Page 2 of The Onyx Covenant

My heart hammers wildly. “You know this is wrong,” I say, though I make no move to step away.

A dangerous smile curves his mouth, sending another thrill through me. “I know,” he admits, his hand sliding to the nape of my neck. “But it’s not going to stop me. Not when you taste like everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“My family would disown me if they knew I was here with you,” I whisper, even as my fingers trace the strong line of his jaw.

“And mine would challenge me to combat for dishonoring our bloodline,” he counters, pressing a kiss to my palm. “Yet here I stand, unable to stay away.”

“What are we doing, Theron?” I ask, vulnerability threading through my voice.

He pulls me even closer, his forehead resting against mine. “Something brave,” he whispers. “Something true.” Then his lips find mine again, and I’m lost in the perfect rightness of his embrace, knowing that after tonight, nothing will ever be the same.

“Five minutes,” I tell myself, trying to calm the rapid beating of my heart. I’ll give him five minutes, then I’ll go looking.

Five minutes stretch into ten. Ten into thirty. Thirty into an hour. My worry deepens with each passing moment.

I pick up a stone and roll it between my palms, feeling its smooth contours.

Where are you, Theron?

His words from our last meeting echo in my mind.

Lyra, if I’m ever not here waiting for you, there’s only one reason—something’s happened to me. I would crawl through fire before I’d miss a chance to see you.

Something coils tight in my chest—not doubt, but fear. A cold certainty that something is wrong. Not with us, but with him.

The Umbra wolves know only possession, not love. They take. They consume. They destroy.My mother’s warnings ring in my ears.

But Theron is different. The way he looks at me when we’re alone, as though I’m something precious. The gentleness in his touch. The stories he tells me about his family, his dreams of uniting our packs.

Gods, I know this is wrong. He’s my enemy by birth, the son of our pack’s greatest adversary, yet I’m utterly captivated by him. Every logical part of me knows I should walk away, return to my pack, and forget these forbidden meetings, but my heart knows better.

Worry gnaws at me as I rise to my feet. What if he’s been hurt? What if his father discovered our meetings?

“I have to find him,” I mutter, straightening my shoulders with determination. Something’s happened, and he needs me. I know it.

I strip quickly, folding my hood and clothes, then tucking them beneath a hollow log. The night air raises goose bumps along my bare skin. I’ve got just enough stupidity left in me for one more reckless act.

I close my eyes, surrendering to the change that always lurks beneath my skin, waiting. The shift crashes through me like lightning striking a tree. Bones crack and re-form, muscles stretch and reshape, and skin prickles as fur erupts across my body. The pain burns and lasts only seconds.

When I open my eyes again, the world has transformed. Colors are sharp, and scents explode into vivid detail. The mineral tang of river water, the sweet decay of fallen leaves, the lingering musk of a deer—all of it painting a picture more detailed than sight ever could.

My wolf form is smaller than most, lithe and quick rather than powerful. Fur, the color of the silvery moonlight with subtle blue undertones, covers my body.

Then I run, staying low to the ground, paws barely making a sound on the carpet of fallen needles. I know the way to Theron’s village. He showed me once, though we never ventured close enough to risk detection. It’s a long journey, at least five miles through treacherous territory, but my wolf form eats the distance hungrily.

The forest grows darker the deeper I penetrate into Tenebris territory. The trees press closer, their twisted trunks forming grotesque shapes in the dim light. Strange sounds echo through the darkness—the scrape of claws on bark, the rustle of wings too large to belong to any normal bird, the occasional distant howl that makes my fur stand on end.

My heart thunders in my rib cage.

In these woods dwell creatures that my pack speaks of only in whispers—shadow beasts, spirits bound to ancient trees. But I don’t fear them tonight. Something worse consumes me—the gnawing certainty that Theron is hurt, and I’m too late.

A twig snaps somewhere to my right, and I freeze, ears swiveling toward the sound.

I sniff the air, not picking up new scents.

Nothing emerges from the shadows. After a tense moment, I continue, moving faster now. The need to see him, to know he’s safe, has become an obsession that drowns out my better judgment.

After an hour of running, I catch the first scent of woodsmoke, roasted meat, and the mingled smells of many wolves living in close proximity. I slow my pace, careful now to stay downwind as I approach the outskirts of the village.

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