The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond
Chapter 121: The Prisoner’s Torment

Chapter 121: The Prisoner’s Torment

"You’re loyal," Gabriel had said during the last session. "But even loyalty has a limit, Sterling."

Sterling’s lip split again when he smiled at the memory. He forced a laugh, but it was just air rattling over swollen vocal cords. He’d stopped screaming hours ago. There was no point. The stone swallowed sound, just as it devoured hope.

He closed his eyes. For a moment, he imagined the scent of pine and wet earth. The Callahan grounds after the rain. The scent of Camille’s hair when she leaned over maps late at night, tracing enemy lines with ink-stained fingers. Magnolia’s steady voice cutting through fear like a knife through silk. Rhett’s laugh, rare, but warm. Gods, how he’d give anything to hear it now.

A click of boots snapped him back.

The door scraped open. Torchlight bled across the floor, revealing the same masked man, Gabriel’s surgeon. He moved like a shadow, face hidden, gloves spotless. He carried the small tray with its neat tools: blade, tongs, the vial of something that burned when it touched the skin.

Sterling lifted his chin, though it trembled. His voice came out cracked, brittle. "Come to dance again?"

The masked man said nothing. He set down the tray on the crude wooden table and began to hum, a low, tuneless hum that crawled under Sterling’s skin more than any blade ever could.

"Go on, then," Sterling growled. "What piece are you taking today? Another finger? My tongue? Be quicker about it this time."

A gloved hand seized his jaw, wrenching it open. The surgeon peered in, as though studying a puzzle, then released him. He reached for the small vial, popped the cork, and let the thick, dark liquid drip onto Sterling’s chest wound.

Fire.

Sterling gasped as it seeped into the open cuts, burning cold then boiling hot, like a thousand wasp stings all fighting to burrow deeper. He bit back the scream, his vision swimming. He would not give them that. He would not give Gabriel the pleasure.

The surgeon stepped back. The humming stopped. Instead, he spoke, just three words, voice raspy and wrong:

"Where. Is. Camille."

Sterling barked a laugh through his clenched teeth. "Where you’ll never find her."

The blade glinted in the torchlight. This time it went deeper. The room filled with the sound of tearing flesh, the metallic scent of fresh blood overpowering the mold and mildew. His body jerked against the chains, wrists tearing wider.

And still he clung to that flicker of stubborn, burning hate.

They wouldn’t have him.

They wouldn’t have her.

Time slipped sideways. Dreams tangled with memories. Between the torture sessions, Sterling drifted in and out of consciousness, sometimes not knowing where he was. He saw Camille, her ash-flecked hair whipping around her face as she whispered, Run. He saw Rhett, pale, sweat-soaked, eyes burning with that old wolf fire that said, Don’t you dare quit on me, Hale. Magnolia’s hands pressing over his, warm and calloused, Hold on.

When he woke again, it was not the surgeon who waited for him.

It was Gabriel.

The Elder Alpha stood alone in the open cell doorway, the torch behind him making a halo of shadows. His coat was immaculate, the crest at his throat glinting gold. His eyes gleamed like glass, reflecting nothing, devouring everything.

"Your resilience is impressive," Gabriel said softly. He stepped closer, boots silent on the stone. "Most men would be dead by now. Or wishing for it."

Sterling’s mouth cracked into a mock grin. "Sorry to disappoint."

Gabriel knelt so they were eye to eye. He smelled like clean steel and expensive leather, no hint of blood touched him, as if he was too pure for filth, too high to stain his own hands.

"You think this is about Camille. But it isn’t," Gabriel murmured. "She’s a piece on the board. A powerful one, yes. But you... you are the linchpin. Rhett’s spine. Magnolia’s conscience. Camille’s brother in arms. Without you, they fracture faster."

Sterling spat blood into Gabriel’s face.

Gabriel did not flinch. He wiped it away with a white cloth and smiled. "Good. Fight. But do you know what I see behind those eyes, Sterling Hale? I see fear. I see doubt."

He stood, turning his back deliberately, a show of power Sterling wanted desperately to break. "They’re not coming for you."

Sterling’s jaw tensed. "They will."

"Magnolia is too busy holding the pack together. Beckett is loyal, but he’s pragmatic, your loss buys him time. And Rhett?" Gabriel’s voice dripped pity. "He’s halfway dead, and you know it."

Sterling’s head dropped. He let his breathing slow. But inside, his mind raced. Gabriel’s words slithered under his skin like parasites, wrapping around his bones.

"They’re fighting for you," Sterling rasped. "Even if they die doing it."

Gabriel turned back, studying him. "You think so? Let me show you something."

He snapped his fingers. A door creaked open again. Two of Gabriel’s wolves dragged another figure in, a boy, no older than sixteen, clothes torn, hair matted with dirt and blood. His eyes were wide, terrified.

Sterling’s stomach lurched. "Who is this?"

"A message," Gabriel said. He knelt beside the boy, gripping his shoulder. "Tell him."

The boy trembled, voice cracking. "They... they said... they’re pulling back to the inner walls. The Council voted. They said the outer ring isn’t worth saving."

Sterling shook his head, eyes blazing. "You’re lying."

"Your council is crumbling, Hale," Gabriel said, his voice soft as a blade sliding through silk. "You’re alone. Camille is gone. Rhett is weak. And Magnolia..." He laughed gently. "She’s trying to lead wolves who’d sooner slit her throat than follow her."

The boy’s eyes flooded with tears. "They’ll trade you for peace."

Sterling roared, the chains rattling like thunder. His vision blackened at the edges, the rage pumping hot through his veins.

Gabriel leaned close again, voice a serpent’s hiss. "You can end this. Give me the name. The location. The next stronghold. One truth, and you can walk free. You and this boy."

Sterling met the boy’s eyes, hollow, broken, terrified. He thought of his pack, huddled behind battered walls. He thought of Camille, running from her own darkness, from the poison growing inside her. He thought of Magnolia, her tired hands braced on the war table, her voice hoarse but unyielding.

His vision cleared.

"No," Sterling whispered.

Gabriel’s face twitched, irritation? Disbelief? He snapped his fingers.

One of the wolves drew a dagger across the boy’s throat.

It was quick.

Sterling screamed, but there was nothing left to save. The boy crumpled. The blood spread across the stone in a slow, pulsing pool.

Gabriel didn’t look away. "This is what loyalty buys you."

He stepped over the boy’s body, fingers brushing Sterling’s cheek almost tenderly.

"Sleep well, Beta."

Sterling sagged against the chains as Gabriel vanished into the darkness. The door slammed. The torch flickered.

The whispers returned, this time, they sounded like Camille’s voice, calling his name through the black.

He knew he would not break.

But he also knew that every drop of blood spilled in this cell would be paid back tenfold.

If he survived.