Page 117 of The Onyx Covenant

“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.”

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