Page 20 of The Onyx Covenant (The Lunaterra Chronicles #2)

Chapter Sixteen

THERON

“D o you think Aria’s okay?” Lyra asks, her voice cutting through the heavy silence.

“She’s with Orion,” I explain. “She’ll be fine. He won’t let anything happen to her.”

If I were with Aria instead of Orion, I’d tear apart anything that threatened her—not because I feel anything for Kieran’s little obsession, but because she matters to Lyra. And anything that matters to Lyra is under my protection, whether she wants it or not.

Kieran sprawls on his back a few feet away, one boot half off like the lazy fuck couldn’t be bothered to finish the job. Despite everything, affection tugs at me. There’s no one I’d rather have at my back in a fight, even if he drives me insane the rest of the time.

“She’s feisty,” he says, eyes fixed on the stars above us. “Takes no shit. Great with a blade. Kind of terrifying, actually.”

I catch the slight softening in his voice when he mentions Aria. For all his swagger and endless parade of conquests, Kieran’s showing a vulnerability toward the girl.

Lyra smirks. “Yeah, you would know.”

Kieran’s head twists toward her. “Ah. She told you, hey?”

Lyra hums in response, the sound making Kieran narrow his eyes suspiciously.

“Girls share things,” she says, a teasing lilt to her voice that makes my skin heat. “Everything. Every detail, you know.”

I fight back a grin as Kieran props himself up on one elbow. For all his bragging, the idea of being discussed by the women makes him squirm. Hilarious.

“Yeah? Like that?” he counters. “Then I need to know exactly how she painted me—just to ensure fairness. Can’t have you walking around thinking I’m anything less than fucking legendary.”

A harsh laugh escapes me. “Pretty sure it’s not an issue. Lyra only cares about me.”

The words come out as a claim, staking territory that part of me knows isn’t mine to claim anymore.

Lyra’s laugh is tender, but I don’t miss the darkening of her lavender eyes as they meet mine. She still wants me. The knowledge burns through me like fire.

Kieran looks between us, and a slow, wolfish grin stretches across his face.

“Oh. I see. You two as well, huh? Did the dirty deed in the woods? Rolled in the ferns? Howled at the full moon?”

Memories flood my mind unbidden—Lyra riding me, her legs wrapped around my waist, firelight painting her skin. Her nails dug into my skin as she came apart in my arms. The taste of her, like night-blooming jasmine, is addictive.

“Fuck off,” I growl at Kieran playfully. My lips curl into a smile that’s all teeth. “Jealous?”

“Always,” he fires back instantly. “Just wondering if our Alpha-in-training here actually knows what to do with a woman like Lyra or if he just stands around brooding dramatically while she does all the work.”

“Trust me,” I say, eyes locked on Lyra’s as a flush spreads across her cheeks and down her neck. “I know exactly what to do with her.”

I remember every inch of her body—the sensitive spot at the nape of her neck that makes her gasp when kissed, the way she arches when I trail my fingers along her spine, the small sounds she makes when she’s close to breaking. Mine .

Kieran flings an arm over his mouth and nose dramatically. “For fuck’s sake, control your pheromones. Some of us are trying not to get eaten by the murder maze, remember?”

Lyra covers her face with her hands, but not before I catch the quickening of her breath. “Oh Gods,” she groans.

My body responds instantly to her reaction, my cock hardening painfully against my pants. I shift my position, grateful for the single orb of light hanging off the walls and the shadows that hide my erection. Not the time. Not the place. But fuck if I don’t want to cross the clearing and remind her exactly what she means to me.

Kieran lies back down with a theatrical sigh, drawing me from dangerous memories. “You know, it’s moments like these I realize I’m the real romantic soul of this group. All heart. All class.”

Despite the blood and dirt covering him, despite the fact that he killed a woman tonight without hesitation, there’s something undeniably charming about Kieran’s bullshit. It’s why he’s my right hand, my brother in everything but blood.

“And definitely all modesty,” Lyra replies dryly.

“Exactly,” he says without missing a beat. “Someone’s gotta keep the tone high while the rest of you fuck like animals. Some of us have standards, you know.”

“Like pinning Aria against a tree while others sleep?” Lyra’s chuckling.

It’s a low blow, but Kieran’s laughing.

“That was… tactical,” he says, an unusual defensiveness creeping into his voice.

“Tactical?” Lyra asks, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Absolutely.” Kieran nods with mock solemnity. “Confined space. Strategic positioning. Excellent use of available surfaces.”

“Shut the fuck up with your tactical crap,” I say. For all his faults, Kieran is the only person besides Lyra who sees me as more than just the heir to Umbra, the next in line to carry on my father’s bloody legacy.

Lyra’s smiling, and the sight of it loosens something tight in my chest. There’s been too little laughter tonight, too much blood, betrayal, and death. I’d kill a hundred Rachels just to keep that smile on her face.

I watch her, memorizing every detail—the way her hair spills across the grass like liquid moonlight, the gentle curve of her hips, the delicate lines of her moon priestess markings that shimmer faintly in the darkness on her brow. If we die in this maze, I want her image burned into my mind as the last thing I see.

Kieran’s eyes are beginning to close despite his efforts to stay alert. One hand still rests on his dagger, ready even in exhaustion.

“Rest,” I order, the command flowing naturally from years of training warriors. “Both of you. I’ll keep watch.”

The twisted branches surrounding our clearing shift slightly, though no wind stirs them. I don’t trust this momentary peace.

“You need sleep, too,” Lyra argues, her voice already thick with exhaustion.

“I’ll wake you when it’s not my turn,” I lie, knowing I have no intention of sleeping while we’re exposed like this. Not when my father has proven he’s willing to sabotage a sacred ritual to see her dead.

She wants to protest—I can see it in the stubborn set of her jaw—but her body betrays her. Within minutes, she curls onto her side in the lush grass, blonde hair fanning out around her.

Kieran’s already snoring softly, his body surrendering to exhaustion despite his best efforts. In sleep, the cynical mask falls away, revealing the boy I grew up with before my father’s cruelty hardened us both.

I move closer to Lyra, positioning myself between her and the most obvious entrance to our clearing. Not touching—I don’t trust myself to stop if I start—but close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body, to catch the scent of night-blooming jasmine that clings to her skin despite the blood and dirt of the maze.

“Sleep,” I murmur, pitching my voice low enough that it won’t disturb Kieran. “I won’t let anything hurt you.”

The dark moon watches from above, witness to the blood we’ve spilled and the blood yet to come. I know my father, know the depth of his hatred for the Elios pack.

I settle into a crouch, back to Lyra and Kieran, facing outward toward the maze. Let the thorns come. Let my father send his assassins. Let the ancient evils of this place rise against us.

They’ll find me waiting, a shadow among shadows, guarding what’s mine.

The night deepens. My muscles ache from maintaining the same vigilant posture, but I don’t dare move. Behind me, Lyra’s breathing remains deep and steady, occasionally punctuated by Kieran’s soft snores.

A sound breaks the silence—faint voices carrying on the still air. I tense, hand tightening around my blade’s hilt.

I strain to hear, to make out words or recognize the speakers, but the voices are too distant. They echo strangely, bouncing off the maze walls, making it impossible to pinpoint their direction.

Are they other competitors? Something else entirely?

My eyelids grow heavy as the dark moon reaches its zenith. The knife feels heavier in my hand with each passing moment. I shake my head, trying to clear the fog that’s settling over my thoughts.

Just exhaustion. Just the aftermath of combat and poison and death. Nothing more.

The voices come again, louder this time, then fade to nothing.

My head nods forward.

I jerk it back up, blinking hard.

The stars blur overhead.

I dig my nails into my palm, using pain to stay alert.

The dark moon watches.

My eyes close.

Just for a second.

Just to rest them.

Just…

* * *

I jolt awake with a gasp, disorientation flooding my system.

Sunlight. Pale and watery, but definitely sunlight—not the dark moon’s silver glow.

Fuck.

I passed out. After swearing to keep watch, I fucking passed out.

Panic surges through me as I take in our surroundings. We’re no longer in the circular clearing where we stopped to rest. Instead, we lie in the middle of a wide path, thorny walls rising on either side—but not the same walls as before. These are shifting before my eyes, branches untangling and reweaving themselves in new configurations, opening passages that weren’t there seconds ago, closing others that had seemed permanent.

The entire maze is rearranging itself in the dawn light.

Kieran still sleeps a few feet away, one arm flung over his face. Lyra lies between us, her white-blonde hair spread across the ground, her face peaceful in slumber.

I scramble to my feet, blade in hand, spinning in a slow circle. Which way did we come from? Which way were we headed? The maze’s transformation has erased all familiar landmarks.

“Kieran!” I blurt out, kicking his boot. “Wake the fuck up!”

He groans, rolls over, and then his eyes snap open as consciousness returns. “What’s your problem?” he mumbles, then pauses mid-stretch as he notices our changed surroundings. “What the fuck?”

“We moved,” I say tersely, continuing to scan for threats. “Or the maze moved us while we slept.”

Kieran sits up, rubbing his eyes, then freezes as he takes in the shifting walls. “Shit. Are those…?”

“Moving? Yes.” I watch as a thick branch untangles itself from the wall to our right, snaking across to join the opposite side, forming a new archway where a solid barrier had been moments before.

Kieran gets to his feet. The rising sun casts long shadows across his face, highlighting the exhaustion and dried blood still caked along his hairline.

“You fucking fell asleep, didn’t you?” he accuses, scrubbing a hand over his face. His eyes widen as he takes in the shifting walls.

I don’t deny falling asleep. Can’t deny what’s obvious. I shrug.

“Well, shit on my grandfather’s grave,” Kieran says with a low whistle, watching as another section of wall unravels and reknits itself farther down the path. “Gotta hand it to the Onyx Covenant—they really know how to throw a party. Nothing says sacred ritual like a maze that decides to redecorate while you’re sleeping.” He runs a hand through his matted hair, grimacing when his fingers catch on dried blood.

“Some say this maze and its life force have been here way before the Onyx Covenant was established, and now they simply bow to its power.”

“That’s not terrifying at all. So what’s the plan?”

I crouch beside Lyra. “Lyra,” I say, gently shaking her shoulder. “Wake up. We need to move.”

She doesn’t respond, her body limp beneath my touch.

“Lyra?” I shake her harder, alarm building in my chest. “Lyra!”

Nothing. Not even a flicker of her eyelids.

“Fuck, she’s not waking up,” I growl, pressing my fingers to her throat. Her pulse beats strong and steady, and her breathing is normal. She looks like she’s in a deep, peaceful sleep—too peaceful for our circumstances.

“What’s wrong with her?” Kieran asks, crouching on her other side.

“I don’t know.” I check her body for new wounds or new signs of poison but find nothing. “She was fine when we fell asleep.”

“Uh, Theron?” Kieran’s voice has an odd note to it.

“What?”

“Her fist is fucking glowing like a moonlit beacon.”

I look down at her other side, and he’s right… Lyra’s right hand is clenched into a tight fist. Sure enough, faint light pulses between her fingers, leaking out in thin rays.

“The key,” I growl, remembering the Bloodstone Key she’d found in the heart of the maze. “Looks like she’s holding it.”

The delicate silver lines of her moon priestess markings on her brow begin to illuminate, pulsing in perfect synchronization with the light in her fist. The spiral birthmark on her wrist glows brightest of all, its light so intense I can see it through the thin fabric of her sleeve.

“What the actual fuck is happening to her?” Kieran hisses, backing away slightly. “Is this normal Elios priestess bullshit, or should we be running for our lives right now? Because I vote for running.”

I remain at Lyra’s side, torn between fascination and terror. The silver light spreads, following the network of barely visible priestess markings that cover her body—lines I’ve traced with my fingers and lips in darkness now revealed in brilliant luminescence. They form a complex pattern across her skin—not random decorative markings, as I’d always assumed, but a map. A fucking map.

“It’s old magic,” I say, recognizing the signs from ancient texts in my mother’s hidden journals. “Veiled moon magic. The strongest fucking kind.”

“Great,” Kieran drawls, edging closer despite his obvious unease. “Because what this nightmare needed was ancient magic. Is it hurting her? Because if she dies, I’m blaming you, and I’m not explaining it to her terrifying friend with the knives.”

“I don’t think so.” I shake my head, though I’m far from certain.

Lyra’s body suddenly rises several inches off the ground, suspended by nothing but the silver light pulsing through her. Her hair floats around her face as if underwater, her clothing rippling with unseen energy.

“Fucking shit,” Kieran breathes, taking another step back. “This is some ancestral spirit nonsense right here. Next thing you know, she’ll be channeling every dead Alpha since the First Pack.”

The walls of the maze react to her transformation, their movement accelerating. Branches twist and unravel faster, thorns retracting and extending, new passages forming and old ones disappearing in the span of heartbeats.

“It’s responding to her,” I realize aloud. “The maze… it’s changing for her.”

“Or because of her,” Kieran counters, his usual sarcasm replaced by genuine awe. “Either way, this is seriously scary, even for this ritual.”

Lyra’s suspended body begins to rotate slowly, her head tipping back as if she’s listening to something beyond our perception. The light from her markings intensifies until it’s almost painful to look at her directly.

“We need to do something,” I say, reaching toward her, then hesitating. What if touching her makes it worse? What if this is part of the ritual—a test we weren’t told about?

“Like what? In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve got a floating, glowing girl and a maze that’s rearranging itself by the second. I don’t think the Onyx Covenant manual covered this scenario.”

I reach for her hand, finding it cooler to the touch.

“Theron,” Kieran says quietly. “I don’t think we can stop this.”

I grip Lyra’s hand tighter, watching helplessly as her eyelids flutter, revealing just the whites of her eyes.

“I can’t lose her,” I say, my voice breaking. “Not like this.”