Page 10 of The Onyx Covenant (The Lunaterra Chronicles #2)

I run my hand along the fallen trunk, fingers catching on rough bark. “We follow it, then, as it’s fallen in that direction.”

With each step, the wintermoss scent grows more potent, pulling us closer. Then?—

The ground vanishes beneath my foot.

My stomach lurches as I pitch forward into nothingness. “Fuck, it’s a cliff!” tears from my throat.

In an instant, Lyra snatches the back of my shirt with surprising strength. She yanks me backward, hard. I stumble, losing balance in the opposite direction. We both tumble to the ground, my back hitting the earth with Lyra half sprawled across me, both of us breathing hard.

“That,” she gasps, “was too close.”

My heart hammers against my ribs, adrenaline coursing through me.

“Well,” I manage once I catch my breath. “I think we found an edge. Guessing the moss is down there. They do tend to grow in valleys, so it makes sense.”

We sit there for a pause. Her hand rests on my chest, probably unintentionally, but I cover it with mine before she can pull away.

“I knew you still cared about me,” I state, unable to resist.

“I’m not a monster, Theron,” she says with an exasperated sigh. “I don’t want you dead.”

I chuckle at how badly she lies, her pulse quickening beneath my fingers. “Just maimed, then? Or merely suffering?”

“Don’t tempt me,” she warns.

She gets up abruptly, the rope tugging on my wrist. “Let’s move.” She nudges me with her foot. “We’ve got a tree to find.”

I rise to my feet, staying close to her. “What’s your plan?”

“Let’s test the edge slowly,” she suggests, already moving carefully toward where the ground dropped away. “See if it’s just a small valley or a cliff. Though there shouldn’t be any big cliffs on this part of the mountains.”

“You sound very sure of that for someone who can’t see a damn thing right now.”

“I’ve studied these forests,” she says, and I can hear the priestess in her voice—confident, knowledgeable. “Part of my training. Now, get on your ass.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’re going to slide down gradually until we’re sure we’re not free-falling off a cliff,” she explains, already lowering herself to the ground. “Unless you’ve got a better idea?”

“Always so commanding,” I tease but follow her lead, sitting at the edge. “I’d forgotten how bossy you get when you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” she insists. “I’m cautious. There’s a difference.”

I grin to myself as we ease forward, testing the slope with our feet. It’s steep but not a sheer drop, maybe a forty-five-degree angle of loose soil and rocks.

“It’s not too bad,” I say, already sliding down on my backside. “Steeper than I’d like, but manageable.”

We descend slowly, testing each section with our foot before committing our weight. Eventually, the ground levels out enough that we can stand, still moving carefully.

“Stop for a bit. I need a rock,” Lyra says.

We both lean forward cautiously. I hear the soft scrape of Lyra’s movements, her fingers rustling against dirt and stone as she searches the ground near us.

“Got one,” she murmurs. I feel her knuckles accidentally brush against my thigh as she shifts position. The rope tugs at my wrist, forcing me to move with her as she repositions herself.

A light clicking sound reaches my ears as she must be rolling the rock between her palms. “This should work.”

I sense her arm tensing beside me, the subtle change in air pressure as she moves. Her shoulder presses briefly against mine before I feel her motion—the pull on our bound wrists as she throws the stone.

The silence stretches for a heartbeat—two—then a soft thud echoes back to us. Not far. Not deep.

“See?” she breathes, relief evident in her voice. “Not a cliff.”

“Never doubted you,” I lie smoothly.

“Sure you didn’t.” Her voice is dry, but I can hear the smile in it. “Now, let’s find that tree.”

We head forward, our fingers intertwined, and just being close to her leaves me grinning like an idiot. The wintermoss’s damp, mushroom-like scent grows stronger with each step.

“Tell me, Theron,” she asks out of the blue, her voice casual. “Why did you really select me as your partner in the Harvest Ritual? Was it to torment me further?”

The question hangs between us, heavy with all the things we’ve never said.

“Selfishness,” I admit truthfully. “To get you to finally talk to me, listen to me, not pretend I don’t exist.” I take a breath, the darkness of the blindfold somehow making it easier to be honest. “You’ve haunted me, Lyra. Every night. Every damn dream. I wake up reaching for you. I can’t…” My voice catches. “I can’t get you out of my head. Out of my blood.”

Her fingers tense in mine.

“I also didn’t want anyone from my pack,” I continue, the words spilling out now. “Not for this mission. Not for anything that matters.”

“Against your father’s wishes?” The surprise in her voice is genuine. “He was pissed… maybe more than mine.”

“My father is a fucking bastard,” I growl, the words dark with loathing. I don’t elaborate. “This Harvest Ritual is my way to make a difference, to stop his brutality my way.”

She’s quiet for several steps before responding.

“Like the mountain hunt last month? The one where our packs joined forces to go into the high peaks? There were those huge wild wolves, but also great game.” Her voice turns pointed. “Did you know that our pack only got a quarter of the catch, even though we had more hunters than your team?”

The question takes me by surprise. “I didn’t.” The news settles like a stone in my gut. “But it sounds exactly like something he would do.”

“If your goal is to knock your father aside, then I’m with you,” she says, her words fierce. “As long as you don’t plan to follow in his steps.”

Something in me breaks that she could think so little of me. “You don’t know me if you say that,” I say, my voice rough with hurt.

“I thought I knew you, Theron.” The simple statement carries years of pain.

I stop walking, tugging her to a halt beside me. Even in darkness, I turn to face her, my free hand finding her shoulder.

“Then use this time to get to know me again,” I say, pouring everything I feel into the words. “We start fresh. No assumptions. No past. Just you and me, as we are now.”

She goes quiet, and when we start walking again, the silence stretches between us like a living thing. Her fingers remain laced with mine, neither pulling closer nor pushing away, and she never responds. But she doesn’t have to—I pick up the way her pulse beats faster and stronger.

It’s not forgiveness. Not yet. But it’s a beginning.

The ground begins to soften, and we’re both crouching low, hands tentatively exploring our surroundings.

“Moss,” I confirm, fingers tracing over the soft, cushiony surface. It’s moist to the touch and springy under pressure. “We’ve reached the mossy ground Melian mentioned.”

“So the heart tree must be here,” Lyra says.

I stand slowly, careful not to pull on her as I do. The air here is different, still and heavy with the scent of vanilla flowers that seems to come from all directions. I turn in a slow circle, taking her with me, trying to catch any hint of the massive tree.

I run a hand through my hair. “This feels like an open field. The tree could be anywhere.”

“We keep going until we find it.”

So that’s what we do, moving cautiously across the mossy ground, hands outstretched like sleepwalkers. After several minutes of finding nothing but more moss, Lyra sighs.

“This is insane. How are we supposed to find one tree in what feels like acres of open space?” It doesn’t stop us from walking around aimlessly.

“Maybe we should—” My words cut off as my boot catches on something hard and gnarled, sending me stumbling. “Shit!”

“What is it?” Lyra asks, steadying herself as I regain my balance.

I crouch down, my hands exploring what tripped me. “Tree root. A big one.” I trace my fingers along its length, feeling the woody texture. “Really big, actually.”

“The heart tree,” Lyra breathes. “It has to be. Follow it!”

We both laugh at the sudden breakthrough. We use our feet to trace the root, shuffling ahead carefully.

“This way,” I say, following the root as it grows thicker.

We travel in tandem, one foot sliding forward to find the root, then the other foot joining it. It’s awkward but effective. The root widens beneath our steps, rising higher from the ground.

“It’s close,” Lyra whispers, excitement making her voice tremble slightly. “I can feel it.”

More careful steps and my outstretched hand collides with something solid. Rough bark meets my fingertips, warm and alive in a way that ordinary trees aren’t.

“Found it,” I say, my palm flattening against the huge trunk. It pulses faintly beneath my touch, like a sleeping giant’s heartbeat. “This must be the heart tree.”

“Oh, she feels huge. Now we need to find the token.”

We circle the tree, hands exploring its surface. The trunk is enormous. It would take four people with outstretched arms to encircle it.

“I hear something,” Lyra says suddenly. “Like parchment fluttering in the breeze. Up high.”

I cock my head to the side and listen. She’s right. There’s a faint rustling above us. I raise my free hand, stretching for the fluttering object, but I can’t reach it. And by the direction of the sound, it should be right above us.

“Our token. I’ll lift you,” I suggest. “You could stand on my shoulders.”

“Blindfolded? That’s insane.”

“You have a better idea?”

She hesitates. “No,” she admits reluctantly. “But if you drop me, I swear I’ll end you.”

“Never,” I say too seriously. “I’d never let you fall. Come on, then. I’ll crouch, and you put your feet on my thighs, then I’ll stand, and you can step onto my shoulders.”

“This is such a terrible idea,” she mutters, but her free hand finds my shoulder.

“Ready?” I ask.

“No… but do it anyway.”

I crouch lower, bracing myself against the tree. She hesitates, then places one tentative foot on my thigh, gripping my shoulder for balance.

“I’m going to fall and break both our necks,” she warns, wobbling slightly.

“You won’t. Trust me.” I can’t help the grin spreading across my face.

“Stop enjoying this so much. I can hear you smirking.”

“I’m not?—”

“You absolutely are.” She places her other foot on my opposite thigh, her body swaying dangerously. “Oh Gods, oh Gods.”

I steady her with my hand at her waist. “You’re doing great.”

“Shut up,” she hisses.

As she attempts to maneuver higher, she loses her balance, pitching forward. Her breasts bump against my face, and we both freeze.

“I… sorry,” she stammers.

I clear my throat. “No problem. Though I can’t say I mind the… unexpected perks of this position.”

“If you make one more joke, I swear I’ll?—”

“Just keep going,” I say, my voice strained. “Before I drop you.”

She shifts upward, her hand finding my head for support. When I breathe in, I catch the faint scent of her perfume, something delicious and light. It’s intoxicating and absolutely not what I should be focusing on right now.

“Can you… just a little higher…” she says, her fingers tangled in my hair.

“Working on it,” I grunt, slowly beginning to stand. Every muscle in my body strains with the effort.

She steps higher, one foot finding my shoulder.

“Focus on not falling, would you?”

Her second foot lands on my other shoulder. I’m steadying her with my hands on her thighs, her bound arm pulling against the rope and giving her one arm to stretch up. She’s light, but the position is awkward. My back presses against the rough bark of the heart tree, giving me the stability I need to hold her. The muscles in my shoulders and arms burn with the effort, but it’s a good pain—purposeful, necessary.

Standing slowly, I widen my stance and plant my feet more firmly on the moss-covered ground. She shifts her weight, leaning more heavily on my right shoulder as she extends herself further.

“Almost there,” I encourage, voice strained from the effort. “Can you reach it?”

“Nearly,” she breathes. I feel every subtle shift as she balances herself. “I can feel it brushing my fingertips.”

“Hurry,” I urge, feeling a tremor start in my legs. No matter how light she is, holding anyone above your head while blindfolded is no small feat. “Not to rush you, but I’d rather not drop you.”

“Just… a… little…” Her body tenses, extending that final crucial inch.

“I can feel it,” she says, excitement breaking through her reserve. “It’s a piece of parchment that must be tied to a branch. Just a little higher…”

I groan for her to hurry up.

“Got it!” she exclaims. “Let me down.”

I steady myself as I prepare to help her descend.

Her foot searches blindly for purchase as she begins to move down.

Her body slides against mine, and my hands instinctively find her waist.

“Gods, this is so awkward,” she mutters as she slips a little, her body pressing firmly against my chest.

“Really?” I can’t keep the smile from my voice. “I’m in heaven right now.”

“Gods,” she says, but there’s a laugh hiding beneath her words.

My hands grip her waist more firmly as she continues her descent, the heat of her body radiating through her clothes. Without sight, everything feels magnified—the slight catch in her breath when my fingers accidentally graze the skin where her shirt has ridden up and the softness of her hair brushing against my chin.

“Your heart is racing,” she whispers, and I realize her palm is splayed against my sternum.

“Can’t imagine why,” I reply, my voice rougher than I intended.

When her feet finally touch the ground, neither of us moves.

“You can let go now,” she says quietly.

My hand remains at her waist, thumbs tracing small circles against the fabric of her shirt.

“Do you really want me to let you down?”

She’s quiet, and her breath flutters, quick and uneven, against my face. We’re too close. Dangerously close.

“Theron,” she says, her voice lower than before, almost a warning. “Don’t make this harder for us.”

“Harder?” I can’t help the suggestive tone that creeps into my voice. My fingers tighten slightly at her waist. “I think we’re well past that point, my little moon.”

The paper rustles between her fingers as she shifts in my grip. “Let’s not do this.”

“Why? Because you still care for me,” I say, not a question but a statement. “Because you still want me. Do you dream of me, Lyra? The way I dream of you?”

“How is that conducive to not making things harder for us?” There’s an edge to her voice.

“Just answer the question,” I persist, unwilling to let this moment slip away. Her body is warm against mine, her scent surrounding me, clouding my judgment.

She sighs, the sound filled with frustration. “Yes. You happy now?”

I can’t stop the grin that spreads across my face, thankful for the blindfold that hides how much that simple admission affects me.

“It’s all I need to know.”

“Whatever.” The parchment crinkles again as she fidgets with it. “Anyway, what do you think the note says?”

I shrug, mostly to myself, as I finally lower her, our bodies sliding against each other in a way that feels both deliberate and accidental. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

She’s already moving, pulling me by our bound rope. “Come on. We need to retrace our steps.”

There’s no hiding the truth—whatever broke between us a year ago isn’t completely shattered. The pieces remain, jagged and dangerous, waiting to be reassembled into something new.

Returning seemed to take us less time.

“Congratulations!” Melian’s voice comes from nearby. Her hands are there, untying my blindfold, then the rope binding me to Lyra. “You’re the first to return successfully.”

Light floods my vision, momentarily blinding me. When my sight clears, I glance at Lyra blinking beside me, a small scratch on her brow from the branch. She’s never looked more beautiful—wild and fierce and alive in a way that makes my chest ache.

Melian holds out her hand, and Lyra places the folded parchment in it. Instead of taking it, Melian smiles. “This is yours to keep—a message from the heart tree. When you’re ready, make your way to the side of the training yard. We’ll be practicing defense moves next.”

As Melian walks away, I glance down at Lyra, something vulnerable flickering across her face.

“What does it say?” I ask, glancing at the parchment in her grasp.

She raises and unfolds it.

“Two paths diverged in ancient woods,

Yet shared one destination.

Trust not the common solitude,

But the uncommon alliance.”

She stares at the words. “What do you think it means?”

“Maybe that some battles aren’t meant to be fought alone,” I say, holding her gaze. “Whatever lies ahead, we’re stronger together than apart.”

“Poetic,” she states, but there’s no mockery in her tone.

“I have my moments.”

“Come on,” she says, tucking the parchment into her pocket. “Let’s show them what an uncommon alliance can do.”

“Is that what we are now?” I ask, unable to keep the hope from my voice. “Allies?”

Her gaze meets mine. “It’s a start.”

Those eyes still hypnotize me. There’s dirt on her cheek and that scratch on her brow, but they only make her look more alive. More real. More mine.

She’s changed this past year—leaner, harder. The soft priestess edges worn away to reveal something dangerous beneath. Something that matches the wolf inside her.

I want to run my thumb across that scratch, taste the salt on her skin, and press her against the nearest tree until those lavender eyes go dark with wanting. Until she admits what we both know.

As we walk toward the training field, I can’t help but smile. She can pretend all she wants that the wall between us is still intact, but I felt it crumbling in that forest, touch by touch. And now that I’ve found a crack in her defenses, I won’t stop until I’ve torn them down completely.

She may not be mine yet. But she will be. It’s only a matter of time.