Page 7 of The Onyx Covenant

I manage to get my arm around Drakon’s throat, locking my elbow as I apply pressure to his carotid. His massive body thrashes beneath me, pure instinct fighting for survival. The scent of his fear—sharper now, more primal—fills my nostrils as I tighten my grip.

“Sleep,” I command through gritted teeth, ignoring the burning in my chest where his claws found purchase. “Sleep, you fool.”

His movements grow weaker, more erratic. After what feels like an eternity, he goes limp beneath me. I hold for another few seconds to ensure he’s truly unconscious before releasing him.

The beast melts away, leaving only the man behind—naked and vulnerable on the blood-soaked ground. Covenant guards rush forward, dragging his unconscious form away. He’s eliminated from the competition, his weakness exposed for all to see.

I rise to my feet, stretching my back. The claw marks across my chest sting, but they’re shallow. They’ll heal soon enough. My muscles ache from the exertion, but the pain feels good—a reminder that I’m alive.

Kieran reaches me first, his eyes wide as he takes in the claw marks across my chest. “Show-off,” he says, the tension in his face belying his casual tone. “Always have to be the hero, don’t you?”

I snort, wincing as the movement pulls at my wounds. “Someone had to step in.”

“There are a dozen covenant guards who could have handled it.” Kieran glances at the crowd, which has resumed its previous activity as though nothing happened. Another pair of male contestants circle each other in combat nearby. “But no, the great Theron Shadowmane had to prove his dominance.”

“It wasn’t about dominance,” I argue, though part of me wonders if that’s true. “It was about protection.”

Kieran’s gaze softens slightly. “I know. That’s what worries me about you.” He looks past me, his expression shifting. “Your father’s coming. Try to look suitably brutal.”

I turn, squaring my shoulders despite the pain. Father strides toward us, his huge frame parting the crowd effortlessly. His black hair, streaked with white and woven with bone beads that click together when he moves, frames a face carved from granite.

“You intervened,” he says without preamble, his voice deep and resonant.

I incline my head. “Drakon lost control. He would have killed the Elios.”

“And that would have been regrettable,” Father says, though his tone suggests he finds nothing terrible about dead Elios wolves. And my thoughts spiral for a split second to Lyra, but I shake that away just as fast. “Still, you showed initiative. Strength.” His gaze drops to the claw marks on my chest. “And a certain disregard for your own safety.”

“The wounds are superficial.”

Father’s lips curve in what might pass for a smile on another man. On him, it looks like a predator baring its teeth. “Good, he’s out. The weak have no place in the Harvest Ritual.” He clasps my shoulder, his grip crushing. “Continue to make your pack proud.”

He strides away, moving to speak with others.

“He’s in a good mood,” Kieran observes dryly, rubbing at a bruise forming on his jaw. “Must be all the violence in the air. Gets his blood pumping.”

I grunt in response, watching as Father speaks with Tarek Nightsinger, a leader of the Onyx Covenant and a puppet to my father’s ambitions. Melian, the second who rules alongside Tarek, remains inside the building. By law, only males are permitted to attend the selection.

Both of them are the ruling covenant over the packs, ensuring we don’t murder each other, though considering the pair are wolves from our pack, they tend to take favor with my father on small matters.

But no Alpha dares challenge the Onyx Covenant outright—not unless they crave annihilation. The stone they’re named after isn’t just symbolic; it’s a vessel of ancient fae magic, a force that once bled through this land when both moons aligned. If anyone, including an Alpha, dares to break the law by slaughtering their rivals and seizing their territory, the stone awakens.

And when it does, it releases the Onyx Warriors.

Twisted figures clad in shadow and iron, they rise from the onyx building itself, forged from the magic that once seeped into these lands. Bound to no pack and loyal only to vengeance, they hunt without rest, carving through entire bloodlines until balance is restored. Some say they are the spirits of fallen Alphas who once defied the Covenant—warriors trapped in endless torment, driven by a thirst that can never be quenched.

It’s said that those who witness the Onyx Warriors never forget the screams that follow.

“You know,” Kieran continues, pulling me out of my thoughts, “we could both just run. Find a nice, quiet corner of the world where Alpha politics don’t exist.”

“And miss all this fun?” I gesture to the fighting, the egos, the cheering for more brutality around us. “Besides, you know as well as I do there’s nowhere we could hide that he wouldn’t find us.”

Kieran sighs dramatically. “True. Your father’s not exactly the forgiving type.” He tears a strip from his already shredded shirt, offering it to me. “Here, at least try to look less like you just fought a rabid wolf.”

I take the cloth, wiping away the worst of the blood from my face and chest. Around us, the selection battles continue. These aren’t fights to the death. They’re demonstrations of skill and power meant to intimidate opponents and impress the Onyx Covenant officials who will select the champions. Every unmated male in both packs has the right to participate, though most know better than to challenge wolves like me or Kieran.

“How many do you think will make it to the final selection?” I ask, watching as two Elios wolves grapple nearby.

“Fuck knows.” Kieran shrugs, his lean muscles shifting beneath skin marked with battle scars from years of training together. “Last Harvest Ritual, they selected eight from each pack.”

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