Page 92 of The Onyx Covenant

I don’t deny falling asleep. Can’t deny what’s obvious. I shrug.

“Well, shit on my grandfather’s grave,” Kieran says with a low whistle, watching as another section of wall unravels and reknits itself farther down the path. “Gotta hand it to the Onyx Covenant—they really know how to throw a party. Nothing sayssacred rituallike a maze that decides to redecorate while you’re sleeping.” He runs a hand through his matted hair, grimacing when his fingers catch on dried blood.

“Some say this maze and its life force have been here way before the Onyx Covenant was established, and now they simply bow to its power.”

“That’s not terrifying at all. So what’s the plan?”

I crouch beside Lyra. “Lyra,” I say, gently shaking her shoulder. “Wake up. We need to move.”

She doesn’t respond, her body limp beneath my touch.

“Lyra?” I shake her harder, alarm building in my chest. “Lyra!”

Nothing. Not even a flicker of her eyelids.

“Fuck, she’s not waking up,” I growl, pressing my fingers to her throat. Her pulse beats strong and steady, and her breathing is normal. She looks like she’s in a deep, peaceful sleep—too peaceful for our circumstances.

“What’s wrong with her?” Kieran asks, crouching on her other side.

“I don’t know.” I check her body for new wounds or new signs of poison but find nothing. “She was fine when we fell asleep.”

“Uh, Theron?” Kieran’s voice has an odd note to it.

“What?”

“Her fist is fucking glowing like a moonlit beacon.”

I look down at her other side, and he’s right… Lyra’s right hand is clenched into a tight fist. Sure enough, faint light pulses between her fingers, leaking out in thin rays.

“The key,” I growl, remembering the Bloodstone Key she’d found in the heart of the maze. “Looks like she’s holding it.”

The delicate silver lines of her moon priestess markings on her brow begin to illuminate, pulsing in perfect synchronization with the light in her fist. The spiral birthmark on her wrist glows brightest of all, its light so intense I can see it through the thin fabric of her sleeve.

“What the actual fuck is happening to her?” Kieran hisses, backing away slightly. “Is this normal Elios priestess bullshit, or should we be running for our lives right now? Because I vote for running.”

I remain at Lyra’s side, torn between fascination and terror. The silver light spreads, following the network of barely visible priestess markings that cover her body—lines I’ve traced with my fingers and lips in darkness now revealed in brilliant luminescence. They form a complex pattern across her skin—not random decorative markings, as I’d always assumed, but a map. A fucking map.

“It’s old magic,” I say, recognizing the signs from ancient texts in my mother’s hidden journals. “Veiled moon magic. The strongest fucking kind.”

“Great,” Kieran drawls, edging closer despite his obvious unease. “Because what this nightmare needed was ancient magic. Is it hurting her? Because if she dies, I’m blaming you, and I’m not explaining it to her terrifying friend with the knives.”

“I don’t think so.” I shake my head, though I’m far from certain.

Lyra’s body suddenly rises several inches off the ground, suspended by nothing but the silver light pulsing through her. Her hair floats around her face as if underwater, her clothing rippling with unseen energy.

“Fucking shit,” Kieran breathes, taking another step back. “This is some ancestral spirit nonsense right here. Next thing you know, she’ll be channeling every dead Alpha since the First Pack.”

The walls of the maze react to her transformation, their movement accelerating. Branches twist and unravel faster, thorns retracting and extending, new passages forming and old ones disappearing in the span of heartbeats.

“It’s responding to her,” I realize aloud. “The maze… it’s changing for her.”

“Or because of her,” Kieran counters, his usual sarcasm replaced by genuine awe. “Either way, this is seriously scary, even for this ritual.”

Lyra’s suspended body begins to rotate slowly, her head tipping back as if she’s listening to something beyond our perception. The light from her markings intensifies until it’s almost painful to look at her directly.

“We need to do something,” I say, reaching toward her, then hesitating. What if touching her makes it worse? What if this is part of the ritual—a test we weren’t told about?

“Like what? In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve got a floating, glowing girl and a maze that’s rearranging itself by the second. I don’t think the Onyx Covenant manual covered this scenario.”

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