Page 90 of The Onyx Covenant

I remember every inch of her body—the sensitive spot at the nape of her neck that makes her gasp when kissed, the way she arches when I trail my fingers along her spine, the small sounds she makes when she’s close to breaking.Mine.

Kieran flings an arm over his mouth and nose dramatically. “For fuck’s sake, control your pheromones. Some of us are trying not to get eaten by the murder maze, remember?”

Lyra covers her face with her hands, but not before I catch the quickening of her breath. “Oh Gods,” she groans.

My body responds instantly to her reaction, my cock hardening painfully against my pants. I shift my position, grateful for the single orb of light hanging off the walls and the shadows that hide my erection. Not the time. Not the place. But fuck if I don’t want to cross the clearing and remind her exactly what she means to me.

Kieran lies back down with a theatrical sigh, drawing me from dangerous memories. “You know, it’s moments like these I realize I’m the real romantic soul of this group. All heart. All class.”

Despite the blood and dirt covering him, despite the fact that he killed a woman tonight without hesitation, there’s something undeniably charming about Kieran’s bullshit. It’s why he’s my right hand, my brother in everything but blood.

“And definitely all modesty,” Lyra replies dryly.

“Exactly,” he says without missing a beat. “Someone’s gotta keep the tone high while the rest of you fuck like animals. Some of us have standards, you know.”

“Like pinning Aria against a tree while others sleep?” Lyra’s chuckling.

It’s a low blow, but Kieran’s laughing.

“That was… tactical,” he says, an unusual defensiveness creeping into his voice.

“Tactical?” Lyra asks, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Absolutely.” Kieran nods with mock solemnity. “Confined space. Strategic positioning. Excellent use of available surfaces.”

“Shut the fuck up with your tactical crap,” I say. For all his faults, Kieran is the only person besides Lyra who sees me as more than just the heir to Umbra, the next in line to carry on my father’s bloody legacy.

Lyra’s smiling, and the sight of it loosens something tight in my chest. There’s been too little laughter tonight, too much blood, betrayal, and death. I’d kill a hundred Rachels just to keep that smile on her face.

I watch her, memorizing every detail—the way her hair spills across the grass like liquid moonlight, the gentle curve of her hips, the delicate lines of her moon priestess markings that shimmer faintly in the darkness on her brow. If we die in this maze, I want her image burned into my mind as the last thing I see.

Kieran’s eyes are beginning to close despite his efforts to stay alert. One hand still rests on his dagger, ready even in exhaustion.

“Rest,” I order, the command flowing naturally from years of training warriors. “Both of you. I’ll keep watch.”

The twisted branches surrounding our clearing shift slightly, though no wind stirs them. I don’t trust this momentary peace.

“You need sleep, too,” Lyra argues, her voice already thick with exhaustion.

“I’ll wake you when it’s not my turn,” I lie, knowing I have no intention of sleeping while we’re exposed like this. Not when my father has proven he’s willing to sabotage a sacred ritual to see her dead.

She wants to protest—I can see it in the stubborn set of her jaw—but her body betrays her. Within minutes, she curls onto her side in the lush grass, blonde hair fanning out around her.

Kieran’s already snoring softly, his body surrendering to exhaustion despite his best efforts. In sleep, the cynical mask falls away, revealing the boy I grew up with before my father’s cruelty hardened us both.

I move closer to Lyra, positioning myself between her and the most obvious entrance to our clearing. Not touching—I don’t trust myself to stop if I start—but close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body, to catch the scent of night-blooming jasmine that clings to her skin despite the blood and dirt of the maze.

“Sleep,” I murmur, pitching my voice low enough that it won’t disturb Kieran. “I won’t let anything hurt you.”

The dark moon watches from above, witness to the blood we’ve spilled and the blood yet to come. I know my father, know the depth of his hatred for the Elios pack.

I settle into a crouch, back to Lyra and Kieran, facing outward toward the maze. Let the thorns come. Let my father send his assassins. Let the ancient evils of this place rise against us.

They’ll find me waiting, a shadow among shadows, guarding what’s mine.

The night deepens. My muscles ache from maintaining the same vigilant posture, but I don’t dare move. Behind me, Lyra’s breathing remains deep and steady, occasionally punctuated by Kieran’s soft snores.

A sound breaks the silence—faint voices carrying on the still air. I tense, hand tightening around my blade’s hilt.

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