The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond
Chapter 112: The Curse That Binds

Chapter 112: The Curse That Binds

"The longer she sleeps," Celeste said, "the deeper it takes root."

Magnolia’s chest tightened. "What is it? Truly?"

Celeste sighed, lowering herself into the chair beside the bed. Her fingers traced one of the faint scorch marks that still marred the edge of the sheets.

"Power," she said softly. "But not the kind this world was meant to hold. The Ash Line was never supposed to return. That bloodline was cursed for a reason."

Magnolia finally turned toward her. "Because they were too strong?"

"No." Celeste’s voice dropped. "Because they were too hungry."

Magnolia frowned. "Hungry for what?"

"For more. Always more."

She gestured vaguely toward Camille. "Power like this, it’s seductive. It whispers promises, feeds on fear. It offers control to the ones who feel powerless. That’s the curse. The blood doesn’t just give; it demands."

Magnolia’s stomach churned. "Then how do we stop it?"

Celeste’s expression darkened. "You don’t. You can only control it. Contain it."

"She’s barely sixteen," Magnolia whispered. "She’s a child. How is she supposed to control something even Alphas fear?"

Celeste met her eyes. "With help. But it has to be now. Before it’s too late."

Magnolia swallowed hard. "What do we do?"

Before Celeste could answer, a low groan escaped Camille’s lips.

They both turned instantly.

Camille’s eyes fluttered open. Her breathing hitched, lips dry and trembling.

"Camille?" Magnolia whispered, leaning in. "I’m here. You’re safe."

Her sister’s gaze darted around the room, panicked and wild. "I, I can’t stop it, Maggie."

"You’re not alone. We’ll fix this."

Tears welled in Camille’s eyes. "They keep calling. Whispering. I hear them in my sleep. Even when I’m awake."

Celeste leaned forward, voice steady. "You must fight them, child. Push them back. This thing inside you, it wants you to surrender. To give it control."

"I’m so tired," Camille sobbed. "It feels good when I listen. It’s warm. Safe. Like... like being held."

Magnolia’s throat tightened. "That’s the curse. It lies to you."

Camille’s fingers dug into the sheets. "I feel strong when I let go. Stronger than I’ve ever been."

Celeste’s tone sharpened. "That’s how it binds you."

A knock at the door interrupted them.

Magnolia stood and opened it slightly.

Rhett stood outside, tense, his face lined with worry. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, veins tight along his forearms. He looked like he hadn’t slept either.

"I need a word," he said quietly.

Magnolia hesitated, glancing back at Camille.

Celeste gave her a nod. "Go. I’ll stay."

Magnolia stepped out into the hallway, closing the door gently behind her.

They walked in silence until they reached the library, a cavernous room lined with ancient tomes, thick curtains drawn against the morning light. The faint smell of old parchment clung to the air.

Rhett closed the door behind them.

"She’s getting worse," Magnolia said immediately.

"I know." His voice was tight.

"You said you’d find a way."

"I’m trying." His jaw clenched. "But every option leads to the same risk."

Magnolia crossed her arms, her voice rising. "Then take the risk! Do something!"

"You think I don’t want to?" His voice snapped, sharp with frustration. "You think this isn’t tearing me apart? That girl is my blood, Magnolia."

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "But if we act too soon, too recklessly, we could push her over completely. Once that happens... there’s no bringing her back."

Magnolia’s shoulders sagged. "And if we wait, we lose her anyway."

Their eyes met, a shared helplessness hanging between them like a blade.

Rhett stepped closer, voice dropping. "I made a promise to you. I won’t break it."

Magnolia’s heart ached at the tenderness that slipped through his normally guarded exterior. She hadn’t expected it to be him she leaned on, not when their marriage began as a contract, cold and calculated. Yet here they stood, both breaking, both desperate.

His hand brushed hers, gentle, deliberate.

"Magnolia," he whispered, "I won’t let him have her."

The air between them thickened, electric. Her pulse quickened under his touch. She searched his face, finding no calculation there. Only raw, human fear wrapped in unspoken longing.

For the first time since this storm began, she allowed herself to close the distance. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, and his breath caught.

The kiss was slow. Careful.

And real.

His lips were warm against hers, carrying none of the cold distance that had once defined them. She felt his restraint shaking beneath the surface, his hunger carefully leashed as though afraid to break the fragile thing blooming between them.

When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers, his voice low and hoarse. "I’m sorry. I should’ve done that a long time ago."

Tears burned behind her eyes. "We don’t have time to regret the past, Rhett. We need to save her."

He pulled back slightly, voice hardening again. "Then we start now."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black vial.

Magnolia’s eyes narrowed. "What is that?"

"A binding suppressant. Old magic. Dangerous. If it works, it may sever the connection temporarily. Give us time to find something permanent."

"And if it doesn’t?"

Rhett’s mouth thinned. "Then it accelerates the transformation."

Magnolia’s pulse pounded. "You said we couldn’t risk rushing her!"

"We’re out of time."

Her mind reeled. The choice was impossible.

But as she stared into his eyes, full of fierce devotion, she realized they had already crossed the point of safety. The darkness was rising, whether they acted or not.

She swallowed hard. "Let’s do it."

Rhett nodded once, grim.

The silence pressed against him, thick as the weight on his chest.

He shouldn’t be here.

But he couldn’t stay away. Not after what he had seen. Not after what Camille had become.

The journal was exactly where Celeste had said it would be.

On the highest shelf, wedged between two crumbling tomes, bound in black leather that gleamed faintly under the lantern’s light. The crest of the first Alpha Kings stamped into the cover: two wolves circling a flame.

He pulled it down carefully, brushing away decades of dust. The spine creaked as he opened it.

The handwriting inside was delicate, elegant, and laced with madness.

The Ash Blood will rise again. And when it does, no kingdom will stand unbroken.

Beckett’s pulse quickened. He turned the pages, scanning feverishly.

The vessels are chosen by blood, not by will. The flame inside them is not a gift, but a hunger. It will devour. It will consume. Only when the vessels unite, only when the bond is sealed, can the curse be broken. But the price will be great.

He read the sentence again.

The bond must be sealed.

He flipped further.

Two lines. Two heirs. When their blood merges, the Ash Child will be stillborn, extinguished before awakening fully. Only then will the balance return.

Beckett’s mouth went dry.

Two heirs. Camille. Rhett.

His stomach turned.

This wasn’t a prophecy of power, it was a trap. A blood curse designed to destroy them from within. The entire foundation of the pact was built on a lie.

He slammed the book shut, gripping it tightly as though it might vanish if he loosened his hold. His mind raced.

He needed Celeste. Now.

The healer’s chambers were tucked beneath the west gardens, nestled among ancient yews twisted like skeletal fingers. Beckett reached the door at a full sprint, barely knocking before shoving it open.

Celeste looked up from her table, where crushed herbs steamed in a shallow bowl. Her expression was calm, but her eyes immediately narrowed as she saw the journal in his hand.

"You found it," she said softly.

Beckett tossed the book onto the table. "You knew."

Celeste let out a tired sigh. "I suspected."

Beckett’s voice trembled. "Why didn’t you tell him? Tell Rhett? Magnolia? Camille?"

"Because truths this old aren’t easily carried," she whispered.

He pointed at the book, voice sharp. "This isn’t just old truth. This changes everything. Camille’s not meant to harness this power. She’s meant to destroy it, by uniting with Rhett."

Celeste’s eyes flashed with a haunted light. "And what would you have me say? That the only way to stop the war is to force the two of them into a blood union they never chose?"

Beckett’s jaw clenched. "It’s better than watching her burn from the inside."

Celeste shook her head. "You do not understand the cost."

"Then make me understand."

She leaned forward, voice low. "If Camille and Rhett merge bloodlines fully, yes, the Ash Child will be extinguished. The curse will die unborn. But what remains may not be human. The bond could consume them both. It will forge something neither fully wolf, nor fully alive."

Beckett’s breath caught. "You mean they would die?"

"Or become something far worse."

The room thickened with silence.

Beckett collapsed into the chair opposite her, running both hands through his hair.

"All this time, we thought the prophecy was power."

"It is power," Celeste whispered. "But power never comes without price. The Elder Alpha knows this. That’s why he wants her under his control. If the union happens by his hand, he can guide what comes after."

Beckett shook his head. "Rhett won’t allow it."

"He may not have a choice," Celeste said gravely. "The longer we wait, the stronger the flame grows inside Camille. Soon, she’ll be unable to resist its pull."

Beckett’s chest tightened. "So we do nothing? Just watch her fall?"

Celeste’s eyes softened. "We wait for them to choose each other. Willingly."

"And if they don’t?"

Her silence was answer enough.

Beckett stood abruptly, pacing. The walls of the chamber felt too small, the air too thin.

Finally, he faced her again. "You have to tell Rhett."

"I will." Celeste’s voice was heavy with sorrow. "But not yet. If he moves too soon, his father will strike. And once the Elder makes his play, there will be no turning back."

Beckett exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the table.

Outside, the wind howled through the yews like distant wolves calling to one another.

The storm was gathering.

And they were running out of time.