Page 23 of The Onyx Covenant (The Lunaterra Chronicles #2)

Chapter Nineteen

LYRA

I take a deep breath as the manacle is finally removed from my wrist, the metal clasp opening with a soft click that somehow resonates through my entire body. Freedom. The raw skin beneath is tender, marked with a faint impression that will fade but never truly disappear—a reminder of everything we survived.

“There you go, miss,” says the official, nodding respectfully. “Congratulations again.”

My parents rush forward. Father’s face is a storm of emotions—pride battling with lingering reservations. It wasn’t long ago he’d been furious about Theron choosing me, a daughter of the rival pack, calling it a political stunt or worse. But now his eyes shine as he takes my hands in his.

“My daughter,” he says, voice rough with emotion. “You did it. You actually did it.”

“Were you ever really worried I wouldn’t?” I ask, trying to sound light, though we both know how close we came to disaster in that ritual.

He shakes his head, a rueful smile breaking through. “I should have known better. You’ve always been unstoppable when you set your mind to something.” His grip tightens on my hands. “I was wrong about Theron’s choice. Wrong about a lot of things. And I want you to know that I’m with you now. Both of you. Whatever comes next.”

The admission costs him, I can tell. Years of pack rivalry don’t dissolve overnight. But he’s trying, and that means everything.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “That matters more than you know.”

Mother pushes forward then, unable to contain herself any longer. She pulls me into a fierce embrace, and I breathe in her familiar scent—herbs and home.

“My brilliant girl,” she murmurs against my hair. “Always knew you were meant for greatness.”

I laugh against her shoulder, feeling suddenly like a child again. “I’m not sure surviving a deadly maze counts as greatness.”

She pulls back, framing my face with her hands. “It’s what comes after that will make the difference. And you’ll handle that just as well.”

Over her shoulder, I spot Theron across the grounds, standing with Kieran rather than beside his father. The distance between them speaks volumes. Our gazes meet briefly, and he offers a small smile that sends warmth cascading through me.

“Look at you,” Mother says, following my gaze. “Already thinking like a leader.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“To a mother? Always.” She kisses my forehead. “We’ll let you celebrate with your friends. Your father and I should mingle—make nice with people who’ve been sneering at us for years.” Her eyes twinkle mischievously.

As my parents move away to join the growing crowd of pack members—both sides talking awkwardly on the Onyx Covenant grounds—a familiar voice rings through the murmur.

“Look who’s a big deal now.”

I turn to see Aria striding toward me, resplendent in a deep blue dress that reflects the flaming torchlights like rippling water. Her smile is wide and infectious.

“Aria!” I exclaim, grabbing her hands.

She loops her arm through mine, steering me toward a quieter corner of the grounds. “So how does it feel? Being the talk of every single wolf for miles around? I’ve heard your name so many times today I’m considering changing mine just for some variety.”

The grounds around us are filling with members of both packs, old rivals now forced into an uncertain alliance. Some faces are openly hostile, others cautiously optimistic.

“Honestly? It still doesn’t feel real,” I admit. “Yesterday, I was fighting for my life, and today, everyone’s acting like I’m suddenly important.”

“Oh,” Aria says, patting my arm. “You have no idea. Half the people here are absolutely seething with jealousy, and the other half are tripping over themselves to declare how they’ve ’always supported unity between the packs.’?” Her impression of the self-important elders is so spot-on I have to stifle a laugh.

“And which half do you fall into?” I tease.

“Please. I’m in the third, much more exclusive category of people who are just here for the free food and the drama.” She winks, then grows suddenly serious. “But truly, Lyra, so many people are behind this union. The younger generation especially. We’re tired of the old grudges, the pointless rivalry.”

I nod, feeling the weight of expectation settling on my shoulders. “I know. That’s what makes it so terrifying. We can’t fail.”

“Speaking of failing…” Aria nods subtly toward where Theron’s father stands, surrounded by his traditional supporters, his face like stone. “What’s the plan for dealing with the chief opposition?”

I sigh, the worry I’ve been pushing down bubbling back up. “I don’t know yet. Theron thinks his father will eventually come around, but?—”

“But he’s a stubborn old wolf who’s been running things his way for decades,” Aria finishes. “How long do you think it’ll take Theron to wrestle control once you’re officially installed at the Onyx Covenant?”

“Months, at least. Maybe longer.” I run my fingers over the tender skin where the manacle had been. “Gods, Aria, can you believe it? In a week, I’ll be helping run the Onyx Covenant. Me. With actual power and responsibility and?—”

“And a gorgeous mate at your side,” Aria cuts in with a sly grin. “Don’t pretend that’s not a significant perk.”

I feel heat rising to my cheeks. “That’s hardly the point.”

“Maybe not the main point,” she concedes. “But definitely a very nice bonus point.” She nudges me playfully. “Look, I know your head is spinning with plans and politics and potential disasters, but maybe for tonight, just focus on one thing.”

“Which is?”

Her smile turns wicked. “That you get to stand alongside the extremely hunky Theron while making history. The rest? We’ll figure it out as we go. We always do.”

I laugh, the tension in my chest easing slightly. “What would I do without you?”

“Bore everyone to death with your responsible leadership, probably,” she quips, but her eyes are soft with affection. “You were born for this, Lyra. All of it.”

The crowd around us shifts suddenly, parting like water around stone as Tarek and Melian emerge from the grand Onyx Covenant building. They stand tall on the wide marble steps, their ceremonial robes gleaming with ancient sigils that catch the torchlights.

“The victors approach,” Tarek calls, his words carrying across the grounds without effort. “Let all bear witness to what the moons have ordained.”

The murmuring of the crowd grows louder as Theron approaches and takes my hand, squeezing it once before we begin walking forward. The path to the Covenant steps feels impossibly long, a gauntlet of stares—some admiring, others hostile. I can feel the unease rippling through the gathering, particularly from the Umbra side with dark expressions and clenched jaws.

“They look like they want to eat me alive,” I whisper.

“Let them try,” he murmurs back, straightening his spine.

As we approach the steps, a tremor runs through the ground—subtle at first, then strong enough to make several people stagger. Cracks appear in the stone steps, spreading like veins across the surface.

“What’s happening?” someone shouts, panic rising in the crowd.

Tarek and Melian remain unmoved, exchanging a knowing glance. “It begins,” Melian says, stepping back.

The cracks widen, and from them pour what looks like liquid shadow, pooling on the wide steps and behind them rising and taking form. A dozen figures materialize. Half-wolf, half-warrior, they tower at nearly eight feet tall with broad shoulders encased in jagged obsidian armor. Where skin should be, there’s instead a shifting surface like volcanic glass that absorbs light rather than reflects it. Their faces blend canine and human features—elongated jaws filled with gleaming teeth, pointed ears that swivel toward sounds, and eyes that burn with amber fire. Ancient runes etched in silver light pulse across their midnight skin in complex patterns, briefly illuminating veins of blue energy beneath before fading and reappearing elsewhere on their bodies.

Gasps and cries of fear erupt through the crowd. Many retreat several steps, even the most hardened warriors among them.

“The Onyx Warriors,” a woman behind me whispers, her voice trembling. “They haven’t been summoned in generations.”

The creatures arrange themselves in a semicircle behind Tarek and Melian. One steps forward, larger than the rest, its muzzle elongated into a wolf’s snout. It throws back its head and unleashes a bone-chilling howl that seems to reverberate through my very soul. A shiver rushes down my arms at the Onyx Warriors everyone fears.

The crowd falls silent.

“For centuries,” Tarek begins, his voice cutting through the silence. “The Onyx Covenant has preserved balance between our packs. Today, that balance shifts—not toward destruction, but toward unity.”

“Many of you,” Melian continues, her gaze sweeping across the crowd, “see this outcome as a threat to tradition. To the natural order.” Her eyes narrow. “You are mistaken. The natural order is not static. It evolves, adapts, strengthens.”

A figure pushes to the front of the crowd—Theron’s father, his face contorted with barely contained rage. “This is an abomination!” he shouts, pointing at me. “An Elios wolf in the Covenant? You forget whose pack built these very walls! What pack you both came from.”

One of the Onyx Warriors shifts, a low growl emanating from its shadowy form, but Melian raises a hand to stay it.

“We forget nothing, Magnus Shadowmane,” she says coolly. “Including how your leadership has brought us to the brink of civil war more times than I care to count. Perhaps what truly troubles you is not tradition but the thought of an Elios wolf having power you cannot control.”

Murmurs spread through the crowd at her bold rebuke. His face darkens dangerously, but even he seems unwilling to challenge the presence of the Onyx Warriors.

“The moons have chosen,” Tarek states, his voice rising. “And their will is clear. Approach, victors of the Harvest Ritual.”

Theron and I climb the steps, the Warriors parting to allow us passage. Up close, they are even more terrifying—ancient beyond reckoning, with eyes that seem to hold entire galaxies within them.

“For the first time in our lifetime,” Melian announces, “wolves from opposing packs have united to claim the Onyx Moonstone.”

“Our ancestors,” Tarek continues, producing two pendants from within his robes. “They created the Covenant not to divide us but to remind us of our common origins.”

He places the pendants around our necks—circular amulets of polished stone, half obsidian, half moonstone, with ancient symbols. The moment mine touches my skin, a warmth spreads through my chest, as if recognizing something in my blood.

“These will grant you access to the chambers within,” Melian explains. “Chambers only permitted for the Onyx members.”

“Let all here witness,” Tarek calls to the crowd. “Theron Shadowmane and Lyra Mooncrest now stand as the Onyx Covenant. Their word is law, their judgment binding. Those who defy them defy the will of the moons themselves.”

As if responding to his proclamation, the lead warrior in my father’s pack steps forward, dropping to one knee before us in a sign of fealty. The others follow, their shadowy forms bowing in unison.

A cheer rises from the Elios side of the gathering, led by my father, who steps forward, arms raised high. “The Elios pack stands with the new Covenant!” he shouts. “Let this mark the beginning of true peace!”

Half the crowd joins the cheer, while the rest—primarily Umbra—remain silent, their disapproval obvious despite the Warriors’ intimidating presence.

Theron turns to me, his eyes reflecting the torchlight. “There’s no escaping me now, little moon,” he whispers, his voice too low for others to hear. “Not that I’d ever let you run. You’re bound to me by forces older than these stones—and I to you, forever.”

My heart stutters at his words, heat rising to my face despite the gravity of the moment. Before I can respond, we’re pulled apart as my father approaches, embracing me tightly.

“I’m so proud,” he murmurs against my hair. “So very proud.”

As congratulations swirl around us, we’re separated by well-wishers—Theron surrounded by his supporters from the Umbra pack, me by my father and other Elios members. Aria pushes through to my side, linking her arm through mine.

“Look at you,” she whispers excitedly. “Already changing the world.”

“Terrifying, isn’t it?” I say, fingering the pendant at my throat.

“Gloriously so,” she agrees.

The next hour passes in a blur of congratulations and hushed conversations. Members from both packs approach me—some genuinely supportive, others clearly there to assess the threat I now pose.

My father remains close, fielding questions from Elios elders who seem torn between pride and concern. “Of course I have reservations,” I overhear him saying to a particularly persistent elder. “But my daughter has proven herself worthy of this mantle. The time for blind prejudice is in the past.”

“Lyra Mooncrest,” a voice calls me from behind, and I twist around to find a man in a robe with the hood covering his head. “Your presence is requested for the Onyx Covenant final offering. The ceremony awaits you.” Their voice is low.

I scan the crowd quickly, searching for Theron’s tall figure among the mingling guests. The sea of faces blurs together—some familiar, some strangers—but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“He must have already been called,” I murmur, suddenly nervous. My fingers instinctively touch the tender skin where the manacle had been just hours ago as if I somehow miss the thing.

Aria squeezes my arm, her touch grounding me. “Go be brilliant. I’ll save you some of the good wine for after.” She gives me a playful shove forward. “This is it—your moment. The one you’ve earned.”

As I move to follow the robed figure, Kieran appears, making his way toward Aria through the crowd. I don’t miss the way Aria’s posture straightens, how her fingers instinctively smooth her hair, and the slight quickening of her breath.

“Go,” I whisper to her with a knowing smile. “Talk to him.”

She bites her lip, then nods. “Fine. But only because it serves the greater political good,” she quips, though her eyes are already fixed on Kieran.

I watch them for a brief moment—my best friend approaching the man who would once have been considered forbidden by both our packs’ laws. His smile as he sees her is genuine, unguarded in a way I’ve rarely seen from him. If Theron hadn’t chosen me as his Harvest Ritual partner, if we hadn’t challenged those ancient boundaries together, this simple interaction would have been impossible.

As I follow the robed figure through the crowd, I catch Selene’s venomous glare from across the gathering. The hatred in her eyes is unmistakable, burning bright despite everything that’s happened. Some things never change—she will always despise me for taking what she believed was rightfully hers.

I meet her stare evenly. Let her hate. Let her seethe. After her trying to kill me, she should be grateful she’s even allowed to attend. If she wants forgiveness, she’ll have to grovel for it—and even then, I’m not inclined to make it easy.

The robed figure leads me away from the main celebration, around the perimeter of the Covenant building. The sounds of conversation and laughter grow fainter as we move deeper into the shadows. The stones beneath my feet change from polished marble to rough-hewn granite.

“Where is Theron?” I ask, unease prickling at the back of my neck. “Isn’t the offering held in the main chamber?”

The figure doesn’t answer, just nods ahead and continues walking. We round the rear of the building where the stone walls rise blank and forbidding, unmarked by windows or decoration. Moss creeps between the stones, suggesting this section rarely sees visitors. A small, unremarkable door is set into the wall—one I’ve never noticed before despite my years of observing the Covenant from afar.

“This doesn’t seem right,” I say, slowing my steps. “I don’t think?—”

The figure moves with unexpected speed, pushing the door open and shoving me roughly inside. I stumble forward into darkness, the door slamming shut behind me with a heavy, final sound.

The darkness is absolute, disorienting. The air hangs thick with the scent of damp stone and something else, something metallic and vaguely sickening.

“Hello?” My voice echoes in the space. “What is this? What’s going?—”

A hand closes around my throat, slamming me back against the cold stone wall with crushing force. I claw at the fingers cutting off my air, panic surging through me as my feet barely touch the ground.

A faint light flickers to life, just enough to illuminate the face inches from mine—Theron’s father, his features twisted with hatred and rage. This close, I can see the family resemblance—the same strong jawline, the same intense eyes—but where Theron’s gaze holds warmth, his father’s burns with cold malice.

“You filthy scavenger,” he snarls, spittle hitting my cheek as his grip tightens. “You think you can come in here and take over? Eradicate decades of Umbra leadership?”

I kick wildly, fingers scratching at his hand, but his grip is like iron. Dark spots begin to dance at the edges of my vision.

“You may have tricked my son,” he hisses, “but I see through you. Your little performance in the maze might have fooled everyone else, but I know what you are—vermin from a lesser pack, clawing your way to power you don’t deserve.”

His other hand rises, striking me hard across the face. The blow snaps my head to the side, the taste of copper flooding my mouth where my teeth cut into my cheek.

“Did you really think I would allow this?” His voice drops to a deadly whisper. “Allow my bloodline to be tainted by your kind? Allow my legacy to be dismantled by a female who should be groveling at our feet?”

I manage to twist my face back toward him, blood trickling from the corner of my mouth. “Your legacy,” I rasp through his chokehold. “It’s cruelty and division. It deserves to be dismantled.”

He releases my throat only to grab me by the shoulders and throw me bodily across the room. I crash into what feels like wooden crates, splintering through them as pain explodes across my back.

“You know nothing of leadership,” he says, stalking toward me as I struggle to rise from the debris. “Nothing of what it takes to keep order among beasts who would tear each other apart without a firm hand.”

I push myself up, ignoring the sharp pain in my ribs and the warm trickle of blood from a cut on my arm. “Is that what you tell yourself? That your tyranny is necessary?”

“Tyranny?” He laughs, the sound devoid of any humor. “I created peace. I maintained balance. What do you think will happen when the old barriers fall? Chaos. Bloodshed. The very fabric of our society will unravel.”

“Or maybe,” I say, backing away from his advance, searching desperately for anything I might use as a weapon, “we’ll finally heal wounds that never should have existed in the first place.”

His hand lashes out again, catching me across my cheekbone, sending me staggering back against another wall. Before I can recover, he’s on me, one hand pinning me by the throat again, the other raining blows to my stomach and my ribs.

“You’re nothing,” he growls between strikes, each word punctuated by another blow. “A nobody. A mistake my son will soon regret.”

I try to block his attacks, but he’s too strong, too fast. Pain blossoms everywhere his fists connect. I manage to land a strike of my own, my knuckles connecting with his jaw, but he barely seems to notice.

“When I’m done with you,” he continues, grabbing a fistful of my hair and slamming my head back against the stone. “No one will even remember your name. I’ll tell them all how you rejected Theron, how you hated everything he stood for. How you ran like the coward you are.”

Through the haze of pain, I see him reach into his coat and withdraw something that glints in the dim light—a blade, its edge wickedly sharp.

“Do you know where we are?” he asks, almost conversationally as he traces the tip of the blade along my jawline, not quite breaking the skin. “The old punishment chambers. No one comes here anymore. No one will hear you scream.”

My heart hammers against my ribs, death flashing in his eyes. “They’ll know it was you,” I manage to say. “Theron will know.”

“My son,” he spits the word like it tastes foul. “Has been blinded by you, but he’ll see reason once you’re gone. Or perhaps I’ll tell them you attacked me, threatened the Onyx Covenant itself. A tragic case of self-defense.” His lips curl into a horrible smile. “Who would question the High Alpha’s word?”

The blade presses harder, drawing a thin line of blood across my collarbone. I try to twist away, but his grip on my hair keeps me pinned.

“I’ve waited a long time to purge our bloodline of weakness,” he says, his breath hot against my face. “My son almost had me believing he could be strong. Until you. Until he chose compassion over power.” He shakes his head in disgust. “The greatest mistake I ever made was not crushing that tendency in him when he was a child.”

Something snaps inside me at his words—not fear, but pure, molten rage. This man, this monster who calls himself a leader, who calls himself a father—he’s everything wrong with our world.

I gather my strength and slam my forehead into his nose. The crunch of cartilage is immensely satisfying, as is his howl of pain and the momentary loosening of his grip. I twist free and drive my knee up into his stomach.

He staggers back, blood pouring from his nose, but recovers quickly. With a roar, he charges me, blade slashing wildly. I dodge the first swipe, but the second catches my arm, slicing a burning path across my flesh.

“I’m going to enjoy watching you bleed out,” he snarls, circling me now. “Slowly. Painfully. As all traitors deserve.”

I press my hand against the cut, feeling warm blood seep between my fingers. “The only traitor here is you,” I retort, matching his movements, looking for an opening. “Betraying your own son. Your own pack.”

He lunges again, but this time, I’m not fast enough. The blade sinks into my side—not deep, but enough to make me cry out. He grins, that ugly, triumphant grin, as he twists the knife before pulling it free.

“That’s just the beginning,” he promises, watching me press my hand to the new wound. “By the time I’m done, you’ll be begging me to finish it.”

I back away, my vision swimming from the pain. My back hits a wall—there’s nowhere left to retreat. He advances slowly, savoring my fear, my pain.

“Any last words, bitch?” he asks, raising the blade.

Theron

I scan the crowd, tension building in my chest with each passing moment. The celebration continues around me—laughter, conversation, the clinking of glasses—but Lyra is nowhere to be seen. I’d expected to find her with her family or perhaps with Aria, but she’s absent from both groups.

Something feels wrong. I can’t explain it, but a cold unease has settled in my gut, growing more insistent by the minute.

I spot Aria across the gathering, deep in conversation with Kieran. The sight would normally please me—evidence that the barriers between packs are already beginning to dissolve—but now I move toward them with a singular purpose.

“Aria,” I interrupt, not bothering with pleasantries. “Where’s Lyra?”

She looks surprised by my tone. “She was summoned for the Covenant final offering,” she says. “I assumed you’d be there, too. Wasn’t that the whole point of tonight?”

The cold feeling intensifies. “What? There’s no final offering scheduled tonight.”

Aria’s smile falters. “But… someone came for her. Wearing the official Onyx Covenant robes. Said she was needed for the ceremony.”

“Who?” I demand, scanning the area again. “When?”

“I don’t know who. They wore a hood. It wasn’t long ago.” Her expression shifts from confusion to concern. “Is she in trouble?”

Something sharp and terrible travels up my spine. My father has been absent as well.

“Which way did they go?” I ask, my voice dripping with venom.

Aria points toward the east side of the building. “That way, around the?—”

I don’t wait for her to finish. I’m already moving, slicing through the crowd with single-minded intensity. People dart out of my path, conversations faltering as I pass. I feel the stares and hear the whispers, but none of it matters.

All that matters is finding Lyra.

I circle the building, my pace quickening with each step. The main entrance yields nothing—the ceremonial hall is empty, silent. I continue around, checking every door, every pathway, fear building into a terrible certainty.

My father would never accept this union. Never accept sharing power, especially not with a wolf from the rival pack. Never accept his son choosing love over tradition.

As I round the back of the building, the oldest section of the Onyx Covenant grounds, I find nothing. No sign of Lyra, no sign of my father. Just ancient stone walls, indifferent to my growing panic.

I’m about to turn back, to raise the alarm with the others, when I hear it, faint but unmistakable—a cry of pain from somewhere beyond the wall.

Something primal awakens in me—not thought, not strategy, but pure, devastating instinct. I follow the sound to a small, weathered door set deep into the stone. Without hesitation, I slam my shoulder against it. The ancient wood splinters but holds. I back up and charge again, putting all my strength, all my rage into the impact.

The door explodes inward, and the scene that greets me stops my heart—Lyra, bloodied and cornered, my father looming over her with a blade raised high.

Time slows and narrows to a single point of clarity. There is no hesitation, no internal debate. Only action.

My hand finds my own blade, and I launch myself forward with a roar that seems to shake the very stones. My father turns, surprise flashing across his face for a split second before my body slams into him, driving him away from Lyra.

We crash to the ground together, rolling in a tangle of limbs and blades. My father is strong—has always been strong—but I fight with something beyond strength. Pure, unfiltered rage guides my movements, making me faster, deadlier.

“You,” my father spits, managing to throw me off and scramble to his feet. I do the same. “Of course you’d come for your little whore.”

“Don’t you dare speak of her,” I growl, circling my father, blade at the ready. Blood drips from a cut above my eye, but I barely notice. “What have you done?”

My father laughs, the sound chilling in its emptiness. “What should have been done weeks ago. Removing a disease before it spreads.”

We clash again, blades meeting with a metallic screech.

“You’ve always been weak,” my father taunts. “Always been a disappointment. I should have killed your mother when she was pregnant with you… saved myself years of watching you squander our legacy.”

The words sting, but I don’t falter.

“I knew you killed her,” I roar.

My father’s smile is a terrible thing, devoid of anything human. “Might as well have. By the time I was finished with her, there wasn’t much left.”

Something snaps in me—the last thread of restraint, the final barrier between man and beast. With a growl that doesn’t sound human, I lunge forward, feinting left before driving my blade upward, under his ribs, angled toward his heart.

My father’s eyes widen in shock, then narrow in hatred. “You’ll never be—” he begins, but I twist the blade deeper, silencing him.

“You fucking bastard,” I snarl, driving the blade deeper still, feeling warm blood coat my hand. “You goddamn fucking monster. You’re nothing. NOTHING.”

I pull the blade free, then plunge it in again and again, each strike punctuated by another curse, another roar of pain, rage, and grief.

Finally, I step back, chest heaving with exertion. My father collapses to the ground, blood pooling beneath him, his eyes already growing dim.

“You were… never… worthy…” he manages to whisper, blood bubbling at his lips. Then he’s gone, his final breath escaping in a last, hateful sigh.

I stand frozen for one heartbeat, two, the reality of what I’ve done washing over me like ice water. I killed my father. The High Alpha. My own blood.

But as my gaze shifts to Lyra, slumped against the wall, blood seeping through her fingers as she presses against her wounds, regret vanishes like morning mist. I cross to her in three strides, gathering her gently into my arms.

“Lyra,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Movement at the shattered doorway makes me tense, ready to fight again, but it’s only Tarek and Melian, the senior Covenant members. They take in the scene—the dead Alpha, the wounded Omega, the blood-soaked son.

I straighten, Lyra cradled against my chest. “I have nothing to hide,” I say, voice steady despite the storm of emotions within. “He deserved to die a long time ago.”

To my surprise, both elders nod solemnly.

“We have nothing to add here,” Tarek says, his usually stern face softened with what might be relief. “You did what you deemed fit, as you are now the Onyx Covenant.”

“We’ve served the Umbra for decades,” Melian adds, her eyes lingering on the fallen Alpha. “But not all service comes with pride. Some come with shame that we could not act sooner.”

“You knew?” I ask, disbelief coloring my words. “You knew what he was doing, what he was capable of?”

“We suspected,” Tarek admits. “But our hands were tied without proof.”

My jaw tightens. “I will find the evidence. I will expose every cruelty, every horrible thing he’s done to destroy our packs.” I glance between them, suspicion creeping in. “You had access to the Covenant records. You must have seen something.”

“Perhaps we didn’t know where to look,” Melian says carefully. “Or perhaps we were too afraid to see what was in front of us.”

“Cowards,” I bark, feeling Lyra stir against my chest. “I’m going to care for my Omega, my partner, my mate. Then we are moving into the Covenant building, and you are both moving out immediately.”

I step past them without waiting for a response, carrying Lyra through the shattered doorway and into the cool night air. The sounds of the celebration seem distant now, belonging to another world.

“Thank you,” Lyra whispers against my neck, her voice weak but steady. “I thought I was going to die. He just… ambushed me.”

I tighten my hold on her, careful to avoid her wounds. “It’s all right,” I murmur into her hair. “Nothing is ever going to harm you again. I swear it on my life.”

She nestles closer, despite her injuries. “With us now overseeing both packs,” she says, a hint of wonder in her voice, “nothing will ever be the same again.”

“In the best possible way,” I agree, pausing to look down at her. Despite the blood, despite the bruises forming on her beautiful face, her eyes still burn with the same fire that first captivated me. The same determination that kept her fighting in that maze, that kept her standing up to my father until the very end.

She wraps her arms around my neck and leans up, pressing her lips to mine. I lose myself in the kiss, in the miracle of her—alive, here, mine. My heart breaks anew at the sight of her injuries, but the breaking makes room for something else to grow. Something fiercer, more protective, more devoted than anything I’ve felt before.

When we finally part, I whisper against her lips, “I have loved you for a long time, Lyra. Longer than I even understood. And I love you more deeply with each passing day.”

A smile breaks through her pain, radiant even now. “And I love you so much,” she whispers back. “Through every battle, every trial. Beyond every ending, into every new beginning.”

As I carry her away from the shadows and back toward the light, I think about how I feel nothing for my father’s death. How I know I made the right decision.

With Lyra in my arms and the future stretching before us, the world we are going to build together will be worth every sacrifice, every scar, and every drop of blood it took to reach this moment.

And nothing—no force, no threat, no ancient hatred—will ever tear us apart again.