Page 119 of The Onyx Covenant

“A child of both packs,” Theron muses, his expression turning thoughtful. “The living embodiment of the future we’re building.”

“Poor kid,” Kieran groans. “Already carrying the weight of symbolic importance before they’re even born.”

“They’ll be strong,” Theron assures him. “With parents like you two, how could they not be?”

Aria preens slightly at the compliment. “I’m going to be an excellent mother. Firm but fair. Just the right balance of structure and freedom.”

“She’s been researching,” Kieran stage-whispers. “Every book on child-rearing has mysteriously disappeared into our quarters.”

“Better than your approach,” she retorts. “Which consists entirely of panicking and sharpening increasingly tiny training knives for an infant who won’t be able to hold them for years.”

“I’m not panicking,” he insists. “I’m preparing. There’s a difference.”

I laugh, leaning against Theron’s side. “You’re both going to be wonderful parents,” I tell them sincerely. “And you’ll have all the support you need.”

The conversation flows from pregnancy to training programs to the latest political developments with the southern territories. Eventually, Aria and Kieran drift away to speak with her parents, leaving Theron and me alone by the fire.

“They seem happy,” I observe, watching them go. “Never would have predicted those two ending up together.”

“And now they’re having a baby,” he says, then his arm slides around my waist, pulling me closer against the night’s growing chill.

We watch the celebration continue around us. Nearby, a group of elders plays a traditional strategy game using carved stones on a wooden board while children chase each other through the clearing, their shrieks of laughter carrying on the night air. In the distance, several couples dance to the soft music still playing near the central fire.

After a comfortable silence, Theron’s lips brush against my ear, his voice pitched low for me alone. “The challenge has been set,” he murmurs. “Get ready because we start tonight.”

I turn to face him, confused. “What challenge?”

His eyes gleam with predatory intent in the firelight. “Getting you pregnant, of course. I’m not about to let Kieran outdo me in this.”

I nearly choke on my wine. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” His hand slides around to my stomach, splaying possessively across it. “Imagine it, Lyra—a child with your fire and my strength. A true heir to the new world we’re building.”

I stare at him, trying to determine if he’s serious. The intensity in his gaze leaves little doubt. “You’re actually serious.”

“Entirely.” His expression softens slightly. “Unless you don’t want?—”

“I didn’t say that,” I interrupt, surprised by how much the idea appeals to me now that it’s been voiced. “I just wasn’t expecting this particular conversation tonight.”

His smile turns wolfish. “I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. Watching you lead the Covenant, seeing how naturally you handle both packs…” His thumb traces circles on my hip, sending warmth spreading through my core. “The thought of you carrying my child—our child—is becoming rather… distracting.”

“Everything’s a competition with you,” I observe, though I can’t keep the fondness from my voice. “First the maze, then the Covenant leadership, now fatherhood?”

“Only the things worth winning,” he says, completely unapologetic. “And this would be the greatest prize of all.”

Despite my initial surprise, I find myself imagining it—a child with Theron’s eyes and perhaps my blonde hair, running through the Covenant halls, learning from both our traditions.

“A baby,” I say softly. “Our baby.”

“The first of many,” he promises, and the certainty in his voice sends a shiver down my spine.

I turn in his arms to face him fully. “You’re being crazy now.”

“And yet you love me anyway,” he counters, brushing a strand of hair from my face with unexpected tenderness.

“Fates have mercy—I do.” The admission comes easier now, after months of shared struggles and victories. “Fine. Challenge accepted.”

His eyes darken, pupils expanding until only a thin ring of gray remains. “You’ll make a magnificent mother.”

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