Page 5 of The Onyx Covenant

“Don’t.” I jerk away from his touch as if it burns, my back hitting a tree. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t be with her.”

“It’s complicated, Lyra. My father?—”

“I don’t care!” Angry tears pass my lips in a near scream. “I don’t care about your father or your pack politics or whatever excuses you’ve crafted. You made a choice, Theron… and it wasn’t me.”

I’m trembling now, my entire body shaking with the force of my emotions. My chest feels like it’s caving in, tight and suffocating, as if my ribs might crack beneath the pressure. My breath comes in shallow gasps, each one sharp and ragged as though I’m fighting to keep myself from falling apart completely.

It’s not all right. None of this is all right.

A hot tear slips down my cheek, and I swipe it away roughly as if denying it will somehow keep the rest from falling. My throat tightens, a painful knot forming as I try to choke back the sob threatening to break free. My breath stutters, a sharp, shaky inhale that catches in my chest.

I sniff hard, forcing it down.Don’t cry. Not now. Not in front of him.

But the tears keep coming, blurring my vision until I can barely make out his face. My fingers curl into fists, nails biting into my palms, but it does nothing to stop the ache clawing inside me—this unbearable hollow feeling that won’t leave. My heart twists, hammering so hard it feels like it might tear itself apart.

I can’t take this.

“I wish I’d never crossed paths with you,” I whisper, voice breaking on a sob I can’t swallow down this time. “Never believed a single word you said.”

The words barely scratch the surface of the storm inside me. Because the truth is, I had believed him—every promise, every look, every touch—and now those memories feel like knives carving through me.

Another sob slips out, and I press my hand to my mouth, trying to smother the sound. My shoulders shake, and I wrap my arms around myself as if holding my own pieces together might stop me from shattering completely.

“Lyra, please.” Theron’s face contorts with anguish, his eyes glistening in the moonlight. “Let me explain. There are things happening that you don’t understand. She means nothing. It’s only an agreement I have no say in.”

“I understand enough.” I push away from the tree, swaying as dizziness washes over me. “This is over. Whatever was between us… it’s done. We never should have thought we could be anything.”

He moves toward me again as I stumble.

“You’re hurt. Let me help you.”

“Don’t touch me!” I snap and take a shuddering breath, trying to steady myself. “Just… don’t. There was nothing real between us, was there? It was all just pretty lies that meant nothing in the light of day.”

“That’s not true,” he insists. “What we had—what we have—it’s the only real thing in my life.”

For a moment, just a heartbeat, I almost believe him. The pain on his face mirrors my own, his hands trembling at his sides as if he’s physically restraining himself from reaching for me again.

Then I remember the woman in red, her hand on his arm, her lips against his cheek. I remember his father’s approving smile. I remember the years of stories about Umbra wolves and their cruelty, their manipulation, their lies.

“Go back to your mate,” I say, the words like ashes in my mouth. “Return to your father and your pack and your perfect Umbra life. Forget about the Elios wolf who was foolish enough to love you.”

I turn away, unable to look at him any longer. Each step toward the river feels like walking through quicksand.

“Lyra,” he calls after me, desperation edging his tone. “This isn’t over. I’ll find a way?—”

“Itisover,” I interrupt, not turning back.

I move across the river over the stones. Behind me, there’s nothing but silence. When I reach the middle of the current and finally look back, the bank is empty. Theron is gone, melted back into the shadows of Tenebris like he was never there at all.

Something inside me calcifies then, my heart turning from broken glass to stone. A sob tears in my chest. Another follows, and another, until I can barely stay upright against the current and the crushing weight of my grief.

Somehow, I make it across. Somehow, I drag myself back through the forest to my village. My legs ache, my body is sluggish and cold, but I keep moving—one foot in front of the other—barely aware of the tears still streaking down my face. The wind stings my damp cheeks, but I don’t bother wiping the tears away. I just need to get home.

The village’s outer torches flicker through the trees, and relief rushes through me, but before I can step into the clearing, a shadow moves.

“Lyra?”

The voice is familiar—one of my father’s guards, Kian. He steps out from behind a tree, his hand already resting on the hilt of his blade. His face hardens when he sees me stumbling forward.

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