Page 31 of The Onyx Covenant

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?—”

---