Page 16 of The Onyx Covenant

She smiles too sweetly and pats my hand like this has been some clever trick they used to get me here. Then, without another word, she turns and strides toward the door.

I grind my teeth and follow, steeling myself for a gathering of political niceties and thinly veiled matchmaking attempts.

The ballroom where the United Houses Luncheon is held occupies the entirety of the central building, a massive structure of white stone and gold. We approach along a grand hallway lined with portraits of past leaders, their stern faces watching our progress with painted eyes that seem to follow our movements.

Father and Mother pause every few steps to greet acquaintances, their social obligations slowing our progress to a crawl. I hover awkwardly behind them, searching the crowd with a growing sense of dread.

Hewon’t be here, I tell myself. Why would he be? The Royal Wedding isn’t until tomorrow.

But even as I think it, I know I’m lying to myself. Of course he’ll be here. His father is Alpha of the Umbra pack—he wouldn’t miss a chance to show his face, to remind everyone that his family has dominated the Onyx Covenant for fifty years. Even if he’s not here for matchmaking, this is still the perfect stage to flaunt his power.

The hallway opens into an antechamber where guests gather before entering the main ballroom. Crystal chandeliers cast rainbow light over a sea of formal attire.

Then I see him.

Theron Shadowmane stands alone near a window, a glass of something amber held loosely in one hand. He’s dressed in formal black, the severity of the color broken only by silver accents at his collar and cuffs. His hair, longer than I recall, is pulled back, revealing the sharp angles of his face and the intensity of his gray eyes as they scan the room.

I stumble, my heel catching on the hem of my gown. Goddess, he’s even more beautiful than I remember. More dangerous.

My attention darts around, searching for the woman in red, his betrothed. I don’t see her, but I do spot his father holding court in a corner, surrounded by others hanging on his every word. Theron’s father radiates menace, even in this formal setting.

Heat floods my body. I should look away from Theron. Should pretend I haven’t seen him.

Instead, I stare like a rabbit hypnotized by a predator, my heart hammering.

“Lyra,” Mother murmurs, touching my elbow. “Are you all right? You look flushed.”

I blink, breaking the spell. “Fine,” I manage. “Just… warm in here.”

She follows my gaze, hers landing on Theron. Something shifts in her expression. It’s not a surprise, exactly, but a sharpening of interest that makes me uneasy.

“Come,” she says, her voice gentle. “Your father wants to introduce you to some families.”

She guides me away, deeper into the antechamber where Father stands with a cluster of important-looking individuals. I go through the motions of greeting them, smiling and nodding at appropriate intervals while my mind remains fixated on the wolf by the window.

Why isn’t his betrothed with him? Did something happen to her? Did he change his mind?

Hope flares, unwelcome and deadly, before I ruthlessly extinguish it. It doesn’t matter. Whatever happened or didn’t happen between Theron and the woman in red has nothing to do with me. He made his choice a year ago.

Finally, we’re ushered into the main ballroom, a space so vast and opulent that it momentarily distracts me from my emotional turmoil. The ceiling soars at least four stories above, painted with a mural of the night sky so realistic it seems to move. Actual stars—or magical approximations of them—twinkle, casting a soft glow over the guests.

The floor is a masterpiece of wood and stone.

My parents immediately drift toward a group of officials, leaving me momentarily unattended. I seize the opportunity to move over to the nearest wall, seeking some semblance of cover in a room designed to put everyone on display.

I can’t breathe properly. Can’t think. My eyes keep finding him, no matter how determinedly I try to look elsewhere. He’s moved into the ballroom now, still alone, still studying the crowd as though searching for someone.

For me? The thought sends a jolt of electricity down my spine.

No. Not for me. Never again for me.

I need to escape, to find a moment to collect myself. The bathrooms must be nearby, where I can splash cold water on my face and remember all the reasons I hate Theron Shadowmane.

I push away from the wall, intent on escape.

“Excuse me, but are you Lyra Mooncrest?” a male voice asks.

I turn to find a young man watching me with open admiration. He’s handsome enough—tall, with deep brown hair and friendly matching eyes. A human, by the looks of him, or perhaps a wolf with unusually subtle features.

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