The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond
Chapter 125: The Ultimatum

Chapter 125: The Ultimatum

The east wing was colder than the rest of the estate. Magnolia always felt it , how the stones there seemed to remember old grief. The walls hummed with every step she took down the narrow corridor, her boots echoing over the damp floor. Outside, dawn had given way to a brittle morning light, but it barely touched this part of the keep. Shadows clung to the corners like mildew.

Sterling waited for her in what used to be the library. Once, the place had smelled of old leather, dry parchment, candles burning low while wolves whispered secrets of treaties and bloodlines. Now, half the shelves stood empty. Torn books littered the floor beside broken chairs and a window half-boarded to keep the wind from howling through.

He stood by the hearth. Someone had relit it since dawn, but the flames were small, crackling low, unable to push back the chill. Sterling looked like he’d been carved out of that cold , lean and battered, but unbowed. He’d stripped off his ruined coat, revealing a simple linen shirt ripped at the shoulder where the stitches puckered over old wounds.

Magnolia paused in the doorway, studying him. The hard angle of his jaw, the stubborn line of his mouth. The eyes that once lit with reckless loyalty now glinted flat and sharp. He hadn’t seen her yet. Or maybe he had , and wanted her to watch him first.

"Shut the door," Sterling said without turning.

She did. The iron latch scraped against stone as she crossed the threshold.

He leaned his good shoulder against the mantle, eyes flicking up to catch hers. "No guards? Not even Beckett breathing down my neck?"

"You asked for this alone," she said. Her voice didn’t tremble, though her hands curled tight into her sleeves. "I’m giving you that much."

His mouth twitched , not quite a smile, more a spasm that cut across his bruised face. "Generous."

She didn’t sit. Neither did he offer. They stared at each other for a heartbeat that felt like it might break the floor beneath them.

"You said you know where Camille is." Her voice was calm, but every word dug at the wound in her chest that never quite closed.

Sterling pushed off the mantle. He moved toward her slowly, boots brushing over a torn page that crumbled beneath his heel.

"I do," he said. "Gabriel’s not keeping her in the main camp anymore. He’s moved her north, to the Hollow. Deep enough that no patrol’s gonna stumble on her by chance."

Magnolia’s breath caught. She hated herself for it , the flicker of hope, the raw cut of relief that flashed through her ribs like a blade. She forced her shoulders straighter.

"And you’re telling me this because...?"

Sterling laughed, but there was no warmth in it. "Because you’re not stupid. You know Gabriel wants her alive. You know she’s the key."

"Don’t speak to me like I’m blind."

"Then stop acting like you’re righteous." His voice snapped out, sharp as broken glass. "We’re bleeding out here. Gabriel is winning. Camille’s the only thing standing between us and total slaughter. And she’s slipping away."

He stepped closer. The hearth’s weak light caught the gleam in his eyes , steel and frost.

Magnolia refused to back up. "What’s your point?"

Sterling raised his hand, palm up, fingers still caked with old blood at the knuckles. "You give me what I need , I bring her back. You want to save your sister? Save this pack? Then do what has to be done."

Her pulse thudded in her throat. "What do you want, Sterling?"

He smiled then. It was all teeth and no warmth.

"Your wolf."

The words hit her like a slap.

She stepped back, just enough to find breath again. "What did you say?"

Sterling advanced, closing the gap she’d made. He lowered his voice, each word soft and terrible. "The Elder wants your spirit. Not your body , your wolf. Your power. He takes that, the line breaks. The prophecy burns out before it can spark. No more Ash Child. No more curses. You... you become just a woman again."

She stared at him, searching his face for the flicker that would tell her this was a joke, some grim test to measure her loyalty, her love. But Sterling’s eyes were clear , frighteningly clear.

"You’re asking me to cut my wolf out and hand it over like meat to the slaughter."

He shrugged. "Better you than her."

Magnolia’s stomach lurched. "You’re talking about my soul."

"I’m talking about the pack," he snapped. "I’m talking about the children huddled under torn blankets while Gabriel’s scouts circle closer every night. I’m talking about the blood you scrape off the stones every dawn because another sentry couldn’t keep his throat intact."

His voice dropped lower, softer, more intimate than it had any right to be. "I’m talking about Camille , alone, cold, hearing the Ash Child whisper things in the dark. You think you can save her with dreams and honor? You can’t."

She hated how much her legs wanted to buckle. She locked her knees tight.

"You’re one of us, Sterling," she said, voice shaking only at the edges. "You’ve fought beside me, bled for Rhett, for Camille, for every cub in this damn keep. You’d gut a man for speaking this poison aloud. So why now?"

His eyes glittered. He leaned closer, so close she could see the tiny scar at his hairline from the first raid he ever survived for them.

"Because the pack needs someone who’ll make the hard choice," he said. "Rhett can’t. Beckett won’t. You , you have the teeth. But you won’t bite deep enough."

He brushed a stray strand of her hair back from her cheek. She flinched as his dirty fingers grazed her skin.

"You think I’m the monster," he whispered. "Fine. Maybe I am. But I’ll get her back. And when you’re just Magnolia again , no wolf, no crown , you can thank me."

She slapped his hand away. "You’d sacrifice me for her."

His grin was vicious. "I’d sacrifice anyone. That’s what you don’t have the spine for."

They stood like that , her breath a sharp blade between them, his shoulders squared, lips parted like a hound ready to bite.

Finally, she said, "I need to think."

His laugh was low and broken. "Think quick. Gabriel’s patience bleeds dry by the hour."

He stepped around her, brushing her shoulder as he passed. His scent lingered , iron and old pine, but fouled by something colder beneath. She turned, staring at his back as he reached the door.

"Sterling."

He paused, hand on the latch.

"You’re wrong," she said. Her voice was ice and fire all at once. "I have the teeth."

He smiled over his shoulder, eyes empty. "Then show them."

When he left, the room felt smaller. She backed into the nearest chair, pressing her knuckles into her mouth to keep from screaming. Her wolf stirred inside her chest , restless, snarling, caught between fear and fury. A single word repeated in her mind, like claws scratching against bone: trap. trap. trap.

Behind the boarded window, the first crows of the day gathered on the stones. Watching. Waiting.