The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond
Chapter 131: Cloaked in Lies

Chapter 131: Cloaked in Lies

By the time the last torch in the old hall guttered out, the estate felt like a throat ready to choke on its own secrets. Magnolia stood at the threshold of the ancient apothecary, one hand braced on the splintered frame, the other curled around the ritual knife she’d promised Sterling she’d use tonight. Its cold weight pressed into her palm like an unspoken dare.

Behind her, Beckett paced. He’d been pacing for an hour, boots whispering over the cracked tiles, wolf pacing the bars of its cage. Every now and then he’d stop to glance at her, like he was searching her skin for a crack that might break open if he looked hard enough.

"He’ll smell it," he said for the third time. His voice was quieter now, worn down to a ragged edge. "He’ll know you’re lying."

Magnolia didn’t move. "Not if I don’t flinch."

"You’re betting your soul on that."

She turned, her cloak brushing the doorframe. "What would you have me do, Beckett? Tell him no and wait for him to cut Camille apart? I saw her. I saw what’s left of her."

His eyes flashed, wolf-quick, but his mouth stayed tight. "So you’ll bleed yourself dry for a ghost."

"She’s not a ghost." Magnolia’s voice cracked, but she forced it back down. "She’s my sister."

Beckett laughed, but the sound was empty. He stalked closer, close enough that the scent of snow and iron off his coat made her stomach twist. "I know. And you think you can outplay him , outplay Gabriel , with half the pack sniffing for your throat."

"I don’t think." Magnolia shoved the ritual blade into the folds of her cloak, tucking it tight against her ribs. "I know."

Beckett’s hands hovered at her shoulders, like he might grab her, shake the steel out of her bones. But he didn’t. He just let them drop to his sides, useless fists.

"You’ll be alone in that circle," he said. "He’ll come at you before you even speak the last word."

"Then you’ll stop him."

His mouth twisted. "I’m not enough."

She stepped closer, eyes locked on his. "Yes, you are."

He barked a bitter laugh. "Don’t lie to me while you’re lying to him."

Magnolia’s throat burned. The words she wanted to spit back tangled behind her teeth. She closed her eyes, pressed her palms flat to his chest , felt his heartbeat hammering under her fingers like an iron drum.

"You are enough, Beck," she whispered. "For this. For me. Always."

For a heartbeat, neither of them breathed. She felt his wolf brush against hers , a rumble under the skin, a promise that he would drag her out of the grave even if she buried herself first.

When she opened her eyes, his were burning. "If he puts a hand on you, "

"You’ll tear it off."

A thin smile tugged at her mouth. "We’ve done worse."

Beckett caught her wrist as she turned away, his thumb brushing the thin edge of the bandage hidden under her sleeve. "This won’t heal if you keep cutting pieces off yourself."

She squeezed his hand once, hard enough to hurt. "I don’t want it to."

They slipped through the back corridors like shadows stitched to the old stones. The hallways groaned under the wind’s hush, the snow piling at the windows until the glass blurred into the darkness beyond. Magnolia felt every eye that lingered too long , guards who flinched when they smelled Sterling’s scent, pack mothers who pulled their cubs closer as she passed.

The pack was fracturing. She could feel it in the hush that fell when she entered a room. In the way old wolves glanced at each other when her name slipped into hushed arguments. Some still believed she’d save them all. Others had already decided her corpse was just another stone on the road to survival.

In the shadows behind her, Beckett kept pace. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t have to. The air around him smelled like a promise of violence , the kind that would leave teeth in the throat of anything that dared reach for her.

In the hidden chamber off the old chapel, the circle waited. Celeste had carved it into the stone herself , a ring of runes and bone dust, inked over the years with layers of old blood and new prayers. No fire burned there tonight. The only light was the thin flicker of three candles placed at the points of the triangle that contained the circle’s heart.

Magnolia knelt at the edge, cloak pooled around her knees. The knife lay across her palms. Beckett stood at the door, broad shoulders braced against the warped wood, eyes locked on the dark corners that pressed in too close.

"When he comes," she said, voice low, "don’t move unless I say."

Beckett didn’t answer. He just watched her , that silent promise carved into the lines of his jaw.

She brushed her fingertips over the cold stone, tracing Celeste’s runes. The words curled under her breath, half-familiar, half-forbidden. Sight for the blind. Fire for the dark. Soul for the chain. The blood offering it demanded felt like an echo of the cut still healing on her arm.

The door creaked. Sterling slipped inside like a wolf slipping through the edges of a dream. He looked worse in this thin light , taller, somehow, bones sharper under bruised skin. His eyes caught the candle glow, twin shards of reflected hunger.

"Lovely," he said, voice soft as silk over broken glass. "The lamb on the altar."

Magnolia forced her heartbeat to slow. "This is what you wanted."

He padded closer, boots whispering across the stone. He stayed just outside the circle, close enough to feel the old wards hum against his skin.

"Where’s your dog?" Sterling asked, eyes flicking past her to the door.

Magnolia didn’t move. "Gone."

Sterling smiled. "Liar."

He crouched, boots creaking, face lowering until his eyes were level with hers across the circle. The runes hissed at him, but he didn’t flinch. His grin split wider. "Do you really think these lines will keep me out?"

Magnolia’s throat tightened. She kept her voice flat. "Try."

Sterling’s fingers drifted over the edge of the circle, tracing the old bloodlines. For a heartbeat, she saw the flicker of something beneath his skin , a ripple, black and oily, crawling just under the surface. The wolf in her recoiled.

"You cut yourself for this," he said, his voice drifting between the familiar and the wrong. "You’d cut yourself again to save her."

Magnolia’s pulse jumped. "I would."

He leaned in, so close she could see the thin line of sweat at his hairline despite the cold. "Would you bleed for me, too?"

Her breath caught. "Would you believe me if I said yes?"

Sterling’s laugh scraped the stone walls raw. "No."

He drew back, rising to his full height, eyes gleaming. "But I’ll believe you enough to see what you do next."

His hand dropped to his belt. From the shadows, he drew a small silver blade , the twin to the one she held. Celeste’s blades. One for the sacrifice, one for the thief.

"Cut it out," Sterling whispered. "Show me you’ll give it to me."

Her fingers trembled around the hilt. The circle pulsed under her knees, the wards humming a warning.

In the shadows, Beckett’s breath hitched , so quiet only she heard it. A promise. A threat.

Magnolia pressed the blade to her wrist, skin tightening under the steel. Sterling’s eyes flared wide, the hunger almost luminous.

"Now," he said. The word was a growl.

The tip of the knife bit. Blood welled up, a thin line running down her palm, dripping onto the circle’s edge. The runes flared, drinking it in.

Sterling leaned forward , but the wards snapped like a closing jaw. He recoiled, teeth bared, a snarl curling from his chest.

"You’re not ready," he hissed.

Magnolia forced her lips to curl in a smile that hurt more than the cut. "Then come closer."

Sterling’s snarl twisted into laughter, ragged and cold. He stepped back into the shadows, blade still dripping blood not his own. "Tonight, then. Bleed for me, Mags. Or bleed for nothing."

The door slammed behind him.

When the silence returned, Beckett stepped into the circle. He caught her wrist, pressing his thumb over the shallow cut, his breath ragged.

"You’re insane," he rasped.

Magnolia’s laugh cracked like glass. "It’s the only way."

He pressed his forehead to hers, the heat of him burning away the chill. "Then I’ll stand at your back until we drag him under."

The candle flickered, guttered, and went out.