The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond
Chapter 133: Farewell of Flames

Chapter 133: Farewell of Flames

"Couldn’t sleep?" he rasped, voice rough from nights of fighting things that didn’t live in the daylight.

Magnolia leaned her shoulder against the doorframe, arms folded under her cloak. "Neither could you."

Rhett’s mouth twitched , the ghost of a smile. "I’ve been talking to the flames. They tell better lies than our council."

She snorted softly, stepping inside. The door drifted shut behind her, the latch catching with a sigh that sounded too much like a farewell. She hated it.

He watched her cross to the hearth, the shadows dancing across his face, deepening the hollows under his eyes. "How bad is it?" he asked.

She crouched at the fire, feeding it a scrap of kindling she’d snatched from the hallway. "Bad enough."

Rhett let out a slow breath, one hand resting on his ribs where the bandages peeked through his half-open shirt. The scar there pulsed faintly , a thin, angry line that Celeste had sworn would never close so long as the Elder’s blood debt remained unpaid.

"Tell me the truth," he said. "No circles. No crown."

Magnolia sat back on her heels, the heat of the fire brushing her skin, almost gentle. "Sterling wants my wolf."

Rhett didn’t flinch. He just nodded, as if he’d tasted that truth days ago and had been letting it rot in his mouth ever since. "And you’ll give it to him."

She looked at him , really looked. Even broken, even half-shadowed by the curse that ate at him from the inside, he still held himself like a king who’d chosen to stand on the wrong side of history because someone had to.

"I’ll pretend to," she said.

Rhett huffed a brittle laugh. "You’re a terrible liar."

"Not tonight."

He coughed , the sound raw and wet , then wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. When he lowered it, she didn’t miss the smear of blood across his knuckles. He didn’t bother to hide it.

"You were always the flame, Magnolia," he said quietly. "Even when you didn’t want to be."

Her chest tightened. "You made me one."

He shook his head. "No. You lit yourself. I just gave you kindling."

She rose, crossing the few steps to his side. She perched on the edge of the bed, the fur blanket rustling as she shifted the weight of her cloak across her knees. She pressed her palm to his brow , hot, too hot. He closed his eyes under her touch, a breath shuddering through him like a dying wind.

"I should hate you for this," he murmured.

She smiled, but it cracked at the edges. "You do."

He laughed , a single, broken bark that turned into a cough. She pressed the fur tighter around his shoulders, as if it could hold in what little heat his body still had to offer.

"I don’t hate you, Maggie," he said, eyes still closed. "I hate that I can’t stop you."

"You never could."

He cracked one eye open. "You sound proud of that."

"I am."

They sat in the hush for a long time. The fire popped and sighed, the old hearth settling like a spine that had carried too much weight for too many winters.

Finally, he opened his eyes, pinning her with that impossible stare , the one that made lesser wolves bow without a word. "Does Beckett know?"

She huffed. "He knows."

"And you trust him."

It wasn’t a question. She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Rhett’s mouth curled at the corner. "Good. Someone has to drag you back when you break."

She hated the word , when. Not if. But she let it sit between them, heavy and unpolished.

He reached for her hand. His grip was weak, but the calluses were still there , reminders of the nights he’d held a blade instead of a crown. His thumb brushed the edge of her wrist, where the bandage hid the sigil that bound her to Beckett like a pair of hounds on the same chain.

"Do it fast," Rhett said. His voice dropped to a hush so raw she barely caught it over the fire’s sigh. "Don’t make them watch you bleed slow."

She blinked hard, the words catching in her throat like fishhooks. "I won’t."

He laughed , softer this time, almost human. "Liar."

They sat like that, palms pressed together, the warmth of his fevered skin bleeding into hers. She tried to memorize it , the weight of his bones, the rough drag of his thumb over her knuckles. She’d known this touch longer than she’d known what to do with it.

When he drifted, eyes fluttering shut, she let her free hand brush his hair from his forehead. The strands clung to her skin, damp and warm.

"You were the best of us," he murmured.

She leaned down, pressing her lips to his brow. "No, Rhett. You were."

His breath stuttered, then steadied. Sleep clawed at him, dragging him down into the pit where his wolf waited , restless, snarling, helpless against the chain that kept him from standing at her side where he should have been.

Magnolia stayed until his breathing evened out. She pressed her palm to his chest one last time, feeling the weak drum of his heart under the curse Celeste had failed to tear free. When she stood, the fur blanket slipped from his shoulder. She caught it, tucking it close around his throat like a mother bundling a child who’d never grown out of needing her.

At the door, she paused. Her wolf brushed against her ribs, restless. It didn’t want to go. It wanted to curl up beside him, to let the hush of his heartbeat drown out the dread pounding through her skull.

But the hunter in the hall wouldn’t wait. And Sterling’s smile carried Camille’s echo like a blade pressed under her ribs.

In the corridor, Beckett waited. He leaned against the wall, arms folded, the fresh snow on his boots melting into the rushes.

"You said goodbye," he said. Not a question.

She nodded once. Her throat burned. "He knows."

Beckett’s eyes flicked to Rhett’s door. His jaw clenched. "Then let’s finish it."

She reached for his hand, her palm pressing to his , the sigil humming under their skin, a promise that neither would drown alone.

"Don’t leave me there," she said.

He squeezed her fingers, not gentle. "Never."

They moved through the hush together, ghosts in a house that smelled of old blood and older vows. Outside, snow drifted in slow spirals, covering the courtyard in a blanket too thin to hide the wolves waiting to taste their queen’s bones if she failed.

The flame behind them flickered once in Rhett’s hearth , a goodbye, a blessing, a curse.

And ahead of them, Sterling smiled in the dark.