Page 20 of The Onyx Covenant

Suddenly, Theron flinches, his eyes widening as he glances down at his wrist. I follow his gaze, confused, then gasp when I see what’s captured his attention.

Around his wrist, a band of polished onyx shot through with veins of silver pulses with an inner light that grows stronger by the second.

A manacle—the binding used in the Harvest Ritual to connect champions to their chosen Omegas.

“What’s happening?” I whisper, staring at the glowing manacle with horrific realization dawning. “Your manacle… it’s activated. Here? Now? In the middle of the United Houses Luncheon?”

Before I can process what’s happening, Theron lunges forward, his movements predatory and precise. His hand clamps around my left wrist, grip like iron—not painful, but a clear statement that I won’t be escaping. His skin burns against mine, fever-hot with magic and intent.

I try to wrench away, but the gleam in his storm-gray eyes tells me it’s exactly what he expected. Something cold and heavy materializes against my skin—a perfect twin to the manacle on his wrist, binding us together with ancient, ruthless magic.

“What have you done?” I snarl, watching in horror as my manacle begins to pulse with sickly light, matching the rhythm of his. White-hot pain shoots up my arm like a lightning strike, tearing a scream from my throat.

Theron doesn’t flinch. There’s no shock on his face, only dark satisfaction as he watches the manacles connect.

“Why would you do this?” I demand, pacing now, yanking at the cruel metal as if I could tear it from my flesh. “How could you?”

Theron steps closer. “You know why.”

“This shouldn’t even be working,” I hiss, still pulling against the bond. The pain has receded, replaced by a pulsing warmth that terrifies me more. “We’re from opposite packs. No one has ever matched from Elios and Umbra in the Harvest Ritual. These manacles only bind champions to Omegas from their own pack, so one pack takes the Onyx Covenant positions.”

A cruel smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “And yet, here we are.”

“Take it off,” I demand.

“I can’t,” he adds, and for a moment, I think I hear regret beneath the steel in his words, but then his eyes darken, almost black now. “Maybe this is simply the Shadowed Moon’s will, bringing darkness to light.”

“Don’t you dare,” I spit. “Don’t invoke your cursed moon when you’ve trapped me in this. The Veiled Moon would never sanction such a betrayal.”

“Isn’t it more of a betrayal to disappear for a year?” he asks, following as I try to put distance between us on the balcony. The manacles pull taut, forcing me to stop. “I went to our meeting place every week, Lyra. You never showed.”

“You made your decision,” I bark, the memory of seeing him with her flashing before my eyes.

“And now I’m undoing it,” he growls, stepping closer until I’m backed against the railing. His scent—pine needles and winter frost with smoky amber—surrounds me, achingly familiar. “This challenge gives me the right to claim what should have been mine all along.”

“By adding me to this dangerous fucking ritual without my consent?”

“I’ll keep you protected,” he promises, and he lowers his lips to my ear. “No harm will come to what’s mine.”

“You’re insane,” I whisper, hating how my body betrays me, leaning toward him even as my mind screams to run. “The Alphas will kill us both for this.”

His laugh is dark velvet. “Let them try. We’re guarded by the Onyx Covenant rules.”

The manacle pulses again, and beneath the anger and fear, a dangerous thrill courses through me, the wolf in me responding to the irrevocable claiming, my traitorous heart remembering what it was like to be his. The moon priestess in me knows this bond is forbidden, but the woman I am wonders if it’s true that fate has drawn us together.

Theron’s fingers brush against the ceremonial markings on my face, a touch that’s almost tender despite everything.

“You can hate me for this, Lyra,” he murmurs. “But I won’t lose you, and you cannot deny what flows between us.”

Gods help me, I can’t.

The doors to the balcony burst open behind us, and we spring apart. Theron’s father, Magnus, stands framed in the doorway, his crimson eyes taking in the scene with frightening calculation. Behind him, my parents appear, my father’s face a mask of confusion that rapidly turns to horror as his gaze locks on our wrists. They all pour out onto the balcony.

“Theron?” Magnus snarls. His tone is directed at his son, but his murderous glare is fixed on me.

“Father,” Theron begins, stepping slightly in front of me in a protective gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone.

“Lyra, are you all right?” My mother’s voice breaks through the tension, her eyes wide with disbelief. “How is this possible?”

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