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

Chapter One

THERON

One Year Later

B lood splatters across my face as I slam my opponent into the dirt. The metallic scent mingles with his fear, sour and acrid, as I press my forearm against his throat. He’s an Elios wolf, smaller than me, but he puts up a damn good fight, and his eyes widen as I increase the pressure. The roar of the crowd pulses around us, but I focus only on the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath my grip.

“Yield,” I growl, low enough that only he can hear me.

He bares his teeth, a futile display of defiance, before survival instinct kicks in. His neck goes limp beneath my arm.

“I yield,” he chokes out.

I release him immediately, stepping back as he gasps for air. The crowd of Umbra wolves behind me erupts in savage cheers, their howls piercing the night sky. I don’t acknowledge them. This display—this ritual combat—means nothing. It’s merely the prelude to the real battle that awaits.

Wolves from both packs clash nearby, each displaying their skills in a fierce bid to be chosen as the final champions for the ritual that takes place once every ten years. The Harvest Ritual.

A primal scream rips through the clearing, silencing the cheers. I whip around, muscles tensing as I spot the source—Drakon, an Umbra wolf known for his volatile temper. His body twists as he surrenders to the shift. Bones crack audibly as his human form gives way to the beast within.

“Shit,” I mutter, already moving toward him. He’s losing control.

The spectators scramble backward, creating a wide circle around Drakon as his transformation completes. He stands nearly four feet tall at the shoulder, his midnight fur bristling along his spine. Foam drips from large jaws filled with teeth designed to rend flesh from bone.

Drakon lunges, jaws clamping onto an Elios wolf’s shoulder. Blood sprays as the man screams, the sound more animal than human.

I don’t think. I move.

The ground disappears beneath my feet as I launch myself at Drakon. My shoulder crashes into his ribs, dislodging him from his victim. We tumble across the dirt, a tangle of limbs and fury. His claws rake across my chest, tearing through my already bloodstained shirt and leaving fire in their wake.

“Theron!” Kieran, my closest friend, shouts from somewhere beyond the fray. “Don’t kill him!”

As if I need the reminder. Killing during the selection ceremony is grounds for immediate disqualification. But so is losing control of your wolf form, which Drakon has already done. There’s no salvaging his chances.

I manage to get my arm around Drakon’s throat, locking my elbow as I apply pressure to his carotid. His massive body thrashes beneath me, pure instinct fighting for survival. The scent of his fear—sharper now, more primal—fills my nostrils as I tighten my grip.

“Sleep,” I command through gritted teeth, ignoring the burning in my chest where his claws found purchase. “Sleep, you fool.”

His movements grow weaker, more erratic. After what feels like an eternity, he goes limp beneath me. I hold for another few seconds to ensure he’s truly unconscious before releasing him.

The beast melts away, leaving only the man behind—naked and vulnerable on the blood-soaked ground. Covenant guards rush forward, dragging his unconscious form away. He’s eliminated from the competition, his weakness exposed for all to see.

I rise to my feet, stretching my back. The claw marks across my chest sting, but they’re shallow. They’ll heal soon enough. My muscles ache from the exertion, but the pain feels good—a reminder that I’m alive.

Kieran reaches me first, his eyes wide as he takes in the claw marks across my chest. “Show-off,” he says, the tension in his face belying his casual tone. “Always have to be the hero, don’t you?”

I snort, wincing as the movement pulls at my wounds. “Someone had to step in.”

“There are a dozen covenant guards who could have handled it.” Kieran glances at the crowd, which has resumed its previous activity as though nothing happened. Another pair of male contestants circle each other in combat nearby. “But no, the great Theron Shadowmane had to prove his dominance.”

“It wasn’t about dominance,” I argue, though part of me wonders if that’s true. “It was about protection.”

Kieran’s gaze softens slightly. “I know. That’s what worries me about you.” He looks past me, his expression shifting. “Your father’s coming. Try to look suitably brutal.”

I turn, squaring my shoulders despite the pain. Father strides toward us, his huge frame parting the crowd effortlessly. His black hair, streaked with white and woven with bone beads that click together when he moves, frames a face carved from granite.

“You intervened,” he says without preamble, his voice deep and resonant.

I incline my head. “Drakon lost control. He would have killed the Elios.”

“And that would have been regrettable,” Father says, though his tone suggests he finds nothing terrible about dead Elios wolves. And my thoughts spiral for a split second to Lyra, but I shake that away just as fast. “Still, you showed initiative. Strength.” His gaze drops to the claw marks on my chest. “And a certain disregard for your own safety.”

“The wounds are superficial.”

Father’s lips curve in what might pass for a smile on another man. On him, it looks like a predator baring its teeth. “Good, he’s out. The weak have no place in the Harvest Ritual.” He clasps my shoulder, his grip crushing. “Continue to make your pack proud.”

He strides away, moving to speak with others.

“He’s in a good mood,” Kieran observes dryly, rubbing at a bruise forming on his jaw. “Must be all the violence in the air. Gets his blood pumping.”

I grunt in response, watching as Father speaks with Tarek Nightsinger, a leader of the Onyx Covenant and a puppet to my father’s ambitions. Melian, the second who rules alongside Tarek, remains inside the building. By law, only males are permitted to attend the selection.

Both of them are the ruling covenant over the packs, ensuring we don’t murder each other, though considering the pair are wolves from our pack, they tend to take favor with my father on small matters.

But no Alpha dares challenge the Onyx Covenant outright—not unless they crave annihilation. The stone they’re named after isn’t just symbolic; it’s a vessel of ancient fae magic, a force that once bled through this land when both moons aligned. If anyone, including an Alpha, dares to break the law by slaughtering their rivals and seizing their territory, the stone awakens.

And when it does, it releases the Onyx Warriors.

Twisted figures clad in shadow and iron, they rise from the onyx building itself, forged from the magic that once seeped into these lands. Bound to no pack and loyal only to vengeance, they hunt without rest, carving through entire bloodlines until balance is restored. Some say they are the spirits of fallen Alphas who once defied the Covenant—warriors trapped in endless torment, driven by a thirst that can never be quenched.

It’s said that those who witness the Onyx Warriors never forget the screams that follow.

“You know,” Kieran continues, pulling me out of my thoughts, “we could both just run. Find a nice, quiet corner of the world where Alpha politics don’t exist.”

“And miss all this fun?” I gesture to the fighting, the egos, the cheering for more brutality around us. “Besides, you know as well as I do there’s nowhere we could hide that he wouldn’t find us.”

Kieran sighs dramatically. “True. Your father’s not exactly the forgiving type.” He tears a strip from his already shredded shirt, offering it to me. “Here, at least try to look less like you just fought a rabid wolf.”

I take the cloth, wiping away the worst of the blood from my face and chest. Around us, the selection battles continue. These aren’t fights to the death. They’re demonstrations of skill and power meant to intimidate opponents and impress the Onyx Covenant officials who will select the champions. Every unmated male in both packs has the right to participate, though most know better than to challenge wolves like me or Kieran.

“How many do you think will make it to the final selection?” I ask, watching as two Elios wolves grapple nearby.

“Fuck knows.” Kieran shrugs, his lean muscles shifting beneath skin marked with battle scars from years of training together. “Last Harvest Ritual, they selected eight from each pack.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” I ask quietly, making sure no one else can hear as we linger at the edge of the battle starting to slow down, knowing Father will already get us both into the final ritual. “Being a piece in his game?”

“Every damn day.” Kieran’s jaw tightens. “But what choice do we have?” He gestures to the huge obsidian tower that looms behind us—the Onyx Covenant headquarters, the neutral territory between the Eclipsia and Tenebris sectors of land. “Win the Harvest Ritual, and maybe we can change things. Maybe we can find the truth.”

Truth . The word hangs heavy. The truth about my sister’s death, about my mother’s disappearance.

A bone-deep gong reverberates through the battles and cheers, halting the remaining fights. The sound emanates from the Onyx Covenant building, signaling the end of the selection battles.

“And so, the posturing ends,” Kieran mutters, straightening beside me. He runs a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, the dark reddish strands standing up at odd angles. “Think I have time to make myself pretty for the ceremony?”

I snort. “Not enough time in the world for that, Stormwolf.”

“It’s Stormfang now, you ass,” he corrects, punching my shoulder lightly. “Changed it last moon. Stormwolf was my father’s name, and that drunk bastard doesn’t deserve the honor.”

“Stormfang,” I repeat, tasting the name. “Suits you better anyway.”

“Damn right it does.” Kieran grins, flashing elongated canines that give credence to his new surname.

The crowd parts as Tarek, leader of the Onyx Covenant, emerges from the shadow of the building in his black, hooded robe. Both Umbra and Elios moons are full tonight, hanging in perfect balance in the night sky. One dark as pitch, one pale as winter frost.

Tarek stops after descending three wide steps, raising his hands for silence that has already fallen.

I watch him, my pulse thrumming beneath my skin. That will be me standing there one day—the only reason I’m even playing along with my father’s twisted plan. He thinks I’ll be his pawn if I win the Harvest Ritual and take Tarek’s place, but I know better. This is about more than loyalty to my father. It’s about ensuring no one from the enemy pack, Elios, wins. If they do, they’ll control both territories for the next ten years, and that’s a future he refuses to let happen.

I have other plans.

“Wolves of Umbra and Elios,” he begins, his voice carrying across the clearing without effort. “Tonight, we gather as our ancestors did to choose those who will participate in the sacred Harvest Ritual.”

I study the faces around me, the mingled looks of reverence and bloodlust. Both packs may hate each other, but they respect the ancient traditions that bind us.

“For six centuries, the Harvest Ritual has determined who will lead our divided nation,” Tarek continues. “For fifty years, the Umbra pack has held this honor.”

A roar goes up from the Umbra wolves behind me. I remain silent, my attention fixed on Father, who stands with a triumphant smile carved into his face.

“Tonight, we have decided to select five champions from each pack. Five strong Alphas who will compete for control of the Onyx Covenant, for the right to guide Wolfhaven for the next decade.” Tarek’s gaze sweeps the crowd. “The rules remain unchanged. When your manacle glows, you will have ten minutes to claim an unmated Omega from your pack. Together, you will face the trials set forth by our ancestors. Winners will take our place in the Onyx Covenant.”

A low murmur ripples through the gathering.

“From the Elios pack,” Tarek calls, unfurling a silver scroll. “I call forth the following champions: Orion Blaze, Cassius Claw, Nyx Ember, Tavian Windborn, and Zephyr Talonblade.”

Half the crowd cheers heavily as the Elios wolves move forward, climbing the steps to stand beside Tarek. I study them carefully, noting their builds and the way they move, searching for weaknesses I can exploit later. Orion Blaze stands tallest among them, his platinum blond hair nearly white in the moonlight. I’ve heard stories of his speed and his uncanny ability to anticipate an opponent’s moves.

“From the Umbra pack,” Tarek continues. “I call forth Erebus Shade, Kieran Stormfang, Maddox Daruk, Theron Shadowmane, and Nero Lup.”

My name jolts through me, though I knew it was coming. Father has been grooming me for this since I was old enough to shift. Still, hearing it spoken aloud makes my blood run cold.

We move forward together to stand opposite the Elios champions.

Tarek moves between us, carrying an ornate wooden box. From it, he removes ten identical manacles—bands of polished onyx shot through with veins of silver. Ancient power radiates from them, the old fae magic that our ancestors harnessed centuries ago.

“These bindings are sacred,” Tarek intones as he secures one around my wrist. The metal is cold at first, then warms rapidly against my skin. “They will connect you to the Omega you choose, ensuring that neither can abandon the other. Stray more than fifty feet apart for longer than five minutes, and the manacles will inject venom into your veins, killing you both. And if your partner meets an unfortunate death on their own, you must continue alone. If you are the unfortunate one, your Omega must continue on her own.”

Fuck!

The manacle seems to thump against my pulse point as though learning the rhythm of my blood. I resist the urge to try to remove it.

“When these glow,” Tarek continues, “the time will have come to select your partner and return here at midnight. It may be tomorrow. It may be a month from now. You must be ready at all times.”

He steps back, surveying us with a solemn stare. “Not all of you will survive the trials ahead. Some will fall to the challenges themselves. Others…” His gaze drifts meaningfully between the Umbra and Elios champions. “Well, interference is not permitted by the ancient laws.”

What he doesn’t say—what everyone knows—is that interference often happens. The Harvest Ritual isn’t just a test of skill and strength. It’s a brutal contest designed to thin the ranks. And sometimes, death is only one way out.

Surviving isn’t enough. Winning is everything.

“The Onyx Covenant thanks you for your service,” Tarek concludes. “May the worthy rise… and the fallen be forgotten.”

As we descend the steps, Father calls me over. We stand in the shadows, his powerful hand clamping down on my shoulder. His grip is punishing, fingers digging into muscle with unnecessary force.

“You will not disappoint me,” he growls. His crimson gaze bores into mine. “Five decades of Umbra rule, and you will make it six.”

“Yes, Father,” I respond, keeping my voice neutral even as my stomach twists with revulsion, with the knowledge that I have my own intentions for this game, something that will turn him against me.

He leans closer, his breath hot against my ear. “The Elios grow bolder. They think they can challenge us after all this time. You will show them their place.”

I nod. Over his shoulder, I notice the Alpha of the Elios pack watching us, his expression unreadable in the moonlight.

Father follows my gaze, his lips curling in a sneer. “Remember what they did to your mother,” he murmurs. “Remember why we fight.”

The lie tastes bitter in the air between us. I know the truth—or enough of it to recognize his deception. Mother didn’t die at Elios hands as he claims. She disappeared while investigating ancient pack histories, searching for the truth that Father has worked so hard to bury. That’s all I’ve been able to determine so far in my findings, but it’s enough to know I must seek my own truth.

Before I can respond, he releases me and strides toward the Elios Alpha. The two pack leaders meet at the base of the steps, exchanging formal bows that do nothing to mask the hatred between them.

“That went well,” Kieran drawls, appearing at my side. His own manacle gleams dully against his wrist. “Nothing says ’loving father’ like threats disguised as encouragement.”

I flex my hand, feeling the weight of the binding. “He’s worried. The Elios haven’t fielded champions this strong in decades.”

Kieran studies the Elios wolves, who have gathered in a tight circle at the far side of the clearing. “They want this badly. Fifty years is a long time to be the subordinate pack.”

“Can you blame them?” I ask quietly. “How many of their kind have disappeared during Father’s rule? How many have died for crossing invisible lines drawn by the Onyx Covenant?”

“Careful,” Kieran warns, his voice dropping. “Even here, the walls have ears.”

The two pack Alphas stand so close they could kill each other in an instant, maintained only by the ancient laws that protect the Covenant land between both sectors.

Kieran follows my gaze to the Onyx Covenant building. He knows what I seek—the ancient records kept within. If I win the Harvest Ritual, I’ll have access to those archives. I’ll finally know why my sister was executed for helping Elios refugees and why my mother disappeared while investigating our shared past.

“Just be careful,” Kieran warns. “Your father?—”

“Is a monster,” I finish for him. “I’ve never forgotten that.”

The ceremony complete, servants emerge from the Onyx Covenant building carrying platters of roasted meat. The scent of charred flesh and woodsmoke fills the air, making my mouth water despite the tension. My wolf stirs within me, hungry after the battles and the ceremony.

“Now we feast!” Tarek announces, gesturing to the food. “Tomorrow, you return to your territories to prepare. May the moons guide your path.”

“Come on.” Kieran nudges me toward the food. “If I have to spend our near future bound to one of our Omegas while fighting for our lives, I’m at least going to do it on a full stomach.”

I follow him, and we heap our plates with slabs of roasted boar, still sizzling from the spit. I tear into the meat, savoring the rich, gamey flavor as blood runs down my chin. Around us, other wolves do the same, their manners abandoned in favor of satisfying primal hunger.

“You know,” Kieran says between bites. “I’ve been thinking about which Omega I’ll choose.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You have someone in mind already?”

He grins, sharp canines flashing in the firelight. “Several someones, but I’m leaning toward Cleris. She has healing magic, which could come in handy when you inevitably get us into trouble.”

“When I get us into trouble?” I laugh, the sound rusty from disuse. “Need I remind you who started the border incident last spring?”

“Details, details.” Kieran waves a dismissive hand. “Besides, that Elios patrol had it coming.”

“They were three miles inside their own territory.”

“Like I said, they had it coming.” Kieran tears off another chunk of meat. “What about you? Any Omega caught your fancy?”

I shrug, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. The truth is, I’ve avoided thinking about it. The idea of binding an Omega to this dangerous quest—to me—sits uneasily in my gut. My past with females is messy at best.

And then there’s Lyra.

Her face flashes in my mind—the fire in her eyes when she was furious at me, heartbroken, the tears that shattered me. For a second, I let myself imagine her here, close enough for me to reach out and touch. To make her understand. And to not lose her.

But then Jess’s face flickers in my mind, too. The woman my father forced on me a year ago, the one Lyra had seen me with. His grand plan to secure alliances had backfired spectacularly. Jess’s family hadn’t been quiet about their disappointment when things imploded—tempers flared, loyalties strained, and my father’s reputation took a hit. It was chaos, but part of me had been relieved. Getting out of that mess was a blessing… but it cost me Lyra. The look on her face that night still haunts me.

I grunt under my breath and push the thoughts down hard, locking them away before they can take root. Lyra isn’t mine to want. Not with the risks ahead. Not when my choices made sure of that.

“I haven’t decided,” I say finally. “There’s time.”

Kieran studies me, his usual joking demeanor slipping away. “You know, if you really wanted to piss off your father, you could choose Vale Dawn.”

I nearly choke on my food. Vale?

She’s the only surviving daughter of the wolves who tried to assassinate my father during an uprising. Her entire family was executed for treason, but she was just a child when it happened. The only reason she’s still alive is because too many believed killing a pup would make my father no better than the ones who betrayed him.

Kieran’s expression gleams with attitude. “Imagine the look on his face.”

“I’d rather keep breathing,” I mutter, though the idea holds a certain rebellious appeal. “Besides, Vale deserves more than to be used as a pawn in my fight with him.”

Kieran shrugs, but his expression turns thoughtful. “Maybe that’s the problem with all of this. We’re treating these Omegas like tools instead of partners.”

“Yeah, well,” I mutter, stabbing a piece of meat with my fork. “That’s the game we’re playing, isn’t it?”

Kieran’s smile fades. “Funny thing about pawns… sometimes they take the king.”