Page 17 of The Onyx Covenant

“I am,” I confirm. “And you are?”

“Damien Croft,” he says with a slight bow. “House of the Midnight Star. I’ve heard so much about you from mutual acquaintances.”

I doubt that very much, considering I have approximately two friends, neither of whom would run in his circles. I smile politely, falling back on years of training in proper pack etiquette.

“All good things, I hope.”

“Only the best.” When he smiles, he seems genuine. “They said you were beautiful, but they failed to mention you’d be the most striking woman in the room.”

Under normal circumstances, such an obvious line would make me sigh. Tonight, desperate for any distraction, I find myself almost appreciating his compliment.

“That’s very kind,” I respond. “Though I think there are many who would dispute your assessment.”

“Not from where I’m standing.” He gestures to a passing server, collecting two glasses of sparkling wine. “Would you care for a drink? I promise it’s not an attempt to lower your inhibitions—merely to help you endure what promises to be a tedious evening of political maneuvering disguised as social niceties.”

A surprised laugh escapes me. “You’re not a fan of these gatherings, either?”

“I find them exhausting,” he confesses, handing me a glass. “My mother insists I attend to make connections, but I’d rather be in my workshop.”

This piques my genuine interest. “Workshop?”

“I design mechanical contraptions,” he explains, a hint of embarrassment coloring his voice. “Mostly useless things that amuse me, occasionally something practical. My latest is a device that automatically waters plants based on soil moisture.”

“That actually sounds useful.”

“For someone who consistently kills houseplants, perhaps.” His smile widens. “So, what would you rather be doing than standing here making small talk with a stranger?”

Training with Aria, I think immediately. Running through the forest in wolf form. Anywhere but here, where Theron’s presence presses against my awareness like a physical weight.

“Reading,” I say instead, the lie coming easily. “I’m studying ancient healing techniques.”

“Ah, yes, you’re training as a priestess, aren’t you?” So someone has been talking about me… my parents instantly come to mind. “I’ve read that your healers can mend bones with just a touch and the right incantation.”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that.” I take a sip of the wine, welcoming its coolness. “The moon grants us access to?—”

I stop mid-sentence, my spine stiffening as awareness prickles across my skin. He’s watching me. I can feel it.

My eyes flick up involuntarily, meeting Theron’s gaze across the room. He stands less than thirty feet away, his expression unreadable as he stares at me and my companion. Something dark flashes in his eyes—something that looks dangerously like possession—before he turns away, drawn into conversation by someone I can’t see.

“Is that your partner?” Damien asks, following my gaze.

I nearly choke on my wine. “God, no. Never.”

“Well, he’s looking at you as if he’d like to either kill me or drag you away. Possibly both.”

“He’s what?” I can’t help but glance back, and sure enough, Theron is watching us again, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack stone.

“Ah, complicated history,” Damien surmises. “Say no more. I’ve had a few of those myself.”

I turn back to him, conscious of Theron’s stare burning into my back. My heart beats so loudly I’m certain Damien can hear it, but a sudden reckless thought takes hold. Why shouldn’t Theron see me enjoying someone else’s company? Why shouldn’t he get a taste of what I’ve felt this past year?

“You know what?” I say, finding my voice. “He’s nobody important. Just someone who once made promises he couldn’t keep.”

“Ah.” Damien’s eyes sparkle with understanding. “The plot thickens.” He leans in slightly, voice dropping conspiratorially. “If you’d like to make him jealous, I’m happy to play along. I’m excellent at pretending to be utterly captivated.”

The petty, wounded part of me—the part that has cried itself to sleep more nights than I care to admit—rises to the surface.

“You know what? I’d like that very much.”

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