The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond
Chapter 132: The Blood Sigil

Chapter 132: The Blood Sigil

Beckett’s rough voice broke the hush. "This is madness."

Magnolia didn’t look up. "You’ve said that."

He snorted. The sound made the candle flame flicker. "You haven’t answered."

She lifted her eyes. "We’re binding it tonight, Beck. I can’t walk into his jaws blind."

Beckett held up the page, ink smudged where old blood had seeped through the parchment. The sigil sketched there was jagged, spiked like a broken crown. "You’re binding us, Magnolia. Not just your wolf. Not just Sterling’s leash. Us."

She pushed to her feet, cloak slipping from her shoulders onto the cold floor. Beneath it, her shirt clung to her skin with old sweat and the faint smear of blood from the shallow cut she’d used to bait Sterling.

"It’s the only way I walk into that circle and don’t drown in him," she said. Her voice didn’t crack this time. It was iron. "The moment he tries to rip it from me, you’ll feel it. You’ll know."

Beckett laughed, low and vicious. "Feel it? Magnolia, this isn’t a warding charm or a hunter’s mark. This is an anchor. If he tears at your wolf, it tears through me, too."

"I know." She stepped closer. He didn’t move back. "That’s why it works."

Beckett’s jaw tightened, his thumb scraping a smear of old ash from the page. "You don’t trust me enough to stand behind you and slit his throat. You’d rather tie my soul to yours like a pair of hounds on the same leash."

She searched his face. Under the wolf’s anger, there was something else , something that made her chest ache. "It’s not about trust."

"Isn’t it?"

She grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand away from the page. His skin was warm, rough, the old burn scars at his knuckles catching the candlelight. She pressed his palm to her chest, over the place where her heartbeat pounded so hard it felt like it might bruise her ribs from the inside out.

"It’s about surviving," she said. Her breath hitched. "I can’t do it alone. You know that."

For a moment, they didn’t speak. Beckett’s thumb brushed her collarbone, his palm pressed to her hammering heart. He could feel her wolf there , restless, snarling, terrified.

Finally, he said, voice barely above a growl, "Tell me how."

---

They sat opposite each other on the cracked tiles, knees almost touching. Beckett laid Celeste’s blade between them , the edge still sharp, the hilt warm from his palm. The sigil in the book glowed faintly in the candlelight, the ink shimmering as if the page remembered every drop of blood it had ever tasted.

Magnolia held out her arm first. Beckett’s eyes locked on hers , one last chance to say no. She didn’t flinch. He drew the blade down the inside of her forearm, just deep enough for blood to well up bright and dark. She didn’t even hiss. She’d given so much blood to this place, this pack , what was one more slice in the name of survival?

He cut his own next. A line just under the old scar that marked the first time he’d sworn fealty to Rhett, all those years ago when they were boys who still believed honor was armor enough.

Their forearms pressed together, blood smearing, skin slick and warm. Magnolia whispered the old words, her lips brushing the wound where his blood mixed with hers. The syllables tasted like iron and burnt cedar. Beckett echoed them, voice rumbling like a distant storm.

The sigil flared between them. Magnolia dipped her free thumb into the pooled blood and traced the pattern onto Beckett’s chest, just over his sternum. The lines glowed faintly, humming like a live wire under his skin.

She felt it the moment it caught. Her heartbeat jolted , and so did his. A pulse shared, a promise made of knives and bone.

"You feel it?" she breathed.

Beckett’s lips curled. "Like a hot brand in my ribs. If he tears at you, "

"You’ll know," she finished.

They sat like that, foreheads almost touching, the hush between them louder than any vow they’d spoken aloud before.

Beckett’s thumb brushed her jaw. "We’re out of time."

She nodded. The echo of the sigil thrummed under her skin, her wolf brushing against the new bond , suspicious but too tired to fight. "Then it’s enough."

He pulled back, binding her forearm with a strip torn from his own sleeve. The rough cloth smelled like him , pine and sweat and the sharp tang of the forest they’d once fought for side by side.

When he finished, he cupped her face, thumbs brushing the dried flecks of blood from her cheek. "If he tries to break you, "

"You drag me out."

He dipped his head, mouth brushing her temple , not a kiss, more a brand. "And if he breaks me first?"

She huffed a laugh that cracked at the edges. "I drag you out."

They rose together. Beckett gathered the old pages, stuffing them back into the cracked ledger. Magnolia wiped the blade clean on her cloak’s hem. The wards that lingered on the stone floor pulsed faintly, sensing the new bond stitched through the air between them.

Outside the old door, the corridor stretched empty. No patrols. No whispering wolves. Sterling had retreated to the northern wing hours ago, prowling its empty rooms like a ghost that hadn’t realized it was already buried.

Magnolia slipped ahead, Beckett’s presence a silent promise at her back.

When they reached the main hall, the embers in the grand hearth had burned low. The wolf sentries slumped against the walls, half-awake, dreaming of better days. She wondered what they’d do if they saw the sigil carved in blood under her sleeve , if they’d kneel, or turn her over to the Elder to save their own throats.

"Sleep," Beckett murmured.

Magnolia snorted. "Sleep’s for the dead."

He caught her wrist, squeezing the bandage. The bond pulsed under his touch , a hum that made her wolf bristle, but didn’t break. "You need to be strong enough to lie to him tomorrow."

She looked at him, exhaustion hanging off her bones like a sodden cloak. "What if I slip?"

"Then I drag you out," he said again, softer this time.

He turned away before she could thank him. He hated thanks , thought it cheapened what they did in the dark for each other when no one else was watching.

In the shadows beyond the stairwell, Sterling watched them go. His eyes glinted in the hush , not gold, not wolf-silver anymore, but something deeper, slicker. Something that fed on promises.

He pressed his hand to the stone where their scent still lingered. A slow smile crept across his split lips.

"Try," he whispered to the cold stone. "Lie to me, Magnolia. Make me believe you’ll carve your soul out and hand it over."

His fingers traced the sigil’s echo in the dust on the stair. The Ash Child’s laughter danced through his bones, rattling what was left of the wolf he’d once been.

"Try."

Back in her chamber, Magnolia sat alone at the edge of her bed, the bandage around her arm seeping faint warmth onto her sleeve. She pressed her palm flat to her chest. The bond pulsed once , Beckett’s heartbeat brushing hers, a promise that neither would drown alone.

The wolf inside her curled tighter, restless but trusting. She closed her eyes and let the hush of the old stones press in like an embrace she wasn’t sure she deserved.

Tomorrow she’d kneel in the circle.

Tomorrow she’d bare her throat to a ghost wearing Sterling’s smile.

But tonight, the blood between her and Beckett was enough to keep her spine from snapping.