Page 25 of The Onyx Covenant (The Lunaterra Chronicles #2)

LYRA

Three Months Later

I ’ve never seen this many wolves gathered peacefully in one place—at least fifteen hundred from both packs, spread around dozens of cooking fires, their faces illuminated by dancing flames as they share stories, food, and strong berry wine. Three months ago, this scene would have been unimaginable. Now, it feels like the first breath after being underwater too long.

“One more speech and I’m throwing myself into the nearest ravine,” I mutter to Theron, my fingers toying with the heavy medallion hanging from my ceremonial robes. The damn things weigh more than armor and have about as much grace as a bear wearing stockings.

“No ravines for at least another hour,” Theron replies, his voice pitched low enough that only I can hear. His own robe—identical to mine, with its midnight-black fabric and intricate silver embroidery depicting both pack symbols—somehow looks regal rather than ridiculous on his imposing frame. Bastard. “You promised the elders you’d participate in the moon blessing after the feast.”

“I lied,” I say cheerfully. “First rule of leadership: Tell people what they want to hear, then do whatever the hell you want.”

A smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “Is that what they taught you in priestess training? No wonder the Elios rituals were always so chaotic.”

“Like the Umbra ones were any better?” I scoff.

“Fair point,” he concedes, his hand finding the small of my back. “Though I think we’ve improved things considerably.”

He’s not wrong. The platform we’re standing on—constructed at the center of the massive clearing specifically for this celebration—gives us a perfect view of what we’ve accomplished. Across the field, cooking spits turn with the day’s hunt—deer, boar, and wildfowl harvested by joint hunting parties of Umbra and Elios. For the first time in generations, the meat is being divided equally and shared without suspicion or fear of poisoning.

Children from both packs race through the gathering, playing games that would have been forbidden just months ago. A group of youngsters has set up an elaborate obstacle course using logs and stones, competing to see who can navigate it fastest while carrying a wooden ball in their mouth. Others play a game involving a leather sphere stuffed with dried beans that they kick back and forth between goals made of bent willow branches.

Near the eastern edge of the clearing, a group of teenage wolves tests their skills at archery, the targets illuminated by hanging lanterns. I spot my cousin Noah among them, laughing as he shows an Umbra girl how to correct her stance. Three months ago, he would have been more likely to shoot her than help her.

“We should mingle,” Theron says, nodding toward the crowd below. “Let them see us up close, not just looming over them like judgmental deities.”

“Speak for yourself,” I say. “I make an excellent judgmental deity.”

He laughs, the sound still rare enough to make my heart skip. “You’re terrible at looking intimidating. Everyone can see right through you.”

“That’s patently untrue,” I protest. “I scared that messenger from the southern territories so badly yesterday that he practically fell over himself backing away.”

“Because you threw a book at his head when he suggested women couldn’t understand border treaties.”

“A small book,” I clarify. “And I missed. Intentionally.”

Theron’s hand slides down to intertwine with mine. “Come on. Your father’s been trying to catch your eye for the last ten minutes.”

Sure enough, when I scan the crowd, I spot my father standing near one of the larger cooking fires, deep in conversation with Elder Maren from the Umbra pack.

“Fine,” I sigh, feigning reluctance. “But if one more person tries to feed me their special family recipe for blessing bread, I might actually scream.”

We descend the platform steps together, our movements automatically syncing after months of living in each other’s space. The crowd parts respectfully as we move through it, wolves from both packs offering quick bows or the traditional heart-touch of greeting.

A small girl—no more than six or seven—darts in front of us suddenly, her eyes wide with wonder. She’s clearly Elios with her blonde-toned hair, but the intricate beads woven into her braids are distinctly Umbra craftsmanship.

“Are you really her?” she asks, staring up at me. “The wolf-who-walks-with-moonstone?”

I crouch down to her level, ignoring how my ceremonial robes pool ridiculously around me. “That’s what some call me,” I say, smiling. “But my friends call me Lyra.”

She nods solemnly. “My mama says you killed three monsters in the maze and took their hearts as trophies.”

Behind me, Theron makes a sound that might be a hastily suppressed laugh. I shoot him a warning glance before turning back to the girl.

“Your mama’s stories sound much more exciting than what actually happened,” I tell her. “Though there was definitely a maze, and it was plenty scary without adding heart-stealing to the mix.”

The girl looks vaguely disappointed. “Oh.” Then she brightens. “What about him?” She points at Theron. “Did he really turn into a giant wolf and eat his father whole?”

This time Theron does laugh, a sharp bark of genuine amusement. “Not quite,” he says, kneeling beside me. “Though that’s a much more interesting story than the truth.”

The girl’s mother appears, face flushed with embarrassment. “Nessa! I told you not to bother the Covenant leaders.” She grabs her daughter’s hand, offering us a flustered bow. “I’m so sorry. She’s been obsessed with the stories since the Harvest Ritual.”

“No bother at all,” I assure her.

We continue through the gathering, stopping frequently to speak with members of both packs. I’m surprised to find how many names I now know, how many faces have become familiar through our work at the Covenant. There’s Eldon, an Umbra blacksmith who’s teaching metalworking techniques to Elios apprentices, and Jera, an Elios healer who saved an Umbra child from a wasting sickness last month.

Small victories, building one atop another.

As we near my father, a familiar voice cuts through the murmur of the crowd.

“Well, look who finally decided to join the commoners!” Aria appears in front of us, hands on her hips, wearing a dress of such deep blue that it looks almost black in the firelight. Silver bracelets jangle on her wrists, and her chestnut hair has been elaborately braided with azure ribbons. She is beautiful like always.

“Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?” I ask, eyeing her outfit. “The Aria I know wouldn’t be caught dead in something that couldn’t double as combat wear.”

“Special occasion,” she says with a dismissive wave. “Don’t get used to it. This thing is torture—I can barely breathe.”

“Worth it,” says Kieran, materializing at her side with two cups of what smells like berry juice. He’s dressed more formally than I’ve ever seen him, in fitted leather pants and a tunic embroidered with his family’s traditional hunting pattern. His eyes never leave Aria as he hands her one of the cups.

“You clean up surprisingly well,” I tell him, hiding my smile as his gaze finally tears away from Aria to acknowledge me. “Almost didn’t recognize you without mud and blood splatter.”

“Funny,” he deadpans. “You should see the pile of weapons I had to leave behind to fit into these clothes. I feel naked.”

“You’re still carrying at least three knives,” Theron observes. “I can see the outlines.”

Kieran grins, unabashed. “Five, actually. But who’s counting?”

Aria rolls her eyes. “You’re all impossible. Come on, my father’s been saving the good wine for you two.” She links her arm through mine, dragging me toward a group of Elios elders while Theron and Kieran follow behind.

“So,” she whispers once we’re out of the men’s earshot. “Tell me, how’s the country’s most powerful couple handling their first major inter-pack celebration? Ready to run screaming into the forest yet?”

“Only about six times so far,” I admit. “But the night’s still young.”

“It’s going well,” she says, her tone shifting to something more serious. “Better than anyone expected. Did you see Selene actually laughing with Elios warriors earlier? The same ones she would have gladly gutted a few months ago.”

I follow her gaze to where Selene stands with a group of mixed-pack hunters, describing something with animated gestures. The transformation in her is remarkable. Since her humiliation at the Harvest Ritual, I’d expected nothing but continued hostility, perhaps even sabotage. Instead, after several weeks of sullen avoidance, she’d approached the Covenant with an unexpected proposal—a joint training program for young hunters from both packs.

“People can surprise you,” I say. “Sometimes, even pleasantly.”

“Speaking of surprises…” Aria glances back at the men, who are now deep in conversation about hunting techniques, judging by Kieran’s enthusiastic arm movements. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

The intensity in her voice makes me stop walking. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she says quickly. “It’s just… unexpected.”

A group of dancers swirls past us, moving to the rhythm of drums and bone flutes played by musicians from both packs. The music they create is strange but beautiful—Umbra percussion underlying the haunting melodies of Elios wind instruments, producing something entirely new.

Aria pulls me farther from the crowd, behind one of the massive oak trees that edge the clearing. In the relative privacy, she takes a deep breath.

“I’m pregnant,” she blurts out, her eyes wide as if she’s still shocked by the words herself.

My jaw drops. “You’re WHAT?”

Several nearby wolves turn to look at us. Aria winces, slapping a hand over my mouth. “Gods, Lyra, why don’t you just announce it to the entire gathering?”

“Sorry,” I mumble against her palm. When she removes her hand, I hiss, “How? When? I mean, I know how, but?—”

“About two months,” she says, a blush creeping up her neck. “It wasn’t exactly planned.”

“You and Kieran?” I clarify, though the answer is obvious from the way she can’t quite suppress her smile when she glances in his direction.

“No, the baker’s son,” she says sarcastically. “Of course, Kieran.”

A thousand questions flood my mind. “Does he know? How did he react? Are you happy about this? What about your families?”

“Yes, surprisingly well, terrified but yes, and we haven’t told them yet,” she answers in rapid succession. “You’re the first to know, besides us.”

I’m momentarily speechless—a rare occurrence that Aria never fails to point out. “A baby,” I finally manage. “A child of both packs.”

“The first in generations, as far as anyone knows,” she says, her hand unconsciously moving to rest on her still-flat stomach.

I throw my arms around her, squeezing tight before remembering her condition and jumping back. “Sorry! Did I hurt you? Gods, I don’t know anything about pregnancies.”

She laughs. “I’m pregnant, not made of glass. Though you wouldn’t know it from how Kieran’s been acting. Won’t let me lift anything heavier than a dinner plate, insists I rest every hour…” She rolls her eyes, but there’s undeniable affection in her voice.

“I can’t believe it,” I say, still processing. “You’re going to be a mother.”

“And you’re going to be an aunt,” she says firmly. “The best aunt any child could have, whether we share blood or not.”

Emotion tightens my throat. “Damn right I am.”

“We’re telling Theron tonight,” she adds. “But I wanted you to know first.”

“He’ll be thrilled,” I assure her. “Especially since it means Kieran has something to focus on besides antagonizing the training recruits.”

We rejoin the men, and I struggle to keep my expression neutral as Kieran immediately fusses over Aria, making sure she isn’t too cold, too warm, or too tired. Theron catches my eye, one eyebrow raised in silent question. I shake my head slightly—not my news to share.

My father approaches, clasping forearms with Theron in the traditional Elios greeting before pulling me into a tight hug. “There’s my girl,” he says warmly. “Finally decided to join the celebration properly?”

“Had to make a dramatic entrance,” I say, returning his embrace. “How are you finding the festivities?”

“Better than I could have imagined,” he admits, glancing around at the mingling packs. “When I was your age, the idea of breaking bread with Umbra wolves would have been unthinkable. Now look at us.”

“Change comes whether we’re ready or not,” Theron observes. “Better to guide it than be drowned by it.”

My father nods thoughtfully. “Wise words from one so young. Your mother would be proud.”

A shadow crosses Theron’s face at the mention of his mother, but he inclines his head in acknowledgment. “I hope so.”

“Lyra!” a voice calls from nearby. “We need you for the blessing ceremony!”

I groan. “Duty calls, apparently.”

“Go,” my father says, squeezing my shoulder. “I’ll save you some of the blackberry wine for when you’re done playing high priestess.”

The next hour passes in a blur of ritual and ceremony. Despite my earlier complaints, there’s something deeply satisfying about leading the Blood Moon blessing, especially with elements from both pack traditions woven together. Theron stands beside me throughout, his steady presence an anchor as I guide the gathering through ancient words of thanks and renewal.

When the formal portion of the celebration concludes, smaller groups form around individual fires. Communal plates of food circulate—rich venison stew, roasted root vegetables seasoned with mountain herbs, flatbreads topped with wild honey and berries. The air fills with the sounds of laughter and conversation, the occasional burst of song rising above the general din.

Aria finds us again as we’re sampling food from the eastern firepit. She pulls Kieran forward, her expression a mixture of nervousness and excitement.

“We have something to tell you,” she announces, her fingers intertwining with Kieran’s.

Theron pauses with a piece of bread halfway to his mouth. “You’re moving to the southern territories?”

“What? No.” Kieran looks confused. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you’ve been declining every hunting expedition for the past month,” Theron says. “I assumed you were planning some kind of major change.”

Kieran and Aria exchange a look that contains an entire private conversation. Finally, Aria clears her throat. “You’re not entirely wrong about the major change part.”

I bite my lip to keep from giving away that I already know. Theron sets down his plate, giving them his full attention.

“I’m pregnant,” Aria says, her voice steady despite the slight tremble in her hands.

Theron’s eyes widen fractionally—the equivalent of a shocked gasp from anyone else. Kieran stands straighter, as if bracing for judgment but determined to face it head-on. The silence stretches for one heartbeat, two, and then Theron’s face breaks into a rare, genuine smile.

“Well done, brother,” he says, clapping Kieran on the shoulder hard enough to make him stagger slightly. “I had no idea you were capable of creating anything besides chaos and training injuries.”

Relief washes over Kieran’s face, followed by indignation. “I’m capable of plenty,” he protests. “In fact?—”

“Please don’t finish that sentence,” Aria interrupts, though she’s smiling, too. “Some details should remain private.”

“A child of both packs,” Theron muses, his expression turning thoughtful. “The living embodiment of the future we’re building.”

“Poor kid,” Kieran groans. “Already carrying the weight of symbolic importance before they’re even born.”

“They’ll be strong,” Theron assures him. “With parents like you two, how could they not be?”

Aria preens slightly at the compliment. “I’m going to be an excellent mother. Firm but fair. Just the right balance of structure and freedom.”

“She’s been researching,” Kieran stage-whispers. “Every book on child-rearing has mysteriously disappeared into our quarters.”

“Better than your approach,” she retorts. “Which consists entirely of panicking and sharpening increasingly tiny training knives for an infant who won’t be able to hold them for years.”

“I’m not panicking,” he insists. “I’m preparing. There’s a difference.”

I laugh, leaning against Theron’s side. “You’re both going to be wonderful parents,” I tell them sincerely. “And you’ll have all the support you need.”

The conversation flows from pregnancy to training programs to the latest political developments with the southern territories. Eventually, Aria and Kieran drift away to speak with her parents, leaving Theron and me alone by the fire.

“They seem happy,” I observe, watching them go. “Never would have predicted those two ending up together.”

“And now they’re having a baby,” he says, then his arm slides around my waist, pulling me closer against the night’s growing chill.

We watch the celebration continue around us. Nearby, a group of elders plays a traditional strategy game using carved stones on a wooden board while children chase each other through the clearing, their shrieks of laughter carrying on the night air. In the distance, several couples dance to the soft music still playing near the central fire.

After a comfortable silence, Theron’s lips brush against my ear, his voice pitched low for me alone. “The challenge has been set,” he murmurs. “Get ready because we start tonight.”

I turn to face him, confused. “What challenge?”

His eyes gleam with predatory intent in the firelight. “Getting you pregnant, of course. I’m not about to let Kieran outdo me in this.”

I nearly choke on my wine. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” His hand slides around to my stomach, splaying possessively across it. “Imagine it, Lyra—a child with your fire and my strength. A true heir to the new world we’re building.”

I stare at him, trying to determine if he’s serious. The intensity in his gaze leaves little doubt. “You’re actually serious.”

“Entirely.” His expression softens slightly. “Unless you don’t want?—”

“I didn’t say that,” I interrupt, surprised by how much the idea appeals to me now that it’s been voiced. “I just wasn’t expecting this particular conversation tonight.”

His smile turns wolfish. “I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. Watching you lead the Covenant, seeing how naturally you handle both packs…” His thumb traces circles on my hip, sending warmth spreading through my core. “The thought of you carrying my child—our child—is becoming rather… distracting.”

“Everything’s a competition with you,” I observe, though I can’t keep the fondness from my voice. “First the maze, then the Covenant leadership, now fatherhood?”

“Only the things worth winning,” he says, completely unapologetic. “And this would be the greatest prize of all.”

Despite my initial surprise, I find myself imagining it—a child with Theron’s eyes and perhaps my blonde hair, running through the Covenant halls, learning from both our traditions.

“A baby,” I say softly. “Our baby.”

“The first of many,” he promises, and the certainty in his voice sends a shiver down my spine.

I turn in his arms to face him fully. “You’re being crazy now.”

“And yet you love me anyway,” he counters, brushing a strand of hair from my face with unexpected tenderness.

“Fates have mercy—I do.” The admission comes easier now, after months of shared struggles and victories. “Fine. Challenge accepted.”

His eyes darken, pupils expanding until only a thin ring of gray remains. “You’ll make a magnificent mother.”

“And you’ll be a terrifying father,” I counter. “The poor child will have the most intimidating protection detail in history.”

“I prefer vigilantly protective,” he corrects, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Someone needs to balance out your tendency toward reckless bravery.”

“It’s not reckless if it works,” I argue automatically, then we make our way closer to where Aria and Kieran stand.

Aria’s voice cuts through our moment. “What are you two whispering about so intensely? You look like you’re plotting something.”

I feel heat rising to my cheeks, but Theron just smiles.

“Just discussing future projects.”

Kieran narrows his eyes suspiciously. “What kind?”

I hesitate, then decide there’s no point in hiding it from our closest friends.

“The kind that might result in your child having a cousin of sorts.”

Aria’s eyes widen comically. “Are you saying?—”

“That we’ve decided to start our own family,” Theron confirms, his arm tightening around my waist. “Sometime in the near future.”

Aria squeals with delight, throwing her arms around me. “Our babies can grow up together! They’ll be the closest of friends. We’ll have joint naming ceremonies and shared first moon celebrations, and?—”

“Breathe, love,” Kieran interrupts gently, though he’s grinning, too. “Let them actually conceive the child before you plan its entire life.”

“Details,” she says dismissively, still clutching my hands. “This is perfect! The two highest-ranking families in both packs raising the next generation together. It’s like something from the ancient prophecies.”

“Wolf, help us all,” Kieran mutters, exchanging a look with Theron. “Can you imagine the chaos? Four of us and two of them?”

“I’m counting on it,” Theron replies, a rare lightness in his expression.

The moon climbs higher in the night sky, its blood-red glow touching every face in the clearing—Umbra and Elios alike. Around us, the celebration continues, but at this moment, it feels like we’ve carved out a pocket of possibility, a glimpse into a future that once seemed impossible.

As the night deepens, more families gather their drowsy children, though many wolves remain, settling in for long conversations around the fires. The musicians play softer melodies now, suited to the quieter mood. Theron’s hand remains at my waist, a warm presence that grounds me amid the swirl of activity.

“Do you think it will last?” I ask him quietly, watching an Umbra elder teach an Elios child a traditional knot-tying technique. “This peace we’re building?”

He considers the question with characteristic thoughtfulness. “Not without effort,” he finally says. “Nothing worthwhile ever comes easily. But yes, I believe it will last and grow stronger with each generation that doesn’t learn to hate first and question later.”

“Starting with them,” I nod toward Aria and Kieran, who are now seated by a nearby fire, his arm draped protectively around her shoulders.

“And continuing with our children,” Theron adds, his voice holding such certainty that I can almost see them—strong, proud wolves who will never know the divisions that scarred their parents’ lives.

I lean into him, suddenly overwhelmed by gratitude for this moment, this night, this man. “Who would have thought the Harvest Ritual would lead us here?”

“I did,” he says simply.

I look up at him in surprise. “You expected all this? The joint leadership, the merger of the packs, us?”

His expression turns serious, eyes reflecting the firelight. “From the moment I chose you, I knew everything would change. I just didn’t know how completely.” His hand traces the curve of my jaw. “But I hoped. Gods, how I hoped.”

The honesty in his voice steals my breath. I rise on tiptoes to press my lips against his, not caring who might see. His arm tightens around me as he returns the kiss.

When we part, I’m aware of several approving glances from nearby wolves. Times have indeed changed—months ago, such a public display between an Umbra and an Elios would have caused outrage. Now, it draws knowing smiles.

“Take me home,” I whisper against his lips. “If we’re starting this challenge tonight, I’d prefer not to have an audience.”

His eyes darken further, a growl too low for others to hear rumbling in his chest. “As you wish.”

We make our excuses to the gathering, transferring ceremonial responsibilities to the elders, who are more than happy to oversee the rest of the celebration. Aria gives me a knowing smirk as we leave, while my father and mother simply nod.

The walk back to the Covenant building is quiet, the night air cool against my skin after the warmth of the celebration fires. Theron’s hand remains firmly in mine, his thumb occasionally brushing across my knuckles in a gesture that’s become familiar yet never fails to send warmth through me.

The Onyx Covenant building rises before us, its black stone gleaming silver in the moonlight. What once seemed an intimidating fortress now feels like home—our home, where we’ve begun to build something neither of us could have imagined before the Harvest Ritual.

As we climb the steps to the massive front doors, Theron pauses, turning to face me. The Blood Moon bathes his features in crimson light, highlighting the sharp planes of his face and the intensity in his eyes.

“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious under his scrutiny.

“Just memorizing this moment,” he says softly. “You here, with the dual moons behind you and the future ahead of us.”

I reach up to touch his face, my fingers tracing his cheek. “Pretty words from a wolf once known for his silence.”

“You changed that,” he says simply. “You changed everything.”

As he pulls me into another kiss, more heated this time, I think about the journey that brought us here: the maze, the trials, the bloodshed, and the sacrifice. The ancient prophecies spoke of union between the packs, of peace following centuries of strife, but they never mentioned this—the simple, transformative power of choosing love over hatred, of building something new from the ashes of the old.

They never told us in the stories that the most defiant act wouldn’t be baring fangs or drawing blood, but this—loving so fiercely that generations of hatred simply couldn’t stand against it. That in choosing Theron, I wouldn’t just find my mate but my strength, my purpose. My home.

Click here to read Aria & Kieran’s river separation scene—from Aria’s POV.

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