The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond
Chapter 120: Sterling’s Capture

Chapter 120: Sterling’s Capture

"Damn it," he whispered, fingers tightening around the hilt of his dagger. He was lean, built like a blade, muscle stitched tight over bone, always taut with readiness. His dark, curly hair stuck to his brow, damp from the fog, and his black coat flared with every step like the wings of a waiting shadow.

He’d ventured out alone against Magnolia’s command. She’d begged him not to go, whispered it, pleaded even, but his loyalty to Camille ran deeper than most understood. She was more than prophecy. She was his childhood, his guilt, his penance. And perhaps, his failure.

He pressed forward along a narrow ravine, boots crunching over scattered stone. The Callahan territory was vast, bordered by ruins of forgotten empires and magic older than blood. Somewhere beyond this ridge, Camille was out there. And Sterling would find her, he had to.

He crested a slope, scanned the basin below,

Then stopped cold.

The wind shifted. Not east. Not west. It came from behind.

A twig snapped.

His hand darted for his blade, but it was too late.

A blur of movement. A hiss of steel. Something struck the back of his neck, a jolt of pain cracked down his spine, and the world spun.

Sterling hit the ground hard, the air punched from his lungs. He rolled, instinctive, bringing his blade up just in time to deflect a second strike. Sparks flew. Another figure surged from the mist. Then another.

They were fast, too fast. Camouflaged. Coordinated.

"Ambush," he gasped.

Gabriel’s hunters.

A gloved hand slammed down on his throat. Another yanked his arm behind him. His shoulder burned from the twist, and his vision swam as blood trickled into his eyes.

Still, he fought.

He flipped one attacker off with a snarl, slashed across another’s thigh, ducked, rolled, kicked,

But they kept coming.

One of them moved like smoke. Thin, agile, lips curled into a cruel smile as he whispered, "The Elder wants you alive."

Sterling spat in his face. "He’ll choke on me."

The hunter’s fist met his jaw with a sickening crack.

He fell.

The sky tilted above him, pale and uncaring. His dagger was wrenched from his grip and tossed into the underbrush. Ropes bit into his wrists and ankles. He struggled, thrashed, but the world darkened at the edges as something sharp pierced his neck.

A sedative.

Voices faded.

Faces blurred.

The last thing he saw before darkness took him was the crest on their uniforms, Gabriel’s symbol burned into black leather: a wolf devouring its own tail.

And then, nothing.

When he woke, everything ached.

Sterling’s throat was dry. His arms were numb. His body felt like it had been dragged behind a truck and stitched back together by ghosts.

He blinked, tried to sit, but chains rattled at his wrists, heavy and cold. He was in a room. No, not a room. A cell. Underground.

The walls were stone, old and damp. The ceiling arched like a crypt. A single torch flickered on the wall, casting shadows that moved like silent watchers. The scent of mold, blood, and iron coiled through the air like smoke.

He tugged at the chains. No give.

"You’re awake," said a voice from the corner.

Sterling turned sharply.

Gabriel emerged from the shadows.

Tall. Regal. Older than he appeared. His salt-and-pepper hair was combed back with military precision, and his sharp cheekbones cast long hollows across his angular face. His eyes were winter gray, cold, assessing, patient. The kind of patience that starved cities before storming them.

He wore no armor, only a fitted coat of forest green with a black wolf clasp at the collar. He didn’t need armor. Power dripped from him like venom.

"You should’ve stayed within your borders," Gabriel said, walking closer, hands behind his back. "But then, the Callahan pack always did raise fools."

Sterling said nothing. He met Gabriel’s gaze with quiet hatred, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack.

Gabriel smiled. "I see your Alpha hasn’t broken your spirit yet. Good. I want you conscious."

He circled the cell once, slow and deliberate.

"I won’t lie to you, Sterling. I’ve admired your loyalty. It’s rare. Obsolete, even. But I need information."

Sterling chuckled bitterly, voice hoarse. "You’ll get nothing."

"I’ll get what I want. Eventually."

"You think torture works on everyone?"

"No," Gabriel said calmly, stopping in front of him. "But I think regret does."

He nodded once.

The door behind him opened. Another man stepped in, shorter, broader, face masked.

Sterling tensed.

The masked man opened a leather case and pulled out tools. Surgical. Clean.

Gabriel watched Sterling with that same detached curiosity, as if studying a painting.

"Tell me," he said, "where Camille went. What she plans. What Rhett hides."

Sterling’s lip curled. "Go to hell."

The masked man stepped forward.

Sterling’s scream echoed against the stone.

He didn’t know how long it lasted.

Hours. Days. Time bled together in that cell.

They broke his fingers, one by one. They dislocated his shoulder. They whispered things, lies, truths, both at once, into his ear until even his own thoughts tasted foreign.

But still he refused.

They offered him water laced with betrayal, promises carved in venom. Freedom for a name. Mercy for a secret. Peace for blood.

He gave them silence.

Until Gabriel returned alone.

The Elder Alpha didn’t speak. He only stood there, watching him, studying the defiance that hadn’t yet rotted away. Then, finally, he said, "You know, your Alpha is dying."

Sterling’s swollen eyes narrowed. "You’re lying."

"He’s poisoned. Weak. Your pack fractures by the hour. And yet, you sit here, bleeding for a leader who couldn’t even keep Camille from fleeing."

Sterling flinched.

Gabriel saw it. Pounced.

"You think this war is about prophecy? Fate? No. It’s about survival. About dominance. Rhett is an idealist. He thinks loyalty is enough to hold power. But you know better, don’t you?"

Sterling stayed quiet.

"Tell me where Camille is," Gabriel pressed, voice soft. "And I’ll spare Rhett. I’ll even let your pack live. You have my word."

"Your word," Sterling rasped, "is ash."

Gabriel’s expression didn’t change. "So be it."

He turned to leave.

Sterling, through the haze of pain, forced a smile. "You’ll never find her."

Gabriel paused at the door. "I already have."

Then he walked out, and the cell door slammed shut.

Sterling leaned back against the wall, breath shallow, blood dripping from his fingertips. The torchlight flickered across his bruised face, and somewhere above, the sound of boots echoed like thunder through a distant corridor.

He closed his eyes.

And whispered her name.

"Camille..."

The darkness answered.

And he didn’t know if it was her.

Or something else entirely.

"Sterling Hale. The Beta of Ashmark. The ever-loyal second."

Sterling said nothing.

Gabriel stepped into the light, impeccably dressed in tailored black. He didn’t look like a warrior. He looked like a CEO. An emperor. His hair was slicked back, silver and raven. His frame was lean, cut from stone and power, and his eyes gleamed with cold intelligence. But more than anything, it was his stillness that unsettled. Gabriel didn’t posture like other Alphas. He didn’t need to. Authority wrapped around him like armor.

"You fought well," Gabriel said, tilting his head as he studied the battered man before him. "Even as the net closed, you didn’t run. You knew you wouldn’t win. And still, you chose death over retreat. That’s rare these days."

"I didn’t lose," Sterling rasped, spitting blood onto the floor at Gabriel’s feet. "You just had more rats."

Gabriel chuckled, not offended. "You confuse tactics for cowardice. I believe in precision. You believe in brute force. But let’s not waste this moment with insults. I’m here for clarity."

He took a seat in a low chair, crossing one leg over the other, and signaled. A servant, faceless, quiet, probably a shifter with their tongue removed, placed a basin of steaming water and a cloth on a nearby table.

Gabriel glanced at it. "This can be warm or boiling. Your choice."

Sterling narrowed his good eye. "You planning to clean me up or drown me?"

"Neither," Gabriel replied smoothly. "I’m offering you a seat at a new table. One where you don’t have to bleed for a broken king."

Sterling laughed, raw, bitter. "Is that what this is? The famous bargain? Spare my life, if I stab my Alpha in the back?"

Gabriel stood again, approaching slowly. "You and I both know Rhett is failing. You’ve seen it. He stumbles more. Speaks less. That sickness growing inside him, the one he hides behind strength... it’s eating him alive. You think he’ll lead you to victory?"

Sterling gritted his teeth. "He’s still stronger than you’ll ever be."

Gabriel didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned in, voice low. "Strong? He’s dying. Slowly. Quietly. You think no one notices, but wolves are watching. Your council is fracturing. And while your king collapses, you defend his ruin with bruised fists and blind loyalty."

Sterling tugged against the chains. They didn’t give. His arms ached. His head swam. But his voice didn’t shake. "Better a ruined king than a coward who hides behind others’ blades."

Gabriel’s smile faded. "Let’s speak plainly then."

He gestured to the servant. "Bring the map."

A moment later, a roll of parchment was laid out on a table between them. Gabriel unfurled it, revealing the territories, Ashmark, Wyrmgate, the Deadridge Valley, and beyond. Small red stones marked the areas under Gabriel’s control. They were spreading like bloodstains across the parchment. Ashmark’s lands were nearly surrounded.

"This is your war," Gabriel said quietly. "You’re losing. And it’s not because your warriors aren’t brave, it’s because your Alpha is choking on prophecy and weakness. But here’s the alternative..."

He moved a single red stone toward the Ashmark border.

"You," he said. "At my side. Not as a prisoner. Not even as a soldier. But as commander of my elite guard. You’ve proven yourself in combat. You know the territory. You’d keep your wolves alive. You could even negotiate mercy for your people."

Sterling stared at the map.

Then he raised his gaze, voice hoarse but steady. "You want me to sell Rhett out."

Gabriel didn’t deny it. "I want you to see the future. Not the fantasy you’ve been fed since you were a pup, but the truth. Your loyalty will lead you to an early grave. Your Alpha won’t make it through the winter. Camille has disappeared. The council is broken. You know this."

Sterling’s breathing slowed. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the silence stretch long. Then he opened them.

"I swore an oath," he said. "To Rhett. To Magnolia. To the future we built. I won’t betray them for you."

Gabriel studied him.

"You think that oath will keep you alive?"

"I don’t care."

Gabriel nodded slowly. "Then you’ll bleed for it."

He turned to leave, but paused at the door.

"One last thing," he said, not facing Sterling. "I won’t kill you. Not yet. I need you to witness what happens when loyalty is misplaced. So I’ll keep you alive. Just long enough to see them fall."

Then he was gone.

Sterling sagged against the chains, his muscles trembling from the effort of holding on. His vision blurred. The brazier hissed as another log cracked. Somewhere in the silence, a rat scurried across the floor.

But Sterling’s gaze didn’t falter.

He whispered to no one, to the shadows, to the gods:

"They’ll come for me. You don’t know what you’ve started."