The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond
Chapter 130: The Decoy Pact

Chapter 130: The Decoy Pact

Morning at the Callahan estate came with no warmth. Snow piled heavy on the roofs, weighing them down like the unspoken truths pressing on Magnolia’s chest. She stood at the window of her private chamber, palms braced on the cold sill, eyes fixed on the courtyard where fresh tracks cut through the white , Sterling’s boots, pacing circles like a predator testing the edges of his cage.

Behind her, Beckett’s voice scraped across the room, rough with disbelief. "Tell me you’re not doing this."

Magnolia didn’t turn. "I’m doing this."

"You’re telling him yes?" His laugh was short and vicious. "Have you lost your spine?"

She flinched. Not because he was wrong , but because he was too close to the part of her that wanted to crawl under blankets and pretend none of this was real.

"Sterling thinks he holds the blade," she said, steadying her breath. "I’m going to make him think I’ll press it to my own throat."

"And if he calls your bluff?"

"Then I’m already dead."

Beckett crossed the chamber in three strides, the old floorboards groaning under his boots. His hand slammed into the wall near her head, close enough that she smelled the iron tang of old blood on his knuckles.

"Stop it. Stop playing the martyr. There’s always another way."

She met his eyes, hers dark and hollow from the ritual hours before. "There isn’t. You saw her, Beck. You felt it. Camille’s buried so deep the only way I’m pulling her out is if I walk through Sterling’s trap first."

Beckett’s jaw twitched, a muscle jumping beneath the edge of his stubble. "He’ll gut you the moment he feels your wolf slip."

"Then I’ll make sure he never feels it slip."

She tried to step past him, but his hand caught her wrist, fingers wrapping around the new bandage hidden beneath her sleeve. His thumb brushed the place where she’d cut herself for the rite, and the contact made her breath catch.

"You’re shaking."

"I’m not."

"You’re lying."

His grip tightened, just enough to pin her there , not rough, but unyielding. He leaned close, his breath warm against her temple, words threading into the part of her that wanted to trust someone , anyone , to hold the weight for just a heartbeat.

"You’re going to stand before that bastard and tell him you’ll carve out your wolf? Lie to his face while he looks for any tremor in your bones?" Beckett’s voice was softer now, but it carried more threat than a growl. "You can’t do that alone."

She pulled back, just enough to meet his eyes. "I won’t be alone."

He huffed. "You’ll send me away."

"I’ll send you into the shadows," she corrected. "Close enough to tear out his throat if he tries to break me before I’m ready."

The wolf in him flared in his eyes, silver and sharp. "Say it."

She hesitated. Then: "If he lunges, "

"I kill him."

"Yes."

He let her go. The cold rushed back between them.

"Promise me one thing," he said. "Don’t let him see you flinch."

A grim smile tugged at her mouth. "When have I ever flinched?"

They found Sterling in the old training yard behind the north wing. The snow there was packed down with wolf tracks and boot scuffs, the battered targets standing crooked and pockmarked from old arrows. He stood at the center, a dull blade in hand, slicing the air in slow arcs as if he were dancing with an invisible enemy.

Magnolia stepped onto the crunching snow, Beckett shadowing her at a distance. Sterling turned at the sound, his grin flickering across his bruised face like a cut that wouldn’t close.

"Magnolia," he drawled. He flipped the blade in his hand, catching it by the spine, offering her the hilt like an old lover pressing a dagger to her palm. "Care for a lesson?"

She ignored the blade. "We need to talk."

His smile didn’t fade. "We are talking."

She stepped closer, boots cracking through the crust of old ice. She felt Beckett’s presence at her back , not touching her, but near enough that the wolf inside her calmed its restless pacing. Sterling’s eyes flicked over her shoulder, then back to her face, reading every line for betrayal.

"I’ll do it," Magnolia said.

Sterling’s grin vanished. "Do what?"

"Give it to you." Her voice didn’t tremble. She kept it low, steady, the words tasting like ash. "My wolf. My spirit. The Elder wants it , fine. He’ll have it. Camille comes back alive, and I walk away empty."

Sterling’s eyes gleamed, pupils blown wide. "Just like that."

She shrugged, forcing a careless tilt to her chin. "Better me than her."

He circled her, the dull blade trailing through the snow. She didn’t turn to follow him , she’d learned that trick long ago. Predators wanted your fear in your spine, your eyes darting, your heartbeat tripping over itself. She gave him none of it.

"You trust me that much?" Sterling asked, voice dripping sugar and poison. "After all this?"

"I trust my sister’s life means more than mine."

Behind her, Beckett shifted. The sound was barely more than the snow crunching under his boot, but it snapped something in Sterling’s smile.

He leaned close, mouth near her ear. "What about him?" His eyes flicked to Beckett, a grin coiling at the edges of his mouth. "Does your dog agree to this bargain?"

Beckett’s growl rumbled behind her. Magnolia didn’t flinch.

"He’ll stand down if I say so," she lied.

Sterling’s grin widened. "Say it, then."

She turned just enough to catch Beckett’s eyes , a silent warning buried in the lock of their stare. His jaw worked once, twice, then he gave the barest nod. Magnolia felt the lie slide between them like a blade.

"Stand down, Beck."

The words cut her more than they ever could him.

Sterling’s hand ghosted to her shoulder, his fingers brushing the edge of her braid. "Good girl."

She forced herself not to break his wrist where it hovered. Instead, she let the mask slip just a fraction , her eyes dropping to the snow, her shoulders rolling back, the tension melting into something that looked too much like surrender.

Sterling’s thumb traced her collarbone, slow and possessive. "When?"

Magnolia’s pulse thudded at her temple. "Tonight. The old apothecary. Celeste’s circle is still marked. The Elder will smell the ritual when it’s done."

Sterling’s eyes flared with a hunger she hated , something that looked like triumph painted over the bones of the wolf he used to be.

"Tonight," he echoed. He stepped back, the grin returning. "You’re braver than I thought, Mags."

She forced a small, brittle smile. "You have no idea."

He turned on his heel, blade slashing the air once more in that lazy arc. Magnolia didn’t watch him go , she listened to the soft crunch of his boots until they vanished into the hush of the drifting snow.

Only then did she let out the breath she’d locked behind her teeth.

Back inside, Beckett slammed the war room door behind them. The maps on the wall rattled in their frames. He rounded on her, voice low but shaking with barely buried rage.

"You gave him everything."

"I gave him what he wanted to hear."

"You gave him a timeline. A place. A ritual he’s already mapped out in that rotted brain."

She turned on him, the mask falling, eyes wild. "What would you have me do? Let him sniff out my doubt? Make him think I’ll run?"

Beckett’s chest heaved. He raked a hand through his hair, pacing the length of the room like a wolf too long caged. "You’ve just invited him to gut you like a stag."

"Good. Let him come close enough to try."

He stopped, eyes glittering silver. "You’ll die if you misstep."

"I won’t."

"You’re betting the pack on a bluff."

"I’m betting my soul," she shot back. Her voice cracked, sharp and raw. "You think I haven’t done worse for them?"

Beckett grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her once. "You break, and we lose everything."

She gripped his wrists, nails digging in, holding him there like an anchor. "Then don’t let me break."

His hands dropped, curling into fists at his sides. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the hiss of the fire, the distant hush of the pack beyond the war room walls. She could feel their fear pressing through the stones , a chorus of prayers spoken too late.

Beckett’s voice dropped to a whisper, more a vow than a threat. "If he lays a hand on you, "

"He won’t."

"If he does, "

Magnolia stepped close, her forehead nearly touching his. "Then you finish it."

Their breath mingled, hot and cold in the draft. No promises of forever. No mercy. Just blood and teeth.

That night, while the pack slept in uneasy clusters around the hearths, Magnolia sat alone by Celeste’s circle, the ritual knife waiting in her palm. Sterling’s footsteps echoed down the hall, closer, closer , the hunter’s smile already curving into something monstrous.

And Beckett waited in the shadows.