Page 67 of The Onyx Covenant

I encircle my arms around her, pulling her closer, letting myself take comfort in her warmth. For so long, I’ve carried this alone—the suspicion, the rage, the grief. Having her understand, having her believe me without question, feels like putting down a weight I didn’t realize was crushing me.

“That’s why I need to win this,” I murmur into her hair. “For them, for everyone my father has hurt or plans to destroy. I need to end his reign before he ruins both packs.”

She hugs me more, then pulls back, still touching, and she wears the pain, too.

“But I worry that I’m more like him than I want to admit,” I counter. “The rage, the violence, the ability to do whatever it takes—that’s his blood in me.”

“You’re nothing like him,” she says fiercely. “Nothing.”

Her faith in me is staggering, unearned. It reminds me of why I was drawn to her from the beginning—not just her beauty or her fire, but the way she saw me. Really saw me, beyond the Umbra markings and the Shadowmane name, beyond the reputation and the rumors. She saw the man I was trying to be, not the monster my father was grooming.

“When I met you at the border,” I say slowly. “It was the first time in years I felt like myself. Not my father’s son, not the future Alpha, just… me.”

She smiles, a genuine one that lights up her whole face. “I remember thinking you were the most arrogant ass I’d ever met.”

I laugh, caught off guard by her candor. “And yet you kept meeting me.”

“What can I say? I have terrible taste in men.”

“The worst,” I agree, pulling her closer again, savoring the feel of her against me. “We need to win, Lyra. For your pack, for mine. For us.”

She hesitates at first, then says, “For us.”

We finish our meal quickly, aware of time slipping away. Lyra returns to her clothes, dressing fast, and I can’t help but watch. She catches me staring as she pulls her shirt over her head.

“You didn’t get enough last night?” she teases.

“Never,” I reply honestly.

A light blush colors her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away.

“Save it for after we win.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Might be.” She laces up her boots, then gathers her pack. “Ready?”

I put out the flames, kicking dirt on the spot, then shoulder my bag and nod. “Let’s find the others and head up into the mountains.”

We step outside into the full morning light. The river gleams below, reflecting the clear sky. The Darkbone Peaks dominate the horizon. From here, I can make out the dark gap between them—the valley that’s our destination.

“We made better progress than I thought,” Lyra observes, shielding her eyes as she studies the peaks. “The fall and river cut miles off our journey.”

“Small mercies,” I grunt, scanning the terrain ahead. Rocky ground gradually rises toward the mountains, scattered trees thinning as the elevation increases. “We should shift. Cover more ground that way.”

“Agreed.” She turns to me, her expression serious. “Do you really think we can do this? Find proof against your father, change things between our packs?”

The doubt in her voice is reasonable; what we’re attempting seems impossible. Two wolves against generations of hatred, against an Alpha who’s ruled through fear and manipulation for decades.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I know we have to try. I’m tired of living in his shadow, tired of watching people suffer for his ambition.”

“If we fail?—”

“We won’t,” I cut her off, not willing to consider the alternative. “We can’t.”

She studies me for a long moment, then nods once, decision made.

“Then we’d better win this ritual.”

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