The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond

"I should’ve let you bleed."

Magnolia didn’t flinch at Beckett’s words. She knelt by the glowing firelight that cracked across the stone wall of the Callahan war tent, her hands still red, the shift residue thick beneath her fingernails. Beckett lay stretched on the cot, his side wrapped in gauze soaked pink. His golden eyes were wild, flickering between anger and disbelief.

"Then next time, bleed quieter," she replied, her tone ice-covered steel.

He laughed bitterly and winced. "That mouth of yours is going to get us both killed."

Savannah entered then, dragging the flap aside with force. Her face was pale but determined. Behind her, Rhett stood like a living stormcloud. The rest of the pack had gathered outside the tent, their murmurs loud enough to split silence. Rumor spread like wildfire, that the girl with no bloodline, no training, had turned fully and lived. Worse, she had saved a warrior.

"They want answers," Savannah said, her voice tight. "They saw your shift. They saw you tear through a Syndicate scout like he was air."

Magnolia stood, brushing dried blood from her pants. "Then let them ask their questions."

"They’re not asking. They’re deciding," Rhett replied. "And some don’t like what they’ve seen."

"What exactly did they see, Alpha?" Magnolia asked, stepping forward. "A girl save your soldier? Or the truth you’ve kept buried too long?"

Beckett sat up suddenly, groaning, hand clutching his ribs. "Enough with the riddles. Say it plain. She shifted. She’s not dead. She’s not broken. So either she’s pack or she’s threat."

"She’s something else," Rhett said after a beat. "Which is why she needs to take the Oath."