The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond-Chapter 92: The Wolf King’s Shadow

"You summoned me?" Camille’s voice carried across the silence, even before the guards at the arched door could announce her. She stepped in, robes brushing the floor, her hair undone, windswept like the sea before a storm.

Rhett turned slowly. His eyes weren’t the ones Camille remembered. They burned, not just with the fury of a rising Alpha, but with something older. Wiser. Hungrier.

"I needed truth," he said quietly. "And not the kind whispered in riddles."

Camille stopped in the center of the chamber. She looked small under the towering glyphs of the Elder Council, etched in stone above.

"What truth do you seek, Your Majesty?"

"The one you’re afraid to speak," he said. "You’ve been hiding things. From me. From her. From yourself."

Camille’s chin tilted up, stubborn. "You think I owe you confession?"

"I think you owe me war, or peace. And I need to know which side of that you stand on."

She folded her arms. "Sterling is making his move. He won’t wait much longer."

Rhett stepped closer, until there were only inches between them. "You once told Magnolia the stars chose her. So what did they choose you for?"

Her throat tensed. She swallowed. "To carry something cursed."

He blinked. "You mean the prophecy."

Camille nodded, then stepped away from him. She reached into her cloak and drew out a faded ribbon, blue silk, stained with ash. "I burned the letter. The one I wrote to her. Sterling never knew. But I kept this. A piece of the first scroll."

Rhett took the ribbon from her hand. His fingers brushed hers.

"What did it say?"

She didn’t answer right away. She looked past him, to the shadows at the edge of the room.

"That the vessel would be born under blood moonrise. That she would dream of wolves. And that her womb would echo with the howl of kings."

Rhett’s jaw flexed. "That sounds like you."

"No. It sounds like both of us. The prophecy never named names. That’s why Sterling is obsessed."

"And if he thinks you’re the vessel?"

Camille’s voice broke. "Then he’ll take my will. My body. Whatever’s left."

The chamber fell into silence. Even the wind outside seemed to retreat.

"You’re not his to take," Rhett said finally. "Neither of you are."

Camille laughed bitterly. "You still don’t understand. I’m not the prize. I’m the weapon."

He stepped closer again, but slower this time.

"Then let’s aim you in the right direction."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"You said your bloodline ties to the Luna of Fire. That means you carry their strength."

"And their madness," she whispered.

He smiled grimly. "I’ve seen madness. You’re not it."

For a second, they stood in silence. Camille’s breath caught as Rhett lifted her hand and placed it against his chest.

"Feel it," he murmured. "The bond. It’s not just Magnolia anymore. It’s all of us now. The pack, the prophecy... the war."

Her palm trembled. "It’s too late to stop him."

Rhett shook his head. "Then we don’t stop him. We beat him."

Camille’s eyes shimmered. "You’ll need more than strength."

"I’ll need you."

She looked up sharply. "Why me?"

"Because you’ve seen what we’re fighting. And because you’re the only one left brave enough to speak it aloud."

A voice echoed from the entryway. Magnolia.

"Then say it. Both of you. Say what you know before it swallows us."

She walked into the chamber, blood still staining her arm, her gown torn at the shoulder. Her wolf hovered beneath her skin, fur flashing in her gaze.

"The scrolls speak of two heirs," Camille said softly. "One born of vengeance. The other born of vision."

Magnolia’s voice cracked. "Then which am I?"

Camille looked at her. Then at Rhett.

"You’re both."

Rhett’s eyes closed. When he opened them, the fire inside had settled into something colder. More deliberate.

"Then the prophecy was never about one. It was about what we’d become together."

Magnolia walked to him. She didn’t touch him, but stood close enough that their breath mingled.

"Then we make our stand together. All of us."

Behind them, the ancient glyphs above the Elder Council throne flared. A crack split the central pillar, just slightly, but enough.

Camille’s whisper broke the silence.

"He knows we’re ready."

And from the darkness of the far corridor, a figure turned and walked away.

Sterling had heard enough.

"Are you ready to bleed for the bond?" Celeste’s voice broke through the hush of the moonlit chamber.

Magnolia didn’t answer. Her gaze lingered on the stone altar draped in ancestral veils, the symbols etched deep into the rock glowing faintly with lunar heat. The air tasted metallic, as though the chamber itself had already swallowed blood.

Celeste stepped closer, her robes brushing the floor, stirring dust and silence. "If you falter, the madness will eat you first. Do you understand what this rite demands of you?"

Magnolia raised her chin. Her voice, though low, rang with fire. "I understand. And I choose it."

"You choose pain. You choose memory. You choose the lives of a thousand Spellbinders inside your bones."

"I choose strength," Magnolia whispered.

A flicker of approval passed across Celeste’s ageless face. She lifted a small silver dagger from the altar, the blade curved like a wolf’s fang. "Then disrobe. Let the moon see you."

Magnolia hesitated only a moment. She unclasped the bone buttons of her ceremonial tunic, one by one, until the garment slid off her shoulders and fell to the ground like a shed skin. The cool air bit at her bare flesh. She stood tall, proud, the markings of her pack’s lineage coiled across her back like silent watchers.

Celeste circled her, murmuring in a tongue lost to time. As she moved, the symbols on the floor pulsed in response. From the shadows, six robed figures stepped forward, silent witnesses. The council of the Old Blood.

"Step onto the mark," Celeste instructed, her voice low.

Magnolia obeyed. Her feet sank into the ancient grooves of the lunar seal at the center of the floor. Energy snapped under her soles like a distant growl. The air grew thick, electric.

From the side of the chamber, Camille watched, her arms folded tightly across her chest, eyes dark with worry.

"She’s not ready," she said under her breath.

"She has to be," Rhett replied quietly beside her. His hand brushed hers for the briefest second, a touch that said more than any word he might’ve spoken. His face was carved in shadow, but his pulse raced under the skin.

Celeste raised the dagger.

"The bond between body and blood is severed only once. From this moment on, Magnolia, you are no longer just of Hollowfang. You are of the First Circle. You carry not one soul, but many. Speak the vow."

Magnolia’s voice did not tremble.

"I vow to carry the howl of my ancestors. I vow to remember their rage, their wisdom, their grief. I vow to let them live through me, fight through me, guide me until my body breaks beneath the burden."

Celeste drew the dagger down Magnolia’s palm. Blood bloomed instantly, hot, red, and shimmering under the moon’s gaze. Magnolia flinched but didn’t cry out. The blood dripped onto the lunar seal.

The chamber shuddered.

A low moan echoed from the walls. The veil between past and present thinned, and with it came the voices, whispers of Spellbinders long dead.

She is open.

She is ours now.

She will see what we saw.

Celeste chanted louder, forcing the voices to swirl into the vortex above them. Magnolia gasped. Her knees buckled, but she didn’t fall. Her eyes rolled back, then flashed silver.

The transformation had begun.

Flashes pierced her mind, battlefields soaked in crimson, children born in moonlight, betrayals carved into stone. Her heart pounded against her ribs like it was trying to flee. Each memory that entered her body felt like a blade, sharp, unforgiving.

"She’s going too deep," Camille hissed.

Celeste’s chant didn’t stop. "She has to go through it. There’s no other way."

Magnolia screamed.

Her voice split the chamber in two. Cracks formed in the altar. A wind, unnatural and ice-cold, swept through the hall. The symbols on the floor glowed like firebrands. Her skin shimmered, then broke into fragments of light. Bones shifted. Muscles quivered.

Then silence.

She fell forward, barely caught by Rhett, who’d rushed from the shadows. His arms wrapped around her, holding her body against his chest. "Magnolia. Stay with me."

She opened her eyes.

But they weren’t hers.

They were older. Wilder. Glowing with the fire of hundreds of lives lived and lost.

"Don’t touch her," Celeste warned. "She’s not just herself anymore."

Rhett didn’t let go. "I don’t care. She’s mine."

The council stirred, whispering among themselves.

"She survived the rite."

"No one has, not in centuries."

"She should be watched."

Magnolia’s lips parted, but when she spoke, it was in three voices.

"I see the past. I smell blood. I feel the fire that burns beyond the veil."

Rhett cupped her face. "Come back to me."

Her gaze softened, for a heartbeat. Then she tore away from him, staggering toward the altar, eyes locked on the remaining scrolls.

"There’s more," she said. "There’s something else here."

Celeste moved between her and the scrolls. "You’re not strong enough yet. One rite is enough. Anymore and, "

"I saw them," Magnolia interrupted. "The ones who died keeping this hidden. The power is real, Celeste. You’ve kept it from us long enough."

Rhett stood. "Magnolia, don’t, "

But she was already moving. She reached for the scroll.

The chamber shook violently.

Camille backed away, heart hammering. "She’s waking something else."

From deep below the temple, something answered. A pulse. A thud like a heart, massive and ancient.

Celeste’s face went pale.

"What did you awaken?" she breathed.

Magnolia turned, scroll in hand. "Not a what. A who."

The shadows twisted at the chamber’s edge. And for the first time in centuries, the Crimson Wolf opened its eyes.