Page 19 of The Onyx Covenant (The Lunaterra Chronicles #2)

Chapter Fifteen

LYRA

R achel’s blade flies at me.

Panic thumps in my chest.

I jerk my head to the side, feeling the blade whistle past my ear. My foot catches on something—a root or stone—and I stumble backward, hitting the ground hard. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs, but adrenaline propels me into a clumsy roll as Rachel comes at me again, her blade slicing through the air where I’d been only a second before.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I shout, scrambling to my feet and backing away.

Rachel’s face is contorted with rage, her eyes burning with hatred.

“You should have withdrawn from the ritual, Elios filth!” She slashes again, this time grazing my arm. A line of fire blooms across my skin. “Your kind doesn’t belong here!”

I twist just in time, bringing my forearm up to catch her strike. The impact rattles through me, sharp and jarring, and the cut she gave me earlier flares with pain—but I shove it down, refusing to give her an inch.

“You’re insane! We’re supposed to be competing, not killing each other!”

“This was never about the competition,” Rachel snarls, feinting left, then striking right.

I catch her wrist, twisting hard. She counters with a brutal sweep to my legs, and we hit the packed dirt with bone-grating force, tangled in a flurry of limbs and snarled breaths.

Her elbow drives toward my ribs, but I shift, using my knee to lever her weight just enough to slip free. My hands scrape against the dirt as I lurch upright, unsteady but fast.

She’s still half risen when I drive a kick into her side. The impact lands with a dull thud, forcing a grunt from her throat.

Snarling, she slashes upward with her knife. I jerk back—just in time—the blade missing my stomach by a whisper. Rachel scrambles to her feet, eyes wild, lips peeled back in a snarl.

She lunges, but I twist and catch her, using her momentum to drive her backward. Her shoulders slam into the wall of thorns, and there’s a wet hiss as they pierce through her tunic and dig into her skin.

She claws at me, wild and furious, but I grab her wrist—the one holding the dagger—and slam it hard against the thorny wall. Her fingers loosen just enough so I can wrench the blade free.

Before she can recover, I pivot, driving my forearm across her chest and pinning her to the wall. Thorns dig deeper into her back. She snarls, trying to twist free.

I raise the stolen dagger and press it to her throat, the point steady against her pulse. Her breath catches. I lean in, close enough to feel her heartbeat stuttering beneath the blade.

Panting for breath, I think about the cut on her side and how it looked fresh and unhealed. How I always use kevrin powder on my blade to slow down the healing of any cuts.

“You’re trying to kill me? And it was you, wasn’t it? You attacked me in the sleeping quarters behind the Covenant building. You and some other loser.”

“For the Alpha of Umbra.” Rachel’s eyes burn with undiminished hatred. “For him. For our pack’s survival.”

“What the fuck is happening?” Kieran demands from farther behind me.

I don’t take my eyes off Rachel.

Her lip curls into a sneer. “You’re a bitch who doesn’t deserve to draw breath.” Her gaze shifts to Theron and Kieran. “And you two… traitors to your own kind. Betraying your pack for Elios scum.” Her eyes lock on Theron. “What would your father say, seeing his son and heir protecting her instead of slitting her throat when she fights me? You’re a disgrace to the Shadowmane name.”

She turns to Kieran, blood trickling from her split lip.

“And you, Stormfang. Your father sacrificed everything for the pack. He’d vomit at the sight of you now.” Her voice grows wilder, more frantic. “Kill her! Kill her now and show the pack you’re strong, not weak! Show your father you’re worthy of the Umbra name, Theron!”

Kieran steps to my side and suddenly drives his blade straight into Rachel’s throat.

The sound is sickening—flesh splitting, cartilage giving way with a wet crunch. Her eyes snap wide, not with fear but with disbelief. Blood pours over Kieran’s hand, thick and fast, bubbling from her lips as she jerks once, then begins to crumple. I feel something splash on my face.

The silver lines on her manacle pulse—then fade into nothing.

She hits the ground hard.

I don’t move.

“Fuck!” My breath catches somewhere between my ribs, my limbs frozen as the heat of what just happened rushes past me like a wave I didn’t see coming. The dirt smells of iron and sweat.

Kieran doesn’t even look at her, just wipes the blade against his sleeve and turns away like it’s nothing.

But it isn’t.

Not to me.

“What the hell did you just do?” I ask, stumbling back, frantically wiping my face with the sleeve of my jacket.

“That was on me to finish,” Kieran says grimly, his voice hollow. “I asked the fucker to be my partner, and she betrayed us all. Fuck!” He rakes a hand through his matted hair, smearing mud and blood across his forehead.

I stare at Rachel’s body, watching her blood seep into the dirt. My hand trembles as I lower my blade.

Theron finally steps forward, silent until now. He glances at Kieran, jaw tight, then shifts his gaze to me. His eyes soften.

“She would’ve killed you,” he says evenly, as though he needs to say it out loud for all of us. “You did what had to be done.”

Even as he says it, he moves toward me, not Kieran.

His arms go around me, strong and steady, pulling me into his chest. I don’t even realize I’m shaking until I feel the heat of him, the weight of his hand cradling the back of my head.

“She made her choice,” he murmurs. “And we made sure it ended with us.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, unable to take my eyes off her now-lifeless form.

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Theron says, staring down at me. His body is warm. “She was going to kill you for my father. That bastard won’t stop until he’s destroyed everything good in our territory.”

“You killed her,” I say to Kieran, the words coming out flat and disbelieving. “She’s dead.”

“She lost her privilege to live,” he grunts.

“He’s right,” Theron says. “In the wilds, the law is clear—attempt to take a life, forfeit your own.”

I break away from Theron, suddenly needing space. “This is supposed to be a sacred ritual, not a bloodbath!”

“It became a bloodbath the moment my father decided to try to murder you,” Theron states firmly. “Rachel was just a pawn… expendable, like we all are to him.”

Kieran crouches beside Rachel’s body, searching her pockets. He pulls out a small leather pouch.

“I didn’t want this.” I stare at Rachel’s body, at the crimson seeping into the mud. “Any of this.”

Theron cups my face, turning me away from the corpse to look at him. His eyes are dark with emotion, almost black in the dim light. “This isn’t your burden to carry. Everyone will need to know what happened here, but first, we need to finish what we started.”

“We keep moving,” Kieran agrees, standing up. “If Rachel was working for your father, then perhaps so are the rest of the Umbra wolves.”

Something shifts at the edge of my vision.

I blink, my gaze snapping back to Rachel’s body. The dirt around her is… moving. Subtle at first, like a breath rising from the ground itself. Then I see them—pale, slender roots emerging from the ground like tendrils, twitching and curling as they slither toward her limbs. One coils around her wrist, another wraps her ankle, and then more, writhing like they’re alive.

They pull her slowly downward to where the ground cracks open. Inch by inch, she’s claimed.

Blood-smudged dirt sinks beneath her weight as the roots weave over her chest and throat, sliding under her clothes and through her hair. Her fingers vanish next, then her boots, until only her face with wide-open eyes remains, staring straight through me.

And just like that, she’s gone. Swallowed whole.

I take a step back, my breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a curse.

“All right,” Kieran mutters beside me, his voice a little too loud in the silence. “That’s new. Nature’s got a real flair for drama.”

He’s trying to play it off, but I catch the way his hand tightens around his blade.

Theron’s gaze stays fixed on the spot where Rachel vanished, the dirt now smooth and undisturbed as if she were never there at all. He finally exhales, a sound low and grim.

“The maze doesn’t leave reminders.”

We stand there in silence at first, then Theron turns to the wall of thorns.

“The tree woman said, ’Follow the chains that shimmer silver, like tears of the veiled moon. They will lead to what you seek.’?”

I quickly tuck Rachel’s blade into the back of my pants as we return to the chamber with the hanging chains, which seem to glow more brightly now. One chain in particular shines brighter than the others, swaying slightly despite the still air, pointing to an entrance door across from ours.

“That one,” I say. “It wants us to follow its direction.”

As we walk away, I can’t help looking back at the passage where Rachel’s body was. My stomach twists painfully. I’ve seen too much death today.

Theron takes my hand, entwining our fingers. “We stick together,” he murmurs, glancing at me and Kieran. “We find the moonstone, we win this damn thing, and then we deal with my father. One step at a time.”

The dark moon continues to shine overhead, casting long shadows that seem to point the way forward, deeper into the heart of the maze.

Kieran walks ahead, one hand always on his blade.

“You okay?” I ask quietly, catching up to him while Theron investigates a side passage.

“Fucking fantastic,” he mutters, then sighs. “Sorry. My head’s still… not right. Like there’s a fog I can’t shake.” He rubs his temples. “And I just killed someone, so there’s that.”

The blunt admission startles me. “I’m sorry.”

His amber eyes meet mine, hard and unflinching, then he shrugs. “I’ve made my peace with it.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” He looks away.

Before I can respond, Theron rejoins us. “Nothing that way but more thorns,” he says. “The chain is still leading us forward.”

We continue on, the maze growing denser and disorienting. The walls seem to shift when we’re not looking directly at them, changing configuration subtly. More than once, I glance back to find that our path has disappeared, replaced by a solid wall of thorns, but the silvery chain woven into the wall remains ahead of us.

“The maze doesn’t want us going backward,” I observe after the third time this happens.

“Or someone doesn’t,” Theron replies grimly.

The chain suddenly brightens, pulsing with an urgent light. It leads to a narrow opening barely wide enough for one person to squeeze through.

“I don’t like this,” Kieran says, peering into the gap. “Perfect spot for an ambush.”

“The willow-woman said to follow the chains,” I remind him.

“And we’re just trusting a creepy tree spirit now?” Kieran arches an eyebrow.

“You have a better idea?” Theron challenges.

“Fine.” Kieran sighs dramatically. “But if I die horribly, I’m haunting both of you.” He turns to me with a twisted smile. “Especially you, Mooncrest. I’ll be the ghost in your bedroom, watching you undress every night.”

“Fuck off, Kieran,” Theron growls, shoving him lightly.

“Just trying to lighten the mood,” Kieran mutters with a wink at me. “Someone’s gotta keep things interesting.” But I notice how his hand trembles slightly as he reaches for his blade, how sweat beads on his forehead despite the cool air.

“I’ll go first,” I say, moving toward the opening.

Theron catches my arm. “Lyra?—”

“I’m the smallest,” I point out. “And I can recoil back faster if needed.”

Theron hesitates, then nods reluctantly. “Be careful.”

I edge through the narrow opening sideways, thorns catching at my clothes and hair. The passage is barely shoulder width and completely dark except for the faint glow of the chain ahead. After about ten feet, it widens suddenly, opening into a small circular chamber.

In the center stands a pedestal of rough-hewn stone, and upon it rests a gleaming object that glints from the moonlight filtering down from above and is hard to see at first. The chain we’ve been following dangles directly over it, its tip nearly touching it. It’s so bright my eyes hurt.

“I think I found something!” I call back. “There’s space in here!”

Theron squeezes through next, shuffling sideways, his steps careful as he takes in the chamber.

Behind him comes a loud grunt from Kieran. “If I lose a nipple to these thorns, I’m blaming both of you.” A rustling pause. “Seriously, who designs a maze with bramble-covered birth canals?” Another sharp snag on his trousers. “Ow! Great. That’s it. These pants are officially enemies.” He finally stumbles through, looking like he wrestled a wild bush—and lost.

“What is this place?” Theron asks, eyes scanning the circular chamber.

The walls here are different—less thorny vines and more ancient stone—covered in faded carvings. I run my fingers lightly over a massive wolf, its head raised toward a full moon carved in gleaming silver. Around it, smaller wolves knelt or bared their teeth in challenge—it’s hard to tell which. Another panel shows hooded figures encircling a bound shape beneath a bleeding crescent, the lines worn but unmistakably deliberate.

A story, half erased by time.

“These are old,” I murmur. “Older than the Onyx Covenant, perhaps. They look like…”

“The original pack markings,” Theron finishes, examining another section of the wall. “Before the split. When Elios and Umbra were one.”

“What’s that on the pedestal?” Kieran asks, stepping toward the center of the room.

“Careful,” I warn, but he’s already reaching for the object.

As his fingers touch it, the entire chamber floods with brilliant silver light. Kieran jerks back. When the light fades, we can see the object clearly—a key, ornately crafted from what appears to be moonstone, its handle carved in the shape of a wolf’s head.

“The Bloodstone Key,” I breathe, recognizing it from the ancient texts in the temple. “It’s real.”

“What does it open?” Kieran asks, rubbing his eyes.

“According to legend, the door to reconciliation,” Theron says, his voice hushed with awe. “The way back to unity between our packs.”

“Great,” Kieran mutters. “A metaphorical key. Very helpful.”

“I don’t think it’s metaphorical,” I say, reaching out tentatively and wrapping my fingers around the key. It pulses faintly in my palm, warm to the touch, almost like it’s alive. For a second, I brace for another flash of light, another trap, but nothing happens. Just a soft hum against my skin.

We fan out, searching the chamber. I hold the key tightly, scanning the pedestal, the floor, and even the carved walls for any sign of a matching keyhole.

“Could be hidden under something,” Theron mutters, running his fingers along the base of the pedestal. Then he turns to the stone walls, squinting at the faded carvings. “These symbols… some kind of sequence. Could be a locking mechanism.”

“Could also just be very old art,” Kieran calls from the opposite wall. “Or the world’s worst interior decorator.”

I catch the edge of a laugh, then freeze.

A sound. Faint but distinct. A soft rustling from the narrow passage behind us.

I glance at Theron. He’s already gone still.

Kieran hears it next. “What the hell was that?”

I don’t answer. My fingers close around the key, and I shove it deep into my pocket.

Then the ground trembles.

A dull, distant thud, followed by another. Louder. Closer.

“We need to move,” Kieran says sharply, his sarcasm gone in an instant. “Now.”

“There!” Theron points to a break in the stone wall, half obscured by hanging moss and shadows.

We don’t hesitate. I sprint for it with Theron in front of me and Kieran bringing up the rear, his blade already drawn. Behind us, a bone-splitting screech tears through the chamber.

Kieran swears and shoves me forward. “Go! Go!”

The corridor beyond the arch is narrow and crooked, its walls more stone than thorn. We rush through it blindly, the path twisting as it slopes upward. The screeching behind us grows louder, angrier, joined now by the sound of heavy, deliberate footsteps—each one a thunderous quake through the floor.

My breaths are racing, dread thumping through me.

“Don’t look back!” Theron shouts.

So I don’t.

Until I do.

I risk a glance and catch only a glimpse—just long enough to make my blood run cold.

It’s tall. Hulking. Broad shoulders hunched beneath twisted, bark-like armor. Its skin is dark and glistening, streaked with something slick. Its face is a ruin of bone and exposed muscle, two molten eyes glowing in its skull. And the sound it makes—it’s not a roar.

It wants to hunt.

“Go!” I scream, and this time, I run faster.

Theron leads us deeper, the stone passage a blur of gray and shadow. I lose track of time, of distance. There’s only breath, burning legs, and the pounding in my ears. The beast doesn’t follow us directly, but the echoes haunt every turn.

Eventually, the sound fades.

The ground begins to level out. The walls widen. And then, suddenly—grass.

Blades beneath my boots, soft underfoot. We stumble into a narrow clearing, barely more than a pocket of space carved into the maze, the thorn walls high on every side.

Kieran collapses first, landing on his back with a groan. “Good news… not dead. Bad news… probably still gonna die.”

Theron presses a hand to the wall, chest heaving. “It didn’t follow us.”

“Or it’s circling around for a dramatic entrance,” Kieran mutters. “Real flair for theatrics, that one.”

I wipe sweat from my brow. My limbs are shaking. My hair is a nest of leaves and blood and who knows what else.

I let out a long yawn, sudden and dragging.

Kieran raises a brow. “You’re kidding. You’re actually tired right now?”

I rub my eyes. “We’ve hit a dead end. If that thing didn’t come this way, it’s not likely to. We can retrace our steps after some rest.”

Theron gives the wall another once-over. “One entrance. Defensible.”

We all exchange a look, then wordlessly sink to the grass.

“We’ll take turns watching. I’ll go first,” Theron says.

“I’ll take second,” Kieran grumbles, already half horizontal.

“And me third.”