The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond
Chapter 128: A Hunter in the Hall

Chapter 128: A Hunter in the Hall

The stone hallways breathed around him, a living thing with too many throats and not enough eyes. Sterling slipped through them like a ghost who hadn’t realized he’d died , soundless boots, shoulders brushing the old walls that still smelled of moss and cold smoke. His shadow followed him faithfully, stretching and curling as torchlight flickered in the draft.

Magnolia knew he was out there. She could feel him in her bones the way old wounds sometimes ache before the rain. She sat at the council table long after Beckett stormed off to fortify the east wing, her fingers drumming against the scarred wood. In front of her, the old map lay unrolled, its edges frayed, stained with the ghosts of battles that never quite ended.

She traced a line down the ridge where Camille might be , if Sterling spoke the truth. The thought turned her stomach. A truth from Sterling now was as likely as milk from a snake.

Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. A hunter’s tread.

Her eyes snapped up as the door creaked open. There he was , Sterling Hale, Beta once, traitor maybe, skin pale where the bruises hadn’t bloomed. He smiled, and it made the back of her throat itch.

"You’re up late," he said. His voice curled around the stone walls like smoke.

Magnolia leaned back in her chair, every muscle coiled tight beneath the calm she wore like a borrowed coat. "You’re prowling."

Sterling stepped inside, closing the heavy door with a soft snick of iron. He didn’t look at the guards , they were shadows to him now, boys with blades too dull to cut him if he chose to bleed.

"I couldn’t sleep," he said. "Figured I’d check the locks. Make sure no one’s planning to gut me in my sleep."

Magnolia’s lips twitched. "Would they be wrong to?"

Sterling’s grin widened, teeth flashing white between cracked lips. He looked so much like the wolf she remembered , before the pit, before Gabriel , but there was something in his eyes now. A depth that didn’t reflect light back. A hole you fell into if you stared too long.

"You should rest," she said, voice quiet. "The pack watches you. They smell the Elder’s mark. The more you stalk these halls, the more they fear."

Sterling strolled closer, dragging a fingertip across the edge of the map. "Good. Fear makes them sharp. Fear keeps them loyal."

"Fear breaks them," she shot back.

He shrugged. "Maybe they need breaking."

Magnolia’s jaw tightened. She forced her hand to stay flat on the table, not to curl into a fist. She could feel Beckett’s warning burning behind her ribs: He’ll push. He’ll want to see how deep you’ll bleed to keep him leashed.

Sterling circled behind her chair. She felt the brush of his breath at her neck , the wolf in him leaning close enough to taste her pulse. She refused to flinch.

"Do you remember," he said softly, "the last time we stood here alone?"

She didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. He answered for her.

"You were barely more than a girl. Rhett was away, Beckett had half the council at his throat for defying an Elder’s treaty. You sat right here, tracing lines on this map, whispering you’d never let a king dictate your choices again." His voice lowered, velvet over glass. "You swore you’d burn before they took your wolf."

Her throat tightened, but she forced her words out, calm as frost. "That was before the Ash Child. Before Camille."

Sterling’s laugh was soft, and it made her skin crawl. "So that’s it. You’d carve your soul out now for family."

"If that’s what it takes."

He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear, the voice that once made her believe anything was possible now carrying poison in every syllable. "Then prove it."

Magnolia rose so fast her chair skidded back with a screech. She turned to face him, their chests almost touching. Her hands hovered at her sides, fingers trembling.

"Test me," she hissed.

Sterling’s grin split wide , too wide. For a heartbeat, she swore she saw something crawl beneath his skin, like oil rippling through his veins.

"Oh, I will," he purred.

He stepped back, the predator’s gleam in his eyes never fading. His boots scuffed the old rushes on the floor as he drifted toward the window. Snow clung to the glass, half-frozen in place, but the moon beyond it looked sharp as a blade.

"You think I’m sick," he said suddenly, voice distant. "You think Gabriel broke me."

Magnolia swallowed. "Did he?"

Sterling turned to her. For the first time, his smile dropped away. The emptiness left behind was worse.

"He opened my eyes," he said. "I see what you can’t. What Beckett won’t. This pack worships you , the untouchable wolf queen. The one who’ll bleed herself dry to feed their dreams."

His boots crunched over fallen shards of a broken lantern as he stalked closer again. "But you’ll run out, Magnolia. And when you do, they’ll devour you."

She could feel her heart thudding against her ribs. "And you? What will you do?"

Sterling’s eyes glittered, pupils blown wide like a wolf in the kill. "I’ll do what needs to be done."

They stood like that, two predators sharing the same thin air, their breath misting in the cold draft that slid through the cracked window frame. The old boards creaked under their feet , the only witness to the words that would never be spoken aloud.

"You should rest," Magnolia said finally, voice brittle. "Before you start seeing ghosts behind every door."

Sterling’s grin returned, slow and terrible. "I’m counting on the ghosts."

He brushed past her, shoulder grazing hers. She didn’t flinch. She refused. When the door clicked shut behind him, the silence left behind was heavier than the threat he carried in his bones.

Outside in the main corridor, Sterling paused beneath the cold flicker of a dying torch. A guard at the far end shifted, pretending not to notice the way Sterling’s eyes pinned him to the wall like an insect on a needle.

He turned away, boots whispering over the stone. His mind buzzed with the Ash Child’s voice , Camille’s echo twisted into something darker.

She’ll break.

She always does.

He smiled at nothing.

Beckett watched from the shadowed alcove near the old tapestry. He’d seen Sterling slip in. Heard the muffled words , not enough to catch every poison-laced vow, but enough to feel the edges of betrayal slicing through the air.

When Sterling vanished down the stairwell toward the unused wing, Beckett moved to the council door and slipped inside.

Magnolia hadn’t moved. She still stood at the head of the table, shoulders stiff, her braid brushing the back of her cloak. The fire at the far end guttered low, feeding on coals that hissed like distant voices.

"He knows," Beckett said.

She didn’t turn. "He thinks he does."

Beckett’s jaw flexed. He stepped forward, the smell of snow and wolf musk rolling off him in waves. "He’ll test you again."

"Let him."

"He’ll kill you if you slip."

Magnolia laughed, but the sound cracked like ice under too much weight. "Then don’t let me slip."

Beckett moved closer, his hand brushing the back of her shoulder , not a comfort, more a tether to keep her from drifting too far into the dark.

"You’re too good at pretending," he said quietly.

Magnolia’s eyes closed. "Not good enough."

The silence wrapped around them, thick and stifling. Beckett could hear the guards shifting outside, could smell the fear drifting through the old stones like rot. They all felt it now , the hunter in the hall who wore Sterling’s skin but moved like something else entirely.

Magnolia’s voice dropped, barely more than a whisper. "If it comes to it, "

Beckett cut her off. "I know."

She looked at him then, eyes hollow but steady. "Don’t wait."

Beckett’s teeth bared in a wolf’s grimace. "I won’t."

That night, Sterling didn’t sleep. Neither did Magnolia. Neither did Beckett.

Somewhere in the oldest wing of the keep, a door creaked open. A single wolf padded through the corridors, his eyes glinting in the moonlight like chips of obsidian. Every shadow bent around him. Every hush in the stone walls spoke his name.

The hunter was inside now.

And the prey wore the crown.