Page 8 of The Onyx Covenant (The Lunaterra Chronicles #2)

Chapter Six

LYRA

S leep escapes me in the stone bunker, despite my exhaustion. I shift uncomfortably on Aria’s borrowed blanket, the hard floor beneath digging into my hip. Around me, the soft breathing and occasional snores of the Elios candidates fill the darkness. Ten of them, all with proper beds. And then there’s me—the unwanted addition, the priestess who doesn’t belong.

“Fuck this,” I mutter, staring at the ceiling, tracing the cracks in the ancient stone.

How did I end up here? Yesterday morning, I was preparing for a routine moon-blessing ceremony. Now I’m bound to Theron Shadowmane, forced to participate in a ritual that claims lives every year. My father’s disappointed face flashes in my mind, along with the whispers that followed me tonight. The Alpha’s daughter, bound to an Umbra wolf. A betrayal, they called it, as if I’d chosen this.

Then I finally drift off…

Branches tear at my skin as I run, heart pounding, lungs burning. The forest stretches endlessly in every direction, thick with shadows that move when I blink. Behind me, thunderous footsteps and low growls vibrate through the trees. I don’t look back. I know what I’ll see. I’ve seen it before. The gleam of his eyes—Theron’s eyes—glowing in the dark, twisted with something feral. Wrong.

I trip. Cold earth slams into me. Before I can scramble up, he’s there, on me, crushing the breath from my lungs. Claws bite into my shoulders, and I scream as his jaws part above my throat, hot breath washing over my skin.

I wake with a gasp, choking on it. My heart’s racing, hair stuck to my forehead. The scream never left my lips, but it still rings in my head.

Godsdammit. I wipe my face with shaking hands. The darkness presses in, the weight of stone above me suddenly suffocating. I need air. Space. Anything to escape the tightness in my chest.

Rising silently, I navigate between the sleeping forms of my pack mates to reach the rear door in the room. None of them offered to push the super-narrow beds together with Aria’s so that I didn’t sleep on the floor, not even those who’ve smiled at me during temple ceremonies. The message couldn’t be clearer—I’ve crossed a line by being connected to an Umbra wolf. I’m no longer fully one of them.

The Covenant buildings have running water, a rare luxury that the elders engineered generations ago, combining advanced plumbing with old magic. Something only reserved for those of importance… Not Elios wolves.

I fill a wooden cup from the sink and gulp it down, the cool liquid doing little to calm the storm inside me. A bowl of fruit sits nearby, and I grab a handful of grapes, popping them into my mouth one by one, barely tasting them.

What the fuck am I doing here? I’m not a warrior, despite my training sessions with Aria. The other candidates have been preparing for this their entire lives. They know how to fight, how to survive the trials that await us.

The right decision would be to get myself eliminated somehow, to leave… I thought earlier that maybe I deserved a chance to prove myself. Now that I’m in the thick of it, I’m not so sure.

And Theron… that arrogant bastard. After a year of silence, why bind himself to me now? What does he gain?

The memory of his face when the onyx bracelet materialized on my wrist burns in my mind—that look of satisfaction, of getting exactly what he wanted. Does he think he can just force his way back into my life?

First love, first heartbreak, and now he’s dragged me into a fucking death trap. Great track record.

I reach for more water, trying to focus on tomorrow’s training, but the thought that I choose to stay lingers like a shadow in my mind.

My grip tightens around the cup. With everything he’s done, I stayed and I know why.

It’s him.

Even after his betrayal, after watching him with her, I couldn’t bring myself to break the bond. Some stubborn, bleeding part of me still aches for what we were… or maybe what I thought we could be. And that’s the part that’s killing me.

Because no matter how much I try to deny it, I’m still not ready to let him go.

A sound comes so faintly I almost miss it, a whisper of fabric against stone, a breath held too long. I freeze, cup halfway to my lips. I’m not alone.

Before I can turn, something rough and heavy slams down over my head—a bag of thick, scratchy fabric scrapes my face, sealing me in suffocating darkness. I open my mouth to scream, but a fist drives into my stomach like a hammer. The air is punched from my lungs, and the scream dies in my throat, the cup tumbling from my grasp. I lean over, gasping, hugging my gut. Panic floods me.

“Don’t you fucking scream,” a voice hisses near my ear. The tone is forced—low, distorted—but there’s a sharp edge to it. Female. Trying not to sound it. “One noise and we’ll cut your throat.”

Hands clamp around my arms like iron. Another slams into my back, shoving me forward. I stumble, nearly fall, head pounding, the bag clinging to my face like a second skin. My breaths come shallow and fast. I can’t get enough air. I can’t see. I can’t think.

Instinct takes over. I twist hard, yank free just enough, and throw out a wild kick, one Aria drilled into me over and over. It connects with something solid—a grunt of pain from one of them.

A sudden crack against my neck and I whimper. Another blow to my ribs, brutal and fast. White-hot pain erupts in my side, stars bursting behind my eyes, even in the pitch black.

I collapse to my knees with a strangled cry, agony lancing through my body. Every breath feels like knives. My heart hammers, screaming to run, but my limbs are heavy, slow.

“Bitch fights like a rabid wolf,” one of them mutters. “Didn’t expect that from a temple flower.”

“Just get her away from the building,” the second voice snaps, also female, also masked in false depth. “Before someone hears.”

My heart slams against my ribs as they drag me forward, the rough fabric of the bag scratching my face, choking me with every panicked breath. The ground shifts beneath my feet from stone to dirt, each step disorienting. I can already feel the manacle on my wrist buzzing slightly. We’re not past the edge of the fifty-foot radius, but perhaps I’m getting close.

Five minutes to get back, or Theron and I are dead.

“Just let me go and I won’t tell anyone,” I press, all while rage rises hotter than the fear, curling through my veins like fire.

They laugh at me. “We’re not idiots.”

Fuck them.

“I beg to differ.”

Who the hell do these girls think they are, threatening me like I’m nothing? Like I’m prey? Just another passive priestess too soft to fight back?

My parents, the temple, every smug face that ever looked at me like I was breakable. I’m not just some girl in robes whispering prayers in the dark. I can fight. I will fight. And I’ll make damn sure they regret ever thinking I wouldn’t.

So I plant my feet, jerking back hard enough to make the one holding my arm stumble. “Let me go!” My voice echoes in the night, ragged and desperate, so I scream.

Crack.

Pain explodes across my face. A sharp, brutal punch through the bag.

I stagger, my legs giving out for a split second as the world tilts.

Focus. Don’t go down.

My pulse pounds like war drums, but my body feels sluggish, my senses dulled from the hit.

They drag me forward by an arm, shove me at the back, my feet scraping against the ground.

My jaw throbs, my head spins, but the fire inside me refuses to go out.

They wanted a docile priestess?

They’re about to get a fucking storm.

“Move faster,” one of them snaps. “The gorge is just ahead.”

The gorge . They’re going to throw me over the edge. My brain catches up with their plan instantly.

My hand inches toward my side, remembering I have a small blade tucked into my belt, seeing as we all slept in our clothes.

“This is far enough,” one of them rasps, jerking me to a stop. The roar of water fills my ears—the gorge.

“Any last words, priestess?” a voice sneers as the bag tightens around my neck. My lungs seize. I can’t breathe, can’t think. Panic claws up my throat like a wild thing.

“Fuck you!”

“Feisty!” another taunts. “So no pleading to spare your pathetic life?”

My fingers curl around the hilt of my blade. And I swing at them with the weapon.

A cry rings out, sharp and shocked, followed by the sudden thud of footsteps. One of them shoves me hard from behind. My boots skid across loose earth. I stagger, and the ground turns to loose rubble beneath my foot, descending in front of me. I flail wildly, my heart exploding in my chest.

“You don’t deserve to be here!” one of them hisses as I scramble back to catch my footing. “You’re nothing. Go die like the weak little wolf you are.”

Then they shove me in the back harder.

I fall.

Air tears past me, the roar of the gorge rising like a scream. My arms fling out, desperate, and catch a thick branch that lashes across my stomach. I grab it with both hands, fingers locking around bark and splinters, body swinging hard against the cliffside.

Pain explodes through my shoulders, but I hold on. I fucking grip that branch with my life depending on it.

With a cry, I claw my way back up, every inch a war. Dirt crumbles beneath my boots. My heart is a drumbeat of survival and fury. I rip the damn bag off my head just in time to see two shadowy figures vanish into the building. To the side of the building, the glow of a torch—a man approaches, shouting.

“Who’s out there? Show yourselves!”

But I’m already running back to the sleeping quarters.

Barely breathing, legs screaming, I sprint across the field. I won’t stop. My lungs burn.

I’m not leaving. I’m not crawling away like a coward in the dark. I’m going to survive this. And when I do… I’m going to find those bitches. I’m going to look them in the eyes, and I’m going to make them regret ever touching me.

I slam into the side of the building just as the pain eases, the manacle no longer buzzing, and I breathe easily.

The guard is suddenly there, a fiery torch blazing across my face, and I squint against the bright light.

“What happened to you? No one should be out of the sleeping quarters at this hour.”

“Needed some air,” I manage, wiping blood from my split lip. Then I shove past him, chest heaving, blade tucked in the back of my belt.

I made it back.

Inside, I stumble to the washroom next to the kitchen. I splash cold water on my face, gasping as it stings my split lip. My side aches and will most likely be bruised.

The mirror above the basin shows what I already know from the pain—a bruise darkening beneath my right eye, another on my jawline, blood smeared across my chin. I look like I’ve already been through the first trial.

My hands shake as the adrenaline begins to ebb, leaving in its wake a bone-deep exhaustion and the full awareness of how close I came to dying tonight. Not from beasts or Onyx Covenant challenges, but from my fellow wolves.

Who were they? The obvious suspects are the Umbra females, but for all I know, it’s two of my pack. Their voices were hard to determine, their scents masked. And right now, I don’t pick up on that unique smell in our quarters, telling me Umbra wolves must be responsible.

I clean away the blood as best I can, wishing I had some of Mother’s healing salve. The bruises will be impossible to hide in the morning.

As I make my way back to my makeshift bed on the floor, I cast a wary gaze over the rear doorway.

I clasp the blade firmly in my hand beneath the blanket. I close my eyes anyway, forcing my breathing to regulate despite the throbbing pain in my face and side.

This is just the beginning, I realize. The ritual hasn’t even officially started, and already, someone wants me dead or at least removed from the competition. And if these are the lengths they’ll go to now, what will happen once we’re in the wilderness? Once there are no guards to intervene?

I grip my blade tighter, a promise to myself in the darkness. I won’t be caught off guard again. I won’t be the weak link, the easy target.

Now, more than ever, I want to win this damn ritual to prove them all wrong.

* * *

Morning comes too quickly, harsh sunlight streaming through the high windows of the stone bunker. I rise stiffly, every movement sending fresh stabs of pain through my ribs. The night’s attack has left its mark, not just in the visible bruises but in the way my body protests even the simplest movements.

Around me, the other Elios candidates are already up, gathering their things and preparing for the day ahead. Some cast curious glances my way, but none approach. None ask if I’m okay. Their silence speaks volumes. Aria’s not in her bed, so I assume she’s in the kitchen or bathroom.

A female guard enters, arms full of identical, folded clothing, the color of the deepest blue night sky. “Leave everything behind except your chosen weapon,” she announces, her voice echoing off the stone walls. “These are your ritual garments. Each is named for your size.”

She distributes the clothing—tight-fitting pants, stretchy tops, jackets with buttons down the front, and sturdy boots. Military in style but made from fabric that moves with the body.

Aria’s there, in yesterday’s clothes, but her cheeks rosy and hair wet from a shower. She collects her bundle from the woman, then returns to my side.

“Holy fucking shit, what happened to your face?” Her gaze is wide with shock.

“Keep your voice down,” I mutter.

“Yeah, sure, but everyone’s gonna see that.” She gestures to the bruise under my eye, the split lip. “You look like you got trampled by a shadow beast. Who did this?”

I grab her arm, pulling her closer. “Two girls tried to throw me into the gorge last night.”

“What?” Her hand instinctively moves to the dagger at her hip. “Names. Now. I’ll gut them before breakfast.”

Quickly, I relay what happened, the attack, the female masked voices and scents.

“Those fucking bitches,” Aria seethes, her face flushing with rage. “I swear by both moons, I’ll find out who did this and feed them their own entrails.”

“I don’t know who it was,” I remind her, wincing as I bend to lace up my boots.

“Moonshadow root,” Aria nods grimly. “Mixed with black pine tar. Nightblades use it during stealth missions. Burns the nostrils of anyone who catches the scent but completely masks wolf traces.” She studies my face. “You should report this. The Covenant takes?—”

“No,” I cut her off. “I’m not giving anyone the satisfaction of knowing they got to me.”

“This isn’t about satisfaction, Lyra. This is about survival. If they tried once…”

“They’ll try again,” I finish for her. “I know. And I’ll be ready next time.” I check my blade, securing it at my hip, where it’s hidden by the jacket but easily accessible.

“Fuck them. You’re twice as smart as most of the warriors here, and after last night, I’d say you’ve got more guts, too.”

“Thanks.” Her faith in me creates a warm spot in the cold dread that’s settled in my chest since the attack. “But I think it’s time our pack kicked those Umbra assholes aside and took the reins. An Elios victor is a win for all of us.”

Aria studies me for a moment, then nods. “All right, but we’re still figuring out who they were. No one gets away with that shit.”

I hesitate, then lower my voice. “I cut one of them last night.”

Her stare sharpens. “Excellent!”

“I got her with my knife as I tried to break free.” I glance around to make sure no one’s listening, then add, “I had the blade smeared with kevrin powder before I left home. My mom taught me how to mix it—it slows healing, even for wolves. Makes it ten times harder for the body to mend.”

Aria grins wickedly. “Smart. That’ll leave a mark. If they’re here… they’ll be nursing that wound for days.”

“Maybe longer,” I mutter. “It burns like fire, too.”

Aria’s expression hardens. “Good. That’ll make them easier to spot.” She glances at the bathroom door, and an Elios girl emerges. Aria drags me by the arm. “Come on, it’s your turn to take a quick wash before breakfast. Training starts after.”

I hurry into the bathroom with my new clothes. Once I’m dressed and clean, Aria is ready, too, and we file out, making our way to a large tent set up near our sleeping quarters building. Despite the situation, I can’t help noticing how the ritual clothing suits her athletic frame, highlighting the muscles she’s built through years of Nightblade training.

Inside the mess hall, long tables are arranged with food laid out—plates filled with bread, fruit, and meats, enough to fuel warriors for the trials ahead.

The Umbra candidates are already seated at one end, their black clothing a sharp contrast to our deep blue garments despite the identical style. I keep my head down as we enter, but I sense stares on me immediately—on the bruises I can’t hide.

Stay calm.

I scan the Umbra females, looking for any reaction to my appearance. A flicker of guilt. Satisfaction. Fear. But none meet my gaze directly.

I glance at their arms, their hands, anywhere a fresh wound might show. Nothing.

Aria murmurs beside me, her voice low. “See anything?”

“Not yet.” I grab a plate and follow her down the line, but my mind is still on them. They wouldn’t leave the wound exposed… but they’ll show it when they move.

Aria and I take seats with our plates of food at the far end of the Elios section. “Eat,” she commands. “You’ll need your strength.”

I force myself to take bites of bread and meat, knowing she’s right. Whatever the day brings, facing it hungry won’t help. But my appetite vanishes when I feel a particular gaze burning into me from across the tent.

Theron strolls over to join his Umbra wolves, his presence commanding the space with every step. The ritual clothing clings to him, dark leather stretched taut over his broad shoulders and powerful chest. The fitted long sleeves do little to hide the muscular lines of his arms, the fabric pulled snug across biceps that flex with restrained power.

His hair, wild and tousled, looks like the wind had its way with it—longer at the top, falling in messy strands across his brow, while the sides and back are shorter, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw. And then there are his eyes, piercing, molten silver that gleam with unreadable intent. Even now, even after everything, my pulse betrays me, pounding harder.

His gaze is currently fixed on my bruised face with an expression of concern.

I drop my attention back to my plate, but I’m acutely aware of him watching me throughout the meal.

“He looks ready to murder someone,” Aria murmurs, staring at Theron. “Think he knows about last night? Well, actually, we haven’t heard of anyone being killed yet, so I guess he doesn’t know.”

I laugh softly as I stab a piece of meat with unnecessary force.

When breakfast ends, an older woman in black Covenant robes enters the tent.

“Training will begin shortly. You will be working with your bound partners today to prepare for tomorrow’s first trial and learn the meaning of trust.”

A ripple of murmurs passes through the group.

As we rise to follow her out, a hand closes around my upper arm, pulling me toward the back of the tent. I know who it is before I even turn from the captivating scent alone.

“Get your hand off me,” I hiss, yanking my arm away.

Theron doesn’t release me, instead drawing me behind a stack of supply crates where we’re hidden from view. His stare rakes over my face, darkening as it takes in the bruises and the split lip.

“Who did that to you?” he demands, tone low and deadly.

“None of your business,” I snap, lifting my chin defiantly despite the pain. “And I don’t need your concern.”

“It is when we’re a team, and I plan to win this.” His hand rises, fingers hovering near my bruised cheek before the tips trace lightly under the worst of the damage. His touch is featherlight, and for one treacherous moment, I find myself leaning into it, my gaze settling on his full lips. Memories flood back of that mouth against mine, against my neck, whispering promises in the darkness. Heat rushes through me, overwhelming and unwanted.

I jerk away, batting his hand from my face. “Don’t.”

“I won’t have anyone mess with what’s mine,” he says, his voice a dangerous rumble.

“Yours?” I repeat, incredulous anger flaring in my chest. “I am not yours, Theron. I stopped being yours a year ago.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks, something feral flashing behind his eyes. “Whether you want to accept it or not, Lyra, it’s you and me against the world in this ritual. Most aren’t happy about this pairing.”

I try to move past him, but he blocks my path, his massive frame an immovable obstacle. Up close, he’s even more devastatingly handsome—the ritual clothing defining every hard plane of muscle, the scent of him filling my senses with unwanted memories of stolen moments in the forest. Moments I shouldn’t be thinking about.

Focus, Lyra.

But it’s not just the heat rolling off him or the way his presence stirs something dangerous inside me. It’s the weight of what happens if we win. Umbra wins. And that means… Theron takes the title. Alpha. I become his Omega. Bound to Umbra, to the very people who tried to break me.

I can’t let that happen.

My throat tightens as the realization sinks deeper. If Elios wins, my pack thrives. We gain advantage on supplies shared by the country. But if Theron and I win… we lose everything.

So… do I sabotage him? Throw the ritual so Elios takes the victory to win the Harvest Ritual?

The thought twists in my gut, leaving a bitter taste. Sabotage means betraying myself if I want to win for me, to prove to everyone else I’m not weak. I need to prove that I’m a strong Omega.

But at what cost?

My fingers curl into fists at my sides. If I win, I lose. But if I lose, I still lose.

Theron’s gaze is locked on me, steady and unreadable, but I feel the tension thrumming between us. He doesn’t know what’s going through my mind, doesn’t see the war raging beneath the surface.

Do I fight for myself? Or do I fight for what’s best for my pack?

“I don’t need you to protect me,” I murmur, but the words taste hollow. I don’t even know what I’m protecting anymore.

Theron’s expression darkens, as if he senses the turmoil I’m barely holding together. “We’re in this together, Lyra.”

But for how much longer?

“Whatever is happening, whoever hurt you… tell me,” he implores, an edge of command to it that sends a shiver down my arms. “Because if this ritual goes the way I plan, it was always going to be us standing together at the end. Us against them, right? Just like it would have been, anyway.”

He smiles then, a dimple appearing in his cheek, and I hate how my insides liquefy at the sight. Just as quickly, he schools his features.

“Stop it,” I hiss. “The smiles, the flirting. I’m immune to your trickery now.”

He laughs, the sound rich and knowing, and I clench my thighs together against the wave of heat it sends through me. Damn him.

I push past him, but his hand catches my arm, grip firm but not painful.

“Listen to me, Lyra. No one out there is on your side once we begin, but I am.” His voice drops to a whisper that ghosts across my ear. “Remember who is enemy and who is friend.”

“Friend?” I scoff, stepping back just enough to meet his gaze. “They didn’t just attack me, Theron.”

His expression hardens instantly, the teasing wiped clean.

“They tried to shove me over the gorge.” My tone is steady, but the memory makes my blood run cold. “They wanted me dead.”

Theron’s jaw clenches, his body going still. “Fuck!”

“And not just me,” I continue, stepping closer. “They clearly wanted you gone, too. Seeing me falling would break our fifty-feet rule, then we’d both be poisoned by our manacles.”

Theron’s nostrils flare, but his gaze burns with something lethal. “Umbra you think?” His tone is ice.

“I don’t know for sure,” I admit, though the suspicion claws at me. “But it seemed like it…” I let the implication hang heavy between us.

Theron’s eyes darken, his silence more dangerous than any words.

“They don’t care about your title.” I step closer, the space between us crackling with tension. “They’d rather see us both fall than let you win.”

“Then we make damn sure that doesn’t happen.” His voice is calm, but I feel the storm beneath it.

I fall silent, my own decisions warring inside of me.

His gaze holds mine, steady, intense.

“Looks like we’re the only ones we can trust.” His words are quiet, but they settle like a promise. “So we need to stop pretending we’re enemies.”

I can’t bring myself to respond. My throat tightens when someone calls out for us to join the group. Then we’re on the move.

Two enemies.

Two broken hearts.

Two fates hanging by a thread.

The most dangerous part of this ritual isn’t the challenges ahead or even the rivals waiting to strike. Because if I let my guard down, even for a second, Theron won’t just cost me the ritual for my pack.

He’ll cost me everything.