They built the circle at dawn.
Not the old mating circle — that one stayed as it was, a ring of stones trodden smooth by generations of paws and feet.
This new one they carved just beyond it, in the strip of land between the ancient stones and the first line of warded trees.
Lysa insisted on that placement.
“Close enough to the camp that our wolves can surround it,” she said, kneeling to scratch symbols into the packed earth. “Close enough to the forest that she can smell it. Far enough from the old circle that we’re not…tainting it.”
Juno appreciated that concession.
She might be willing to twist magic. She didn’t want to piss off every ancestor who’d ever paced the mating stones.
The new circle was larger.
Wide enough to hold all three alphas at the cardinal points, elders at the quarters, and Juno and Riven in the center.
Irena and the other elders directed the digging with surprising vigor, their voices sharp.
“Sixteen stones,” Irena barked. “Not twelve, not twenty. Sixteen. Four for each pack. Even if you think your pack is more important, Bram.”
Bram grunted but hauled rocks without complaint.
Soren lounged on a boulder, offering commentary while his betas placed stones in precise arcs.
“You’re taking this surprisingly seriously,” Lysa muttered as she passed him.
His smile was thin. “I’ve lost one mate to the Maw,” he said quietly. “I’d rather not lose another wolf I’ve grown to *almost* like.”
She snorted. “High praise,” she said.
By midday, the circle of stones stood — rough, ancient-looking, as if it had always been there.
Runes had been carved into them — some deep and angular, some swirling and delicate. They weren’t purely witch marks. Wolves had added their own symbols — pack sigils, claw marks, teeth grooves.
The ground within the circle had been swept clear, then dusted with ash.
Juno stood at the edge, toes curling against the earth.
“This feels like blasphemy,” she admitted.
Mira, at her side, bumped her shoulder. “That’s because it is,” she said. “But it’s *necessary* blasphemy. There’s a difference.”
“Tell that to the grandmothers glaring at us,” Juno muttered.
She could feel older eyes on her back — wolves who believed some things simply weren’t to be messed with.
The mate bond was one of them.
“You’re doing this to *protect* the bond,” Mira said firmly. “If the Maw learns how to hijack it, every wolf in these mountains is a leash. Remember that.”
Juno nodded. “I know.”
She didn’t say *I just wish hurting something sacred didn’t feel so much like cutting my own skin.*
“You’re not alone in there,” Mira said, as if reading her mind. “We’ll be right outside. I’ll be right outside.”
She squeezed Juno’s hand.
Juno squeezed back.
Ivo wandered up, a bag slung over his shoulder. “I brought snacks,” he announced. “In case the ritual runs long.”
Mira smacked his arm. “This is not a picnic,” she said.
“It could be,” he said. “Evil gods hate it when you don’t take them seriously.”
Juno snorted despite herself.
Kellan approached more slowly.
He’d been…quiet…all morning.
Now, as he stopped in front of her, she saw tension in the set of his jaw, the way his shoulders bunched.
“You don’t have to watch,” she said quietly.
“Yeah, I do,” he said. “I’m not leaving you alone in a circle with a half-possessed stranger and a mouth under the mountain watching.”
She swallowed. “Kell—”
“I know what this is,” he cut in, voice rough. “I’m not…stupid. Or selfish enough to make it about me. This isn’t about what I want.”
“What *do* you want?” she asked softly.
He laughed once, without humor. “A time machine,” he said. “A different mountain. A world where your bond snapped with someone boring and safe who smells like wet dog and loves gardening.”
She snorted wetly. “I hate gardening.”
“I know,” he said. “I was hoping the universe didn’t.”
He sobered.
“But that’s not the world we got,” he went on. “So I want…you alive. That’s it. Everything else, we’ll…figure it out later.”
Her throat burned.
She reached up on impulse and cupped his cheek.
He leaned into it for a fleeting second.
Then stepped back.
“Go make a god choke,” he said roughly. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”
She nodded, unable to speak.
Lysa’s voice cut across the clearing. “Positions!”
Wolves moved.
Silver Peak and Ridge Hollow formed arcs beyond the ring, Pine Crest interspersed.
The three alphas took their places at north (Lysa), south (Bram), and west (Soren). The valley elder filled the east.
Irena and the two other magic-workers stood at the quarter points between.
Juno swallowed hard and walked toward the opening in the ring.
Riven waited inside the warded cage nearby, chain slack.
He’d been given a shirt that actually fit today, dark and plain. His hair had been pulled back from his face with a leather tie, exposing the brand at his throat.
It stood out starkly against his skin — pale, puckered, crescent-shaped, jagged-edged.
He watched her approach, expression unreadable.
“You look like you’re going to your own execution,” he said quietly.
She huffed. “Feels like it,” she admitted.
He rolled his shoulders, chain rattling softly. “I’ve been to those,” he said. “This is…different.”
She stopped a few feet from the bars.
“You can still back out,” she said.
He quirked an eyebrow. “Stop saying that,” he replied. “You’re giving me ideas.”
Her lips twitched.
“Any last-minute advice?” she asked.
He considered.
“Don’t let them cut too deep,” he said. “On your palms. Blood’s potent. The Maw loves it. We give her a taste. Not a feast.”
“I’ll keep my veins inside, then,” she said.
He smiled faintly.
Irena approached, staff in hand. “Time,” she said. “We open the gate. He steps into the circle. Chain stays on. Juno, you go first. He follows. You stand at the center. No one speaks until I say.”
Her voice had taken on a cadence Juno had come to recognize — part ritual, part command.
Juno’s heart thudded.
She stepped through the gap in the stones.
The air inside the circle felt…different.
Thicker. Still.
The rune-carved stones seemed to hum, faintly, like distant drums.
She moved to the exact center, guided by a chalk mark on the ground.
Her toes curled in the dirt.
Behind her, she heard Ivo unlocking the cage.
The soft creak of hinges.
The muffled rattle of chain.
Riven’s footsteps on the packed earth.
Her wolf surged up, pushing against her ribs.
*Ours,* she breathed.
*Later,* Juno snapped.
He came to stand in front of her, chain trailing from his ankle to a metal ring hammered into the base of one of the stones.
Close.
Gods, he was close.
Not pressed against her. An arm’s length away.
But in this circle, with everyone watching, with the magic humming, it felt intimate.
She could see the tiny notch on his right eyebrow where an old cut hadn’t healed perfectly. The shadow of his stubble. The flicker of his pulse in his throat, just above the brand.
He smelled like soap now, under the earth and old blood — someone had bullied him into washing. The clean scent pooled under her tongue.
Irena’s voice rose, sharp.
“Three packs. Three alphas. One mountain.”
The circle of wolves around them answered in a low murmur. “One mountain.”
Lysa’s voice followed. “We stand on stone that has fed us. Sheltered us. Buried us. We call on it now to witness.”
The ground under Juno’s feet seemed to pulse.
Bram spoke. “We stand under a moon that has watched us. Changed us. Marked us. We call on it now to see.”
High above, the pale daytime ghost of the moon hung, faint but present.
Soren’s voice came last, smooth and edged. “We stand in air that has carried our howls. Our prayers. Our curses. We fill it now with something new.”
Irena moved to stand just inside the ring, at one of the quarter points.
“Old magic,” she intoned. “New shape. We call you. We twist you. We bind you to *us.* Not to hunger below. Not to mouths in the dark.”
Her eyes glowed faintly.
Juno’s skin prickled.
The elders began to chant.
Not words Juno understood fully — old tongue, pre-pack, pre-language. Syllables that thrummed in her bones.
The air thickened further.
Juno’s head felt light.
Lysa’s voice cut through the chant. “Juno of Pine Crest,” she said, clear and firm. “Scout. Hunter. Daughter of Rhea and Toren. Will you stand in this circle?”
Juno swallowed.
“Yes,” she said. Her voice didn’t shake.
“Riven of…” Lysa hesitated briefly, then said, “…broken mountain,” her tone making the words a title, not an insult. “Son of no alpha. Wolf of no pack. Will you stand in this circle?”
His jaw flexed.
“Yes,” he said.
The bond vibrated between them, responding to the formal call.
“Blood,” Irena said. “We need blood.”
Juno turned her hands palm-up.
Her fingers curled reflexively.
Riven’s nostrils flared.
Irena approached with a small, wickedly sharp knife.
She met Juno’s eyes.
“Not deep,” she murmured. “Remember.”
Juno nodded, throat tight.
The first cut stung.
Thin, searing pain across her right palm, then her left.
Blood welled, bright and red.
Her wolf snarled.
Riven’s gaze darkened, pupils expanding.
The brand at his throat seemed to burn brighter.
He offered his hands without being asked.
Irena cut him too.
His blood was darker. Thicker.
They let it drip onto the dirt between them.
Four drops. Eight. Twelve.
The ground drank it.
The runes etched into the stones pulsed faintly in response.
Scent thickened — metallic tang, hot and heady.
Juno’s head swam.
*Easy,* Riven’s voice brushed her mind. *Stay with me.*
She snorted weakly. *You’re the one with the murder history,* she thought. *Don’t go feral on me now.*
His lips twitched.
Irena stepped back.
The chanting rose in volume.
“Hands,” Lysa commanded.
Juno and Riven lifted theirs automatically.
Then hesitated.
This was the part that wasn’t in any of the elders’ neat plans — the part that couldn’t be completely faked.
Words.
Vows.
The old bindings she’d seen — real ones — had always involved them. Promises spoken with breath that the mountain heard.
They needed something that *sounded* like those. That tasted like truth. But that didn’t shackle her to something she couldn’t carry.
Riven met her eyes.
“Your show,” he murmured. “You start.”
She swallowed.
Her heart pounded.
She thought of Soren’s warning — *don’t say things you don’t mean*.
Of Riven’s plea.
Of Bram’s bluntness.
She inhaled.
When she spoke, her voice came out low but clear.
“I stand with you,” she said, eyes on his. “Not as your chain. Not as your leash. But as your…edge. We are…two blades. Sharpened on the same stone. Aimed at the same throat.”
A murmur rippled through the circle.
Not traditional words.
But they carried weight.
The mountain seemed to listen.
Riven’s pupils blew wide.
He wet his lips.
His right hand folded over hers.
Skin to skin.
Pain flared — from the cuts, from the wards, from the bond.
“Your turn,” she said, through clenched teeth.
His throat bobbed.
He looked at her like she was something precious and terrible.
“I stand with you,” he rasped. “Not as your anchor. Not as your…burden. But as your…knife hand. You aim. I cut. If I fail…you finish the job.”
The words hit her like a blow.
Around them, power coiled.
Irena’s chant took on a frantic edge.
The air grew heavy, like a storm about to break.
“Lines,” Irena gasped. “Now. While it’s open.”
The three elders moved in unison, drawing symbols in the air with their fingers.
Light — not bright, but strange — traced their motions. Lines of dull silver that hung for a moment, then sank into the earth.
Juno felt them pass under her feet. Under her skin.
Something slid along the bond.
Not Mother Below.
Not yet.
This was…different.
The mountain itself seemed to lean in.
“Witness,” Lysa intoned.
“Witness,” Bram echoed.
“Witness,” Soren added, his usual mocking lilt gone.
Juno and Riven’s blood dripped between their joined hands, mingling in the dirt.
“Now,” Irena hissed. “Call her.”
The word sent a shiver up Juno’s spine.
She realized, with cold clarity, that this was the real line.
Once she spoke *that* name, there was no pulling back.
She thought of backing out one more time.
She didn’t.
She lifted her head, squared her shoulders, and shouted.
“Mother Below!”
The name cracked through the clearing like a whip.
The circle of wolves flinched.
The runes flared.
The air changed.
There was a moment — a heartbeat — of absolute, terrifying *silence*.
Then the world shuddered.
It felt like the mountain inhaled.
The ground under her feet rippled, subtle but real.
The air went cold, sucking the warmth from her skin.
The ward-stones at the treeline flared.
Something slithered.
Not physically.
In the bones of the world.
*Oh,* a voice purred, so close it felt like it was coming from inside Juno’s skull. *You call. I come. How…sweet.*
Juno’s stomach lurched.
Her grip on Riven’s hand tightened.
His fingers clenched back.
*Easy,* he thought. *Remember the plan.*
The plan.
Bait. Net. Slam.
Her knees wanted to buckle.
She locked them.
Around the circle, wolves’ hackles rose. Some dropped into partial crouches, bones rippling under skin as their wolves pressed forward.
Lysa’s eyes glowed faintly, her wolf close to the surface.
“Stay in human form!” she snapped. “Teeth later.”
The air in the circle thickened until it felt like Juno was breathing syrup.
Her ears popped.
The light dimmed, colors leached.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the shadows under the trees deepen.
A shape stepped out.
Not the same as last time.
Similar.
Tall. Cloaked in not-quite-fabric. Edges blurring.
But where before there had been a sense of…amusement…tonight, there was something else.
Hunger sharpened.
Annoyance.
Curiosity edged with wariness.
*You made a circle,* Mother Below said, voice sliding over everyone’s thoughts. *You bled in it. You said my name. Little wolves playing at witch games.*
“I’m not a witch,” Irena muttered through gritted teeth.
*You wear their shapes today,* the voice said. *You draw their lines. You think you can sit in their chairs.*
The not-woman’s gaze slid to Juno and Riven.
Her eyes— wrong color, wrong depth— shone.
“And there you are,” she cooed. “My beast. And my…stone.”
Juno’s skin crawled.
“She is not yours,” Lysa said, voice sharp.
*No?* Mother Below said. *She called. She used my shape in her mouth. That gives me certain…rights.*
Pressure pressed at Juno’s mind.
Not like last night’s probing.
Harder.
More *expectant*.
Like a hand held out, waiting to be taken.
She felt it snag at the edges of her fear. Her confusion. Her desire.
Her wolf bared her teeth.
*No,* her wolf snarled. *This is *ours.* Our fear. Our want. Our teeth. You don’t get them.*
Riven’s presence shoved up beside hers, solid.
*We’re not hers,* he thought fiercely. *We’re *us.*
Mother Below’s attention shifted slightly to him.
*You sound so sure,* she mused. *You forget who carved that mark in your throat.*
The brand burned.
Riven hissed, pain flaring up the bond.
Juno grunted as the echo hit her.
“Now,” Irena whispered, eyes wild. “While she pushes. Pull.”
The elders moved, hands carving patterns in the thick air.
Light—that dull, silver-threadlight—sprang from their fingers, arcing between stones.
The circle of runes blazed.
Juno felt the net rise.
It wasn’t visible in any way a human eye could see.
She felt it in the bones of the earth. A tension. A web woven under the skin of the world, anchored to stone and blood and vow.
It slid up around her and Riven, a second skin.
Mother Below’s presence pressed harder, sensing the shift.
*What are you doing, little wolves?* she purred. *Trying to build a cage for a storm?*
“Something like that,” Soren said through clenched teeth.
“Talk less,” Irena hissed. “Weave more.”
Lysa stepped closer to the circle, power rippling off her.
“Mother Below,” she said. “You’ve had your fun. You’ve played with our dead. With our lost. We’re done.”
*Oh?* the voice said. *You think you can deny me now? After you called? After you bled? You opened the door, silver alpha. You don’t get to slam it in my face.*
“Oh, I do,” Lysa said, and *smiled*.
That smile sent a thrill down Juno’s spine.
“Juno,” Irena gasped. “Say it. The words we chose. *Now.*”
Her mind scrambled to remember.
The words they’d worked out late last night, between cups of bitter tea and arguments about obligation.
She looked at Riven.
He looked at her.
They spoke together.
“I bind my teeth to my pack,” they intoned. “Not to hunger. Not to holes. Not to anything that eats without end.”
The mountain vibrated.
Mother Below’s presence shuddered.
They went on.
“I bind my blood to this stone,” Juno said.
“I bind my rage to this fight,” Riven said.
“I give you nothing freely,” they both finished.
Something *snapped*.
Not the bond.
Something outside it.
The net the elders had woven yanked tight.
Juno felt it lash out — not at her, not at Riven, not at the circle of wolves.
At the presence pressing at the edges of their minds.
For a second, it caught.
Mother Below’s voice screeched.
Not in sound.
In sensation.
Pain like ice speared through Juno’s head.
She tasted earth. Old blood. Something *hurting* that had thought itself beyond hurt.
The shadows around the not-woman’s shape shuddered.
Her eyes flared.
*You dare,* she hissed. *You think you can chain me?*
The net strained.
Silver threads glowed red.
Irena groaned, knees buckling.
The other elders screamed— one wordless, one shouting a curse.
The runes on the stones cracked.
Juno’s grip on Riven’s hand slipped.
The bond flared white-hot.
For a moment, she saw *too much*— a cavern full of teeth, a river of whispers, thousands of deals made in the dark, a hundred faces like Riven’s, hollow-eyed and bound, all of them looking *up* as something huge and formless loomed.
“Enough!” she gasped, not sure if she spoke aloud or inside.
Riven roared.
He let go of her hand with physical fingers— but *inside*, he held harder.
*Back,* he snarled. *Get back.*
Not to her.
To the Maw.
He pushed.
Not with magic.
With anger.
With every scrap of hate he’d been feeding for three years.
Every scream he’d swallowed.
Every time he’d obeyed a command that tore him apart.
He shoved it all out, at once.
At her.
The net caught that too.
Amplified it.
Turned his roar into a spear.
It hit something.
Hard.
Mother Below’s presence *recoiled*.
The shadows writhed.
The air cracked.
Then— with a sound like stone splitting— something *tore*.
Light—this time not silver, not dull—flashed through the circle.
White-gold.
Blinding.
Juno’s knees buckled.
She hit the ground hard.
Her hand ripped free of Riven’s.
The bond slammed back inside her chest, searing.
She screamed.
Somewhere, wolves howled.
The world went white.
Then black.
Silence.
***
She woke to the smell of smoke and herbs.
Her head throbbed.
Her throat felt raw, like she’d been screaming.
“Easy,” a familiar voice murmured.
Fingers pressed gently at her temples.
She blinked.
Irena’s lined face swam into view above her, blurry.
“You’re not dead,” the elder said. “Which is inconvenient. I was hoping for a nap.”
Juno tried to laugh.
It came out a croak.
She realized she was lying on her back inside one of the healer tents. Furs under her. Thick canvas above.
Mira’s worried face popped into view next, green eyes wide.
“You’re awake,” she breathed. “Thank all the gods with names and without.”
Kellan hovered behind her, arms crossed so tight his muscles bulged.
He looked like he wanted to punch something.
Hard.
Juno’s mouth was dry.
“Water,” she croaked.
Mira lifted a cup to her lips, helping her sip.
Cool liquid soothed her cracked throat.
She swallowed gratefully.
Memories crashed back.
The circle.
The blood.
The voice.
The *tear*.
Her heart stuttered.
“Riven?” she gasped, trying to sit up.
Pain flared in her skull.
Irena’s hand pressed her shoulder down. “Lie still,” she snapped. “Your brain is scrambled eggs. It needs time.”
“Riven,” Juno insisted. “Where—”
“He’s alive,” Lysa’s voice said from somewhere to her right.
Juno turned her head carefully.
Lysa stood near the tent entrance, arms folded.
She looked…worse.
Fine lines had dug deeper into her face overnight. There was a faint streak of blood dried along her hairline. Her usually immaculate braid had strands escaping.
Her eyes, though, were bright.
“What happened?” Juno whispered.
“We hurt her,” Lysa said simply.
Juno’s heart did a strange, painful flip.
“How badly?” she asked.
Irena snorted. “Badly enough that she screamed like a cut pig,” she said. “Not badly enough that she won’t come back.”
Lysa nodded. “We tore something off,” she said. “A…piece.”
She gestured toward a small table near the back of the tent.
On it sat a jar.
A thick glass vessel, stoppered with wax, runes etched into its sides.
Inside, floating in a dark, viscous liquid, was…something.
It looked like a shard of obsidian, except it pulsed faintly.
Not with light.
With…wrongness.
The hairs on Juno’s arms stood up.
Her wolf snarled.
“What is that?” Juno whispered.
“A tooth,” Irena said. “Not physical. Not like ours. But…close enough. A fragment of her. Caught when your idiot mate shoved all his rage down the line.”
Juno’s chest tightened.
“He—” Her hand flew to her own chest. “Is he—?”
“He passed out,” Lysa said. “Same as you. His vitals are…steady. For now. He’s in the next tent, under two wardlines and a very cranky healer.”
Relief washed through Juno so hard she almost threw up.
Kellan’s jaw ticked.
“You both scared the shit out of us,” he said roughly. “You dropped like stones. Blood out of your nose. Out of your ears. It was—” He cut himself off, jaw working.
Mira’s fingers tightened on Juno’s.
“I thought…” She swallowed. “I thought you were…gone.”
Guilt twisted.
“I’m sorry,” Juno whispered. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t you dare apologize,” Mira snapped, eyes suddenly fierce. “You did what no one else could. You *hurt* her.”
Kellan nodded, grudging. “Yeah,” he said. “You did.”
“You overdid it,” Irena muttered. “Pushing that hard. But it worked. Idiots.”
Juno managed a weak smile.
“How long was I out?” she asked.
“Almost a day,” Lysa said.
Juno blinked. “A day?”
“The second night of the blood moon came and went,” Lysa said. “No sign of her.”
“That’s…good?” Juno ventured.
“For now,” Lysa said. “But it means the last night will be…louder.”
Juno exhaled slowly.
She turned her head toward the jar again.
The…tooth.
It pulsed faintly, in time with…something.
Her headache intensified when she looked at it.
“What can we do with it?” she asked.
Irena’s mouth twisted.
“Study it,” she said. “Learn how it behaves. Maybe find where it…came loose. Follow it back to one of her…mouths.”
“In the meantime,” Lysa said, “we keep it sealed. Deep. Under our wards. That thing breaks, and the leak will be…unpleasant.”
Unpleasant.
Understatement of the century.
Juno’s hand drifted to her chest.
The bond hummed.
Weaker than before.
But present.
She probed at it gently.
Pain flared.
She hissed.
*Ow,* Riven’s voice thought weakly. *Easy. I’ve got a skull-cracker.*
Despite herself, she let out a breathy laugh.
*You’re awake,* she sent.
*Unfortunately,* he replied.
Relief washed through her.
*You okay?* she asked.
*Define okay,* he thought.
She groaned.
Apparently that joke was going to follow them.
*You feel like you got hit by a landslide too?* he asked.
*Yes,* she said. *My head’s doing a drum solo.*
*Good,* he said. *We match.*
Her chest warmed.
Lysa watched her, eyes knowing.
“You can see him?” she asked.
“Feel him,” Juno corrected. “Hear him. He’s…okay. Sort of.”
“Good,” Lysa said. “You stay put for a few more hours. Let your brain settle. Then you can see him. Briefly. Under supervision.”
Juno wanted to protest.
Her body overruled her.
Exhaustion dragged her back under, this time into sleep without teeth or pits.
When she woke again, the light in the tent was dimmer. Evening.
The pounding behind her eyes had dulled to a throb.
“Please tell me I didn’t drool,” she muttered.
“You did,” Mira said cheerfully. “I have blackmail material for years.”
Juno groaned.
Kellan snorted, optics softer now.
“Lysa said you can see him,” Mira added. “If you don’t wobble too much.”
Juno pushed herself up slowly.
The world swayed.
She waited for it to settle.
Her limbs felt made of wet sand.
But she was upright.
“Let’s go,” she said.
Mira hovered at her elbow as she crossed to the next tent.
The ward-lines were visible even to her mundane eyes — faint, shimmering lines crisscrossing the entrance, pulsing with Irena’s runes.
They parted for her like water when she stepped through.
Inside, Riven lay on a pallet, bare from the waist up.
His chest rose and fell shallowly.
Bandages wrapped his forearms where the ritual cuts had been. A smear of dried blood marked his upper lip.
His eyes were closed.
For a second, panic flared.
*Riven,* she thought, reaching.
He flinched internally.
*Stop shouting,* he grumbled weakly. *I’m right here.*
She exhaled.
Aloud, she said, “You look like shit.”
His lips twitched. His eyes opened a crack.
“You always this charming?” he rasped.
“Only with people I like,” she said.
Something in his gaze warmed.
“Be still,” a healer muttered from a stool nearby — a middle-aged woman with nimble fingers and a perpetually annoyed expression. “His brain is bruised. Yours too. Less flirting, more resting.”
Juno blushed. “We’re not—”
“Uh-huh,” the healer said skeptically.
Mira faded discreetly back toward the entrance, giving them space.
Juno sank onto a low stool near Riven’s pallet, careful not to cross any of the glowing lines etched into the ground.
Up close, he looked…bad.
Pale. Dark smudges under his eyes. Stubble shadowing his jaw more heavily.
But his eyes were clear.
“You did it,” he said quietly. “You bit her.”
“So did you,” she said. “You shoved that rage hard.”
He huffed. “Three years’ worth,” he said. “Felt…good.”
A shadow crossed his face.
“Scary,” he added. “Losing it like that. Letting it all out. I thought I’d drown you in it.”
Her chest tightened.
“I almost drowned myself,” she admitted. “For a second. It was…too much.”
His gaze flicked to the faint bruise on her temple.
“Sorry,” he said.
She shrugged. “We knew it would hurt,” she said. “It was worth it.”
His lips twisted. “You say that now,” he said. “Wait until she comes back for round two.”
“Then we hit her again,” she said.
He laughed, then winced, hand flying to his head.
“Don’t make me laugh,” he groaned. “Hurts.”
She smiled, softer. “Noted,” she said. “No jokes.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
The bond hummed, raw-edged but steady.
“You meant it,” he said suddenly.
She blinked. “Meant what?”
“What you said in the circle,” he said. “About being…blades. Edges.”
Heat crept up her neck.
“Yes,” she said. “I meant it.”
His eyes softened.
“I meant mine too,” he said.
She swallowed.
“I know,” she said. “I felt it.”
“And now?” he asked. “Do you…regret it?”
She thought of the jar. The pulsing shard of wrongness.
She thought of his scream, and hers.
She thought of Mother Below’s voice, shrieking.
“No,” she said. “Not yet.”
He exhaled, some invisible tension loosening.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, voice low, “you looked…fierce as hell in that circle.”
Her lips twitched. “You looked like you were going to vomit,” she said.
He laughed, winced again.
“Ow,” he muttered. “You really are sharp.”
She smiled.
Silence stretched.
Comfortable, this time.
Mira peered in, eyebrows raised. “Time,” she said apologetically. “Healer’s orders. Ten minutes only.”
Juno nodded.
She rose, reluctantly.
At the tent flap, she paused and looked back.
He watched her go, eyes dark and bright all at once.
“Rest,” she said. “We’re not done.”
“I know,” he said. “We just started.”
The last night of the blood moon loomed.
They’d taken a piece of a god.
Gods didn’t like being bitten.
The next move would be hers.
And Juno, whether she liked it or not, was now one of the sharpest teeth on the board.
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