The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond

Beckett’s rough voice broke the hush. "This is madness."

Magnolia didn’t look up. "You’ve said that."

He snorted. The sound made the candle flame flicker. "You haven’t answered."

She lifted her eyes. "We’re binding it tonight, Beck. I can’t walk into his jaws blind."

Beckett held up the page, ink smudged where old blood had seeped through the parchment. The sigil sketched there was jagged, spiked like a broken crown. "You’re binding us, Magnolia. Not just your wolf. Not just Sterling’s leash. Us."

She pushed to her feet, cloak slipping from her shoulders onto the cold floor. Beneath it, her shirt clung to her skin with old sweat and the faint smear of blood from the shallow cut she’d used to bait Sterling.

"It’s the only way I walk into that circle and don’t drown in him," she said. Her voice didn’t crack this time. It was iron. "The moment he tries to rip it from me, you’ll feel it. You’ll know."

Beckett laughed, low and vicious. "Feel it? Magnolia, this isn’t a warding charm or a hunter’s mark. This is an anchor. If he tears at your wolf, it tears through me, too."

"I know." She stepped closer. He didn’t move back. "That’s why it works."

Beckett’s jaw tightened, his thumb scraping a smear of old ash from the page. "You don’t trust me enough to stand behind you and slit his throat. You’d rather tie my soul to yours like a pair of hounds on the same leash."

She searched his face. Under the wolf’s anger, there was something else , something that made her chest ache. "It’s not about trust."