The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond-Chapter 49: Ash Between Their Steps

"You’re trembling, Savannah. Why are you trembling?" Rhett’s voice was quiet but urgent, his fingers wrapped around hers like steel bands, both shielding and restraining.

She blinked up at him. "Because everything around me is changing, and I don’t know who to be anymore."

His jaw tightened. The gala crowd still buzzed behind them, but in this small hallway tucked between chandeliers and closed doors, they stood in their own tense bubble.

"Don’t say that like you have to stop being who you are. You’re allowed to change. You’re allowed to grow."

She pulled her hand free slowly, deliberately. "And if growth means becoming someone who can no longer be molded to your expectations?"

Rhett didn’t answer right away. His eyes searched hers as if trying to decode a language he had forgotten.

"Then I adapt too," he finally said. "Because I never wanted you molded, Savannah. I wanted you strong."

She laughed bitterly. "Funny. It took being auctioned off like livestock for me to find that strength."

"Don’t," he growled, stepping closer, the raw emotion in his face unfiltered now. "Don’t reduce what you’ve become to that night. You were always powerful. That night just forced the world to see it."

She looked away, chest heaving. The guilt curled like smoke in her gut, not just from her own actions but from how much of herself she had lost trying to make him see.

"Savannah," he said softly. "Why did you run from me in the ballroom?"

The question hit like a slap. She met his gaze slowly.

"Because I saw something in you that terrified me. A glimpse of the man I once loved... and the beast that buried him."

He flinched as if the words had drawn blood. For a moment, neither spoke.

Then he said, voice low, "What do I have to do to make you believe I’m not that man anymore?"

"Start by not asking for belief," she whispered. "Earn it."

Before he could reply, footsteps echoed. Rhett turned as Magnus stepped into the corridor, his tailored suit and smirk as disarming as always.

"Interrupting something tender?" Magnus drawled, gaze flicking between them.

Savannah tensed. Rhett didn’t move. "Get to the point."

"You’re needed upstairs. It seems your uncle has decided to test everyone’s loyalty tonight."

Rhett cursed under his breath and turned to Savannah. "Wait here. I mean it. Don’t go anywhere until I return."

She nodded, but her eyes said she wasn’t promising anything.

He touched her hand once, fleeting, then disappeared with Magnus.

Left alone, Savannah inhaled deeply. The hallway suddenly felt colder, as if the walls remembered all the secrets ever whispered here. Her heels clicked faintly as she moved to the edge, peering back toward the ballroom.

It was dazzling. Gold lights, silk gowns, hidden knives behind charming smiles.

And then she saw her.

The woman in red.

Standing by the edge of the staircase, sipping from a champagne flute with eyes like sharpened glass.

Gabrielle.

The one who had whispered poison into Rhett’s ears for years. The one who made sure Savannah’s name was always at the edge of scandal.

Savannah’s throat dried. She should turn away, go back to the shadows.

Instead, she walked forward.

Every step drew her closer, not just to Gabrielle, but to a version of herself who no longer feared confrontation.

When Gabrielle finally noticed, her smile bloomed like frostbite. "Savannah. My, my, you look... expensively recovered."

"And you," Savannah replied smoothly, "still look like you mistake cruelty for class."

The smile didn’t falter. "Oh, darling. Still feisty. Tell me, is this your first gala as Rhett’s... what is it now? Wife? Toy? Trophy?"

Savannah tilted her head. "I forget, is bitterness a perfume you wear, or did someone spill it on you again?"

Gabrielle’s fingers tightened on her glass. "Careful. There are eyes everywhere."

"Then let them watch," Savannah said. "They’ll see a woman who refused to be broken."

Gabrielle leaned in, voice syrupy with venom. "You think this ends in your favor? You think standing beside Rhett makes you untouchable? You’re just another phase. A warmer body for a colder night."

Savannah stepped closer, eyes unblinking. "Then let the night remember how brightly I burn."

The tension was palpable. A few guests glanced over, sensing the temperature shift.

Then a sudden crash upstairs. Shouts.

Savannah turned toward the sound. A moment later, Magnus appeared again, this time his face grim.

"Savannah," he said, voice low but urgent. "You need to come with me. Now."

She didn’t question it.

She followed, heart pounding, dress trailing like fire.

And somewhere in her mind, she realized something terrible had just begun.

"Are you sure about this?" Clara whispered, her breath fogging in the cold night air.

Lucas didn’t respond immediately. His eyes scanned the dense pine forest ahead, ears straining for the subtle sounds of movement. The moonlight fractured through the branches above, casting long, shifting shadows that danced around them like spirits of the fallen.

"We don’t have a choice," he finally said. "Ryker’s forces are moving faster than we predicted. If we don’t intercept them before they reach the hollow, the whole southern sector will fall."

Clara clenched her gloved hands. Her wolf stirred beneath her skin, anxious and twitching, sensing what her human mind refused to acknowledge: a trap was waiting for them.

Lucas glanced over. "You can turn back. I won’t think less of you."

She met his gaze with quiet fire. "I didn’t survive everything to run now. Lead the way."

They moved like shadows, melting into the trees. A dozen other warriors followed behind them, wolves sworn to Clara, loyal to her cause. Their footfalls were silent, their expressions set. The air was taut with tension, with waiting.

At the edge of the cliff overlooking Black Hollow, they stopped. Below, movement shimmered beneath the tree cover, too many figures for a routine patrol. Clara narrowed her eyes. She didn’t need to count. She could feel them. A small army.

"Ryker knows we’re watching," Lucas muttered. "He’s making a spectacle."

Clara crouched, fingers brushing the frost-covered moss. Her heartbeat had steadied. She could feel the forest breathing around her, alive with secrets. "This isn’t a real movement. It’s a distraction. He wants to split us."

Lucas swore softly. "Then where’s the real strike?"

A wolf howled to their right, short, sharp, and wrong. Clara froze. That wasn’t one of theirs.

"Ambush," she hissed. "Circle formation, now!" fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓

Steel rang as blades were drawn. The warriors pivoted, forming a tight ring, backs to each other. Shadows leapt from the underbrush, not just wolves, but something else. Clara’s breath hitched. They wore the pelts of wolves but walked like men, their eyes hollow with enchantment.

"Skinwalkers," Lucas growled, baring his teeth. "Ryker has turned to the forbidden arts."

One lunged. Clara met it mid-air, her dagger flashing in a clean arc that tore open its chest. Blackened blood splashed across the leaves.

Chaos broke.

The clearing became a storm of motion and fury. Blades clashed against claws. Screams tore the silence. Clara moved like fire, her wolf rising through her skin, golden eyes blazing with ancient fury. She tore through the skinwalkers with deadly precision, but they kept coming, too many, too fast.

A scream behind her, one of her warriors fell. Clara turned, too late to stop the second skinwalker from reaching her flank.

Lucas slammed into it with a roar, throwing it back against a tree. "Stay focused!"

She growled, blood on her lips, and they fought side by side, instincts meshing like twin stars drawn to the same orbit.

Then a horn blew.

The skinwalkers froze.

Retreated.

Clara stood in the silence that followed, her chest heaving. Blood stained the earth. Her warriors were alive, but wounded. The trees around them crackled in the breeze, watching, waiting.

Lucas picked up a silver pendant from one of the fallen skinwalkers. "This wasn’t just an ambush. It was a message."

Clara turned slowly. "What kind of message?"

He held the pendant toward her. It was marked with the sigil of her old pack, one that had been massacred years ago.

Clara’s face went pale.

"He wants you to know he’s rewriting your past," Lucas whispered.

Clara’s fingers tightened around her blade. Her wolf trembled.

"Then I’ll rewrite the ending. With fire."