The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond
Chapter 136: Ghosts of the Gate

Chapter 136: Ghosts of the Gate

Why did she let him in?

Why did she kill him now?

What good is a queen who invites the ghost inside?

She could feel Beckett at her back before she heard him. His footsteps were light for a man who could break a wolf’s neck with one twist, but the bond between them pulsed a silent warning , a heartbeat drumming under her ribs that wasn’t hers alone.

"Say something," Beckett muttered. He stood so close his breath warmed the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck.

Magnolia’s fingers twitched at her sides. "What do you want me to say?"

"That you see them," he said. "That you see they’re tearing themselves apart while they wait for you to tell them this isn’t the end."

She barked a laugh that turned sharp as ice. "It isn’t the end."

Beckett’s hand ghosted to her shoulder. "Then say it like you believe it."

She stepped forward, boots crunching over the broken threshold where the gate once barred the Elder’s wolves from the pack’s soft underbelly. The air here smelled of old blood and fire. Somewhere beyond the ridge, the forest waited , thick with snow and secrets she could almost taste on her tongue.

Magnolia turned, letting her eyes sweep across the circle of wolves gathered in the courtyard. Mothers with cubs clinging to their cloaks. Old men with scars that cut through beards gone iron-gray. Young ones who’d never known a world without the Elder’s leash biting their necks.

She lifted her chin. Her voice scraped raw against the hush. "You stand here because you believe the chain is broken. You think the ash drifting through these stones means we’re free."

A murmur rippled through them, sharp as teeth clicking shut.

Magnolia’s throat burned. "Sterling wasn’t the chain. He was the lock. And now it’s open."

An old wolf stepped forward , Liora, her braids wrapped tight around a head too scarred to remember how to bow. Her eyes glittered in the pale dawn. "If you knew he carried the rot, why keep him inside these walls?"

Magnolia’s wolf lunged at the question, but she shoved it down, her pulse steady in her throat. "Because sometimes you bait the trap with your own blood," she said. "Sometimes you stand in the circle and let the beast show its teeth so you know what it wants."

"And what does it want now?" Liora shot back.

Magnolia’s lips twisted. "Me."

The hush cracked. A chorus of mutters rose , prayers, curses, the restless shuffle of boots on stone. Beckett stepped to her side now, broad shoulders casting a long shadow that tangled with hers in the frost.

"They want your throat," Beckett growled. "They always did."

Magnolia’s eyes flicked to him , the bond between them humming like a blade drawn across glass. "Then they’ll have to take it."

She turned back to the breach. The forest beyond seemed to breathe , a pulse she felt in her bones. Beneath the hush, Camille’s echo threaded through her mind like smoke: Run while you still can.

She shivered. Beckett’s hand brushed her elbow, grounding her before the echo could sink claws too deep.

"They smell your fear," he murmured.

"Good," she breathed. "Let them choke on it."

Hours later, she stood alone at the gate. The wolves drifted back to their dens, their questions unanswered, their loyalty a rope fraying at the ends. Beckett hadn’t moved far , she could feel him tucked into the shadows just inside the wall’s curve, his heartbeat threading through hers, steady when hers faltered.

She crouched, brushing her fingers over the stones scorched black by the Elder’s first breach. Old blood stained the mortar where her pack had bled defending a secret they never truly understood.

Camille’s whisper pressed into her skull again, soft and lilting, just wrong enough to make her wolf bristle. Ash in the vein. Fire in the bone. He’s coming, Mags. He’s always coming.

Magnolia’s lips curled. "Then let him."

The wind tugged at her braid, snapping it like a banner around her shoulders. Snow drifted through the gap, settling in the hollow of her collarbone, cold enough to burn. She didn’t brush it away.

Behind her, Beckett’s boots crunched through the frost. He didn’t say her name , just stopped at her shoulder, the hush of him more solid than any crown she’d ever worn.

"They’re scared," he said.

She huffed a brittle laugh. "So am I."

His hand brushed her wrist, two fingers pressing against her pulse. "Not of you."

She met his eyes. The wolf behind them stared back , the same beast that had anchored hers since they were barely more than pups playing at being loyal. "I don’t need them to worship me," she said. "I need them to stand when the gate cracks again."

"And when it does?" Beckett’s voice dropped. "What will you give them to believe in?"

She leaned into his touch, just enough for the bond to steady. "A ghost," she rasped. "One that knows where the Ash Child burrows."

Dusk clawed its way back over the estate like a bruise spreading through skin too thin to fight it off. Magnolia climbed the old watchtower alone. Beckett lingered at the base, arms folded, eyes on the breach like he could hold the shadows back through sheer will.

She knelt at the broken arch where the stone had split under Sterling’s bombs. The forest sprawled beyond , silver and black, the trees bending under the weight of snow and secrets. Somewhere out there, Camille’s echo drifted between the pines, carrying the Ash Child’s hunger on her breath.

Magnolia closed her eyes. She pressed two fingers to the pulse at her throat, feeling Beckett’s heartbeat tangled with hers, steady and hot under the chill that crept through her bones.

"You think this keeps me whole," she whispered. The hush didn’t answer. It never did.

The wind shifted. She smelled it then , the crackle of old pine, the iron tang of fresh blood spattered where it shouldn’t be. Her wolf stirred under her ribs, restless, pacing the cage she’d locked it in with old promises.

She stood. She let the snow pelt her face raw, let the hush crawl under her cloak and kiss her ribs with the memory of every ghost she’d ever failed.

Below, Beckett tilted his head back, eyes finding hers in the dark.

"Come down," he called. His voice was quiet, but it cut through the hush like a blade.

She didn’t move. "When the gate breaks again," she said, loud enough that the hush carried it back to him, "don’t wait for me to stand alone."

He bared his teeth. "I never do."

Later, they met the council in the war room. The old maps lay scattered like bones across the table, lines drawn and redrawn until they meant nothing but the promise of more bodies feeding the snow.

Liora slammed her fist down, rattling the ink pots. "You stand there with his blood on your hands and say you can fix this?"

Magnolia held her gaze. "I say we can hunt what’s left of him."

"Your sister?"

"My sister’s ghost." Her throat caught. "The thing wearing her skin."

The hush cracked. Voices rose , old wolves snarling over what they’d give, who they’d sacrifice, which cubs they’d bury next if it meant the Elder’s chain might finally snap.

Beckett leaned close, his shoulder pressing against hers. "They’ll tear each other apart."

"Then we hold them together," she rasped.

Liora’s eyes narrowed. "And if you fail?"

Magnolia’s smile was thin as frost. "Then they’ll eat me first."

When the council dispersed, the hush lingered, clinging to the walls like smoke. Magnolia let Beckett lead her from the war room. His hand hovered at her lower back, not touching , an anchor waiting for the wave to drag her under.

Outside, the breach loomed , a mouth waiting to swallow them whole.

Magnolia pressed her hand to the old stone, her wolf snarling under her skin. Camille’s echo drifted through her mind one last time, sweeter than before, a poison that tasted like memory.

Run, Mags. Run while you still can.

She bared her teeth to the dark. "No."

Behind her, Beckett’s breath brushed her ear , the only warmth left.

"Then we hunt."