Page 38 of The Onyx Covenant

“I am focused,” I state. “Just not on what you think.”

She makes a sound, half frustration, half something else entirely. “You’re impossible.”

“Yet you’re bound to me anyway.”

“Not by choice,” she reminds me.

“Are you sure about that?” I can’t resist pushing. “You could have refused the pairing.”

She doesn’t answer immediately. When she does, her voice is quiet. “So could you.”

The ground becomes uneven, sloping upward. I sense Lyra tense beside me as small rocks shift beneath our feet.

“Careful,” she murmurs, her grip tightening. “Ground’s unstable here.”

Suddenly, Lyra stops.

“Wait. Do you hear that?”

I go still, focusing beyond the forest sounds. There—a low growl, coming from our left.

“Something’s watching us,” I whisper.

The growl intensifies, and I catch its scent on the breeze—predator, territorial, agitated.

“Mountain lion,” Lyra breathes, her pulse quickening. I can practically taste her fear in the air.

“Don’t move,” I say, positioning myself slightly in front of her.

The growl comes closer from our right. Without thinking, I drop into a crouch, pulling Lyra down with me. My own growl rises from deep in my chest, louder and more terrifying than any natural predator. I feel the change ripple through me—not a full shift, but enough that my senses sharpen to painful clarity, my canines lengthening in my mouth. My growl becomes a roar that echoes through the trees, primal and possessive.

Silence follows, then the sound of retreating paws.

“That was…”

“Necessary,” I finish for her, straightening. My partial shift recedes, leaving me slightly breathless.

“I was going to say terrifying,” she admits, and I can smell the adrenaline coursing through her. “Sometimes I forget how scary you can be in your wolf form. Anyway, we should keep moving.”

We press on, the forest growing denser, both of us going slower, bumping into trees. Suddenly, something whips across my face—a low-hanging branch. I duck too late, feeling it scrape across my forehead.

“Damn it,” I mutter.

“What?” Lyra asks, concern breaking through her controlled tone.

“Branch. Watch your?—”

She makes a small sound of pain as the branch must have caught her, too. She stumbles into me. I catch her instinctively, my arm wrapping around her middle as she collides with my chest. My back hits a tree, bracing us both.

For a moment, we’re frozen, her body pressed against mine, our faces inches apart. Her breath dances on my lips. She’s softer than I remember, yet stronger, too—the curve of her waist, the firmness of muscle beneath, the cushion of her breasts against my chest.

“Your heart is racing,” I whisper, unable to resist. I inhale deeply, drawing in her scent. “Gods, I’ve missed how you smell. Like midnight and magic and everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Her pulse jumps. “Let go of me,” she says but makes no move to pull away.

“Why?” I ask, my lips almost brushing her ear. “You’re fighting so hard to resist me. Why bother when we both know how this ends?”

“I still hate you, if you’ve forgotten,” she whispers.

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