Page 6 of The Onyx Covenant

“What are you doing out here?” His tone is sharp, but then his eyes narrow, and he steps closer. His gaze drops to my blood-smeared clothes, the scrapes on my hands, the way my breath keeps hitching.

“Shit… are you hurt? What happened?”

I shake my head, but my throat’s too tight to answer.

“I’ll get you home,” he says quickly. He shrugs off his cloak and drapes it over my shoulders before guiding me forward. His pace is steady but firm, as though he knows I might collapse if he lets go.

“You know your father’s gonna have questions,” he mutters, half to himself. “Questions and a hell of a temper.”

I barely hear him. My head hangs low, tears still falling silently as I stumble beside him. Each step feels heavier, the weight of everything pressing down until I’m not sure I’ll be able to breathe when I walk.

Kian doesn’t say anything else. He just keeps his hand on my arm, steady and sure, walking me home through the dark.

I stay silent, knowing no wolves in my pack will ever understand what I’ve done or why.

When I finally reach my room, I bar the door and collapse onto my bed. The pain in my shoulder has dulled to a persistent throb, already beginning to heal with my wolf metabolism. The wounds in my heart will take longer—perhaps a lifetime.

But I make a promise to myself. No more tears. No more dreams of a future that can never exist.

The next time I see Theron Shadowmane, it won’t be as a lover.

It will be as an enemy.

And I will make him regret the day he ever spoke my name.

ChapterOne

THERON

One Year Later

Blood splatters across my face as I slam my opponent into the dirt. The metallic scent mingles with his fear, sour and acrid, as I press my forearm against his throat. He’s an Elios wolf, smaller than me, but he puts up a damn good fight, and his eyes widen as I increase the pressure. The roar of the crowd pulses around us, but I focus only on the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath my grip.

“Yield,” I growl, low enough that only he can hear me.

He bares his teeth, a futile display of defiance, before survival instinct kicks in. His neck goes limp beneath my arm.

“I yield,” he chokes out.

I release him immediately, stepping back as he gasps for air. The crowd of Umbra wolves behind me erupts in savage cheers, their howls piercing the night sky. I don’t acknowledge them. This display—this ritual combat—means nothing. It’s merely the prelude to the real battle that awaits.

Wolves from both packs clash nearby, each displaying their skills in a fierce bid to be chosen as the final champions for the ritual that takes place once every ten years. The Harvest Ritual.

A primal scream rips through the clearing, silencing the cheers. I whip around, muscles tensing as I spot the source—Drakon, an Umbra wolf known for his volatile temper. His body twists as he surrenders to the shift. Bones crack audibly as his human form gives way to the beast within.

“Shit,” I mutter, already moving toward him. He’s losing control.

The spectators scramble backward, creating a wide circle around Drakon as his transformation completes. He stands nearly four feet tall at the shoulder, his midnight fur bristling along his spine. Foam drips from large jaws filled with teeth designed to rend flesh from bone.

Drakon lunges, jaws clamping onto an Elios wolf’s shoulder. Blood sprays as the man screams, the sound more animal than human.

I don’t think. I move.

The ground disappears beneath my feet as I launch myself at Drakon. My shoulder crashes into his ribs, dislodging him from his victim. We tumble across the dirt, a tangle of limbs and fury. His claws rake across my chest, tearing through my already bloodstained shirt and leaving fire in their wake.

“Theron!” Kieran, my closest friend, shouts from somewhere beyond the fray. “Don’t kill him!”

As if I need the reminder. Killing during the selection ceremony is grounds for immediate disqualification. But so is losing control of your wolf form, which Drakon has already done. There’s no salvaging his chances.

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