” she said. “Information. A piece of her, if we can trap it. Maybe enough to track her back to one of her…mouths.”
“And what do I get?” he asked.
Silence.
He smiled, thin and bitter. “Thought so.”
“You get a chance to hurt her,” Juno said quietly. “With us. Instead of alone in a pit.”
He looked at her.
His eyes flickered.
“What else?” he asked.
She hesitated.
“What do you want?” she countered.
He blinked, thrown.
“No one’s asked me that in a long time,” he said.
“You’re not no one,” she said. “Not…to this. Or to me.”
The admission cost her more than she wanted to admit.
His hand flexed on his knee.
He swallowed.
“I want…” He licked his cracked lips. “I want a piece of her. Like you said. Something I can…sink my teeth into. So when I die—because let’s not pretend I’m walking away from this with a nice cabin and a happily ever after—I know I didn’t just…bleed for nothing.”
Bram snorted. “You’re awfully fond of dying,” he said.
“It’s the only thing she can’t take from me,” Riven replied.
Juno’s throat burned.
Lysa’s gaze softened, just a fraction. “You also get protection,” she said. “As much as we can give. Behind our wards. Under our alpha law. We may not like you. Some of us may want you dead. But if you stand in our circle, under our ritual, you’re under our teeth. Not hers.”
He went very still.
“Pack,” he said quietly.
Lysa inclined her head. “A version of it,” she said. “Lent. On a trial basis.”
Soren smirked. “Think of it as a lease agreement,” he said. “No pets, no smoking, no murdering our pups.”
Riven huffed a breath.
His gaze went to Juno again.
“And you?” he asked. “What do *you* get out of this, mountain? Besides the chance to taunt an ancient horror.”
Her jaw tightened.
“A chance to stop running from this bond,” she said. “To do something with it instead of letting it…do something to me.”
“And if the ritual twists it,” he said. “If it makes it stronger. If you wake up the next day and can’t breathe unless I’m touching you.”
Heat crawled up her neck.
“We’ll deal with that,” she said bluntly. “If I can handle Lysa yelling at me and Bram glowering and Soren flirting, I can handle wanting you.”
Soren held up a hand. “Hey,” he said. “My flirting is a gift.”
Bram grunted. “Your flirting is a disease.”
“Focus,” Lysa snapped.
Riven’s mouth curled. “You say that now,” he murmured to Juno, just loud enough for her to hear. “You haven’t seen what I look like after three days without sleep.”
She rolled her eyes, but it helped. The banter. It made the edges less sharp.
“So?” Lysa said. “Are you in?”
He closed his eyes for a second.
He thought of his pack. Of his brother. Of the pit.
Of Mother Below’s laughter.
He thought of Juno’s hand in his. Of the way she’d shoved back against the cold in his head.
He opened his eyes.
“I’m in,” he said. “But I have conditions.”
Bram growled. “You’re in *chains.* You don’t get conditions.”
Riven ignored him. “One,” he said, looking at Lysa. “You don’t lie to your wolves about what this is. They deserve to know this isn’t some romantic story. It’s a trap, and I’m bait.”
“Agreed,” Lysa said.
“Two,” he said, turning to Juno. “You don’t say any words in that circle you don’t mean. Not…to *me.* If the ritual calls for vows, you twist them. Make them about the fight. About the mountain. Don’t stand there and promise forever because it sounds epic while some part of you is planning how to cut me loose if it goes wrong.”
Her breath hitched.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “Deal.”
“Three,” he said, looking at Bram now. “You keep your people from…taking shots at me during the show. I know you hate me. I know some of yours want me dead. They can have my throat after, if I survive. Not before.”
Bram’s jaw clenched.
His nostrils flared.
Finally, he grunted. “No one touches you in that circle,” he said. “Not while the ritual’s running. After…we see.”
Riven nodded once. “Good enough.”
He leaned his head back against the post, exhaling.
“Alright,” he said. “Let’s make a god choke.”
***
Preparations were hell.
Every elder, every wolf with a scrap of lore or magic, got dragged into it.
Irena and two other old wolves from different packs — one from Silver Peak, one from some valley pack Soren had roped in at the last minute — argued for hours over runes and circles and how to weave a net that would hold even a fraction of something like Mother Below.
“You can’t trap a river with a basket,” the Silver Peak elder, a wiry woman with white hair and sharp eyes, snapped.
“We’re not trying to trap all of it,” Irena retorted. “Just enough to piss it off.”
“Pissing it off is the problem,” the third elder, a stooped man from the valley, said. “You don’t poke the Maw. You walk around it.”
“We’re fresh out of paths around,” Lysa said. “So we poke.”
Soren compiled every scrap of information he’d picked up in his travels about old rituals that straddled the line between mate bonds and war oaths.
“Once watched a pack in the eastern ranges do a blood-binding,” he said, sketching symbols in the dirt with a stick. “Two alphas. Shared leadership. Very dramatic. Lots of stabbing. Might be a good template.”
“Did it work?” Juno asked, leaning over the sketch.
“For about six months,” Soren said. “Then one of them cheated and the whole thing went sideways. But the magic held. Strong.”
“Cheating,” Mira murmured. “That’s what this feels like. Cheating the bond. Cheating the Maw. Cheating…everything.”
“We’ll make it honest in its own way,” Juno said.
Her head throbbed from all the talk of circles and lines and thresholds.
She wasn’t a witch.
She knew some of the theory — any wolf who ran patrols did — enough to recognize ward-stones, blood sigils, the smell of spell-smoke.
But this was deeper. Older.
Irena insisted she and Riven be present for some of the planning, not just the execution.
“You’re the thread,” the elder said, jabbing a bony finger at them. “We can’t weave without knowing how you lie.”
“Romantic,” Riven muttered under his breath.
By the second day, the camp buzzed with nervous energy.
Everyone knew something was coming.
Wolves whispered in corners.
Some were excited. A chance to strike back, to do more than stand watch and wait.
Others were afraid.
Juno caught the word *sacrilege* more than once.
A few older wolves looked at her with something like disappointment, like she’d betrayed some unspoken code by agreeing to twist a sacred rite into a weapon.
She didn’t blame them.
She felt that sting too.
That night, lying on her bedroll, she stared at the tent ceiling for a long time.
*You still with me?* she thought.
Riven’s presence stirred. *Barely,* he replied. *They’ve had me listening to old wolves argue for hours. I’d almost prefer the pit.*
She snorted.
*You okay with this?* she asked. *Really okay? You can still…back out.*
A pause.
Then: *You think backing out would keep her away?* he asked. *She’s already sniffing. This just…gives us a chance to bite when she sticks her nose in.*
*That’s not an answer,* she said.
He sighed. *No,* he said. *I’m not okay. None of this is okay. But I’d rather be not-okay doing something than not-okay waiting to be used again.*
Her chest squeezed.
*Same,* she thought.
Silence stretched.
Then, tentatively, he asked: *What was your first Gathering like?*
The question surprised her.
She rolled onto her side, facing the tent wall.
*Awkward,* she thought. *I was nineteen. Mira had already shifted prettier than me. Everyone told me I’d definitely find my mate because I was so “strong and steady.”*
She tasted the bitterness in her own memory.
*I spent most of the night circling the edge,* she went on. *Sniffing. Being sniffed. Feeling…nothing. Watching others freeze when the bond hit. Watching their faces light up. Or crumple.*
*You were jealous,* he said.
*Yes,* she admitted. *And angry with myself for being jealous. I told myself I didn’t need it. That I was…above that.*
*Liar,* he said softly.
She huffed. *Yes,* she said again.
*I watched once,* he said. *From the trees. After. After the pit. After I’d learned to stay out of circles. They were down in the valley. Lanterns. Laughter. Wolves meeting in the ring.*
His thoughts brushed hers with a hint of that memory— the smell of smoke and perfume, the distant sound of howls, the ache in his chest as he crouched in the dark, claws dug into the dirt.
*I wanted it,* he said simply. *Even after everything. Even chained. I wanted…a future that wasn’t just teeth and commands.*
Her heart ached.
*Now you’ve got me,* she thought drily. *Congratulations.*
He chuckled, the sound rusty.
*Careful,* he said. *I might start feeling lucky.*
The idea of him feeling anything like luck twined strangely in her chest.
She closed her eyes.
Tomorrow, they’d draw the circle.
Tomorrow night, they’d bleed into the stones.
She let herself drift, the bond cradling her mind.
Sleep came in fits and starts.
She dreamed of a circle of stones, of blood on her palms, of Riven’s mouth hovering over her neck.
Of teeth.
She woke with her heart racing and her thighs aching.
*Juno,* Riven thought, groggy but amused. *If you keep dreaming like that, I’m not going to survive this.*
She groaned into her pillow.
*Shut up,* she told him.
But her wolf purred.
And under the mountain, something old twisted, drawn by the promise of blood and vows.
The stage was almost set.
---