Page 107 of The Onyx Covenant

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

Theron

Iscan 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.”

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