The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond
Chapter 110: The Return of the Elder Alpha

Chapter 110: The Return of the Elder Alpha

"Is that...?" Magnolia began, her voice trailing into a whisper.

"Yes," Rhett murmured. "My father."

The car halted.

The back door opened.

And out stepped the Elder Alpha.

He was not a man one easily forgot. Towering, broad-shouldered, his presence was volcanic, consuming the air around him. His hair, once dark, was now streaked with silver like lightning etched through storm clouds. Lines carved his face with decades of power worn like armor, and his eyes, wolf-gold and unforgiving, burned through everything they touched.

Magnolia instinctively took a step back.

Elder Alpha Callahan surveyed the territory with the gaze of a king returning to a throne long vacated. His black coat snapped in the wind, tailored to fit a body still formidable, his hands gloved in leather, posture regal. Soldiers trailed behind him, men who had tasted war and returned colder for it.

The Elder’s eyes landed on Rhett.

"Son," he said. The word was not tender. It was sharp, like a knife unsheathed.

Rhett did not bow. "You weren’t expected."

"I go where prophecy calls me."

A flicker crossed Rhett’s face. It was not fear, it was fury, tightly leashed. "This territory is under my command."

"And poorly kept," the Elder replied. He turned to look at the surrounding pack members emerging from the manor, drawn to the presence like moths to a blaze. He sneered. "Soft. Undisciplined."

The insult rolled off Rhett like rain.

"What do you want?" he asked tightly.

"I have come," the Elder said, stepping forward until only feet separated them, "to collect what should have never been hidden."

He turned his gaze. It fell on Magnolia. Then further, to Camille, standing by the garden’s edge, pale and distant, as if she hadn’t slept in days.

"You know why I’m here."

Camille tilted her head, expression unreadable.

Rhett stepped between them. "She is under my protection."

The Elder smiled. It was a horrible thing, wolfish, knowing. "Then the bond dies with her."

Silence cracked the courtyard like a broken bone.

Magnolia’s breath caught.

Rhett’s voice was low. "You wouldn’t dare."

The Elder’s gaze never faltered. "The moment she was born, the prophecy was sealed. You delay the inevitable, son. Delay long enough, and prophecy turns into plague."

Camille did not speak. Her expression was blank, eyes distant. Even now, she did not look at them.

The Elder’s voice lowered, lethal and cold. "Hand her over. Or face the storm that follows."

Rhett took a step forward, nose to nose with his father. "You forget whose name this pack answers to."

The Elder chuckled, and it was a sound that held no warmth. "Names are dust. Power is blood. And yours, I gave you."

The tension in the courtyard was thick enough to choke.

Then Camille turned away, silent, vanishing into the trees behind the estate like mist.

The Elder’s eyes tracked her movements.

Magnolia stepped forward. "She’s not ready. Whatever you believe she is, she’s not stable."

He turned to her. "And you are?"

His gaze swept her, taking in her presence. Tall, striking, Magnolia carried the kind of beauty carved from storms, with eyes the color of sunlit moss and skin pale as moonlight. She wore no makeup, no jewelry, just a long black coat and boots caked in mud. She was not trying to impress.

But there was defiance in her posture. And the Elder Alpha saw it.

"You," he said quietly, "are the reason he is soft."

Rhett growled. "Don’t."

The Elder waved a hand. "I speak truth. You are a complication in a prophecy that demands precision. Camille must fulfill her purpose."

"She’s a girl," Magnolia snapped. "Not a weapon."

The Elder’s eyes glinted. "You’ll find prophecy cares little for innocence."

He turned. "You have three days."

"To do what?" Rhett demanded.

"To hand her over willingly. Or I take her by force."

With that, he turned, cloak sweeping behind him like a shadow with purpose. His guards followed in formation.

As he climbed back into the car, the door slammed, and the engine roared.

The car vanished down the path, swallowed by the trees and silence.

Magnolia exhaled slowly.

"He’ll come back," she said.

"Yes," Rhett replied, voice raw. "And he won’t come alone."

She looked at him then, truly looked, at the man she married for duty, whose hands had touched her only when necessity called, who had grown distant since Camille’s emergence.

But now, she saw the cracks. The fear.

And for the first time, she reached for him, her fingers brushing the back of his hand.

He didn’t pull away.

Not this time.

The moment hung between them, quiet but alive.

Until a scream shattered the stillness.

From the forest.

Camille.

And it wasn’t human.

"Camille," she breathed, already moving.

Rhett was faster, vaulting over the iron-railed garden wall as if it were air. Magnolia followed, heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped animal. Branches clawed at her coat. The scent of damp pine and scorched earth thickened as they pushed deeper into the woods behind the estate.

There was something wrong with the trees.

They stood still. Too still. Not a single leaf rustled. Even the wind had died.

They found Camille in a clearing surrounded by wild briar and twisted vines. She stood barefoot in the grass, white dress muddied at the hem, hair clinging to her back in damp strands. The forest loomed behind her like a cathedral of shadows.

And she was whispering.

Not in a language Magnolia recognized. Not even in tongues that belonged to their kind.

Her hands were raised, fingers trembling as though plucking strings from the air.

Rhett halted beside her, his chest heaving. "Camille."

She didn’t turn.

Magnolia stepped forward, slowly. "Camille, it’s me... it’s Maggie. Look at me, baby."

The girl turned.

But what turned was not Camille.

Her eyes, once soft brown, filled with unspoken dreams, were now black. Not the void-black of sleep, but oil-slick, bottomless, ancient. They shimmered with something not of this world. Her pupils were pinpricks, barely visible.

And when she spoke, it wasn’t her voice.

"You should not have come."

Magnolia froze.

Rhett stepped in front of her, body tense. "Whatever this is, let her go."

Camille tilted her head. The motion was too smooth. Too precise. A puppet’s grace.

"I can’t," the thing said through Camille’s lips. "She opened the gate. She invited me in."

"Invited who?" Magnolia demanded. "Camille, please, fight it."

The air shifted. Grew colder. The sun above dimmed behind sudden clouds. A wind began to churn through the trees, twisting the leaves into spinning spirals.

Camille’s bare feet lifted slightly off the ground. Her body hovered inches above the earth, eyes wide open, mouth slack.

Rhett cursed, low and furious. "This isn’t possession. It’s manifestation."

"What does that mean?"

He didn’t answer. His gaze was locked on Camille’s form as if trying to summon a solution from thin air.

"Listen to me," Magnolia called, stepping forward. Her voice cracked. "You’re not alone in there. I know you’re scared. But you’re stronger than this, Cam. You hear me? You’re stronger than, "

Camille’s body jerked. Her hands snapped outward.

The trees behind her shuddered. A line of them, ten or more, bowed as if something massive had passed through them all at once.

The force struck Magnolia like a punch. Her back hit the ground with a painful thud, breath ripped from her lungs. Rhett caught her arm and yanked her upright just as Camille floated forward, eyes blazing.

"Then the bond dies with her," she said.

The same words spoken by the Elder. But Camille had not been there. Had not heard.

"How does she know?" Magnolia whispered.

"She’s channeling something," Rhett muttered. "Or someone."

Magnolia stared. "But who?"

As if in answer, Camille’s lips parted, and a sound, not a voice, escaped. A thousand whispers in one. A wind that spoke.

"They buried the child in ash... and thought the fire had died."

Rhett stepped back. His face was pale. "That’s prophecy."

Camille’s body convulsed. Her feet hit the ground hard. She fell to her knees, gasping. Her hands clutched her head, nails digging into her scalp.

"Stop it!" she screamed. "Stop talking in my head!"

Magnolia was beside her in seconds. "Camille, look at me. I’m here, I’m real."

Camille blinked. Her eyes flickered, black, then brown, then black again.

"Make them stop," she begged. "I hear them. All of them. The dead. The unborn. They’re screaming."

Rhett knelt, fingers grazing the earth. "This isn’t a gift. It’s a curse. Someone activated it too soon."

Magnolia cupped Camille’s face, brushing damp strands from her cheeks. "You’re not alone. We’ll fix this. I promise you."

Camille leaned into her touch, trembling.

But then she stiffened.

Her eyes widened in terror. "He’s coming. He’s coming for me."

"Who?"

Camille’s voice dropped to a whisper. "The one with ash in his mouth. The one who never dies."

She collapsed.

Magnolia caught her, sinking to her knees with the full weight of Camille in her arms. Her skin was cold. Too cold. Her breath came in gasps.

Rhett touched her neck. "She’s alive. Barely."

They moved quickly. Rhett lifted Camille with ease, his arms taut and trembling. Magnolia kept close, whispering reassurance even as her own mind reeled.

They returned to the estate in silence. The guards said nothing, only opened the iron gates with wary eyes as the three passed through.

Inside the manor, Camille was placed in the east wing, Rhett’s private quarters, the most protected area of the estate. Doctors were called. Wards were etched into the stone around the bed. Salt lines drawn, old chants whispered by trembling lips.

But Camille did not wake.

She lay there, still as winter, her eyes fluttering beneath closed lids.

Magnolia stood at the foot of the bed, arms wrapped around herself.

"She’s changing," Rhett said beside her.

"She’s breaking," Magnolia corrected. "And none of us know how to stop it."

Rhett’s fingers brushed hers. Just a brush. Not enough to be seen. Enough to be felt.

"I’ll find a way," he said. "Even if I have to go through my father to do it."

Magnolia turned to him, her voice shaking. "You think he knew this would happen?"

"I think he planned for it."

They stood together, watching the girl on the bed.

Then Camille’s body jerked.

And her lips moved.

"Magnolia," she whispered.

The voice wasn’t hers.

And it said one word more,

"Run."

"No," she whispered. "No, no, please, "

The ground beneath her began to shatter.

From the edges of the clearing, black figures emerged. Cloaked in smoke. Their mouths sewn shut with ash thread. They moved like ghosts, gliding without touching the earth.

And they pointed.

At her.

"You did this," a voice hissed in her ear. "You brought it into the world."

Magnolia spun. No one was there.

The forest trembled. Fire bled from the sky in ribbons. The baby wailed again, louder than before. It curled in on itself, radiating heat, turning the ash beneath it to glass.

Suddenly, the infant’s limbs stretched unnaturally. Its tiny spine arched. Bones snapped. The baby changed, growing larger, monstrous, its face warping into something inhuman.

"No, stop, " Magnolia tried to stand, but the ash held her down.

And then the child spoke.

"I am the Ash Born. I remember the betrayal."

Its eyes locked on hers.

"You let them kill me."

Magnolia sobbed, trying to shake her head, but her voice was gone.

"You fed me to fire."

"No," she mouthed.

The child crawled toward her. Flames licked its back. The forest closed in, burning and watching.

"Then burn with me," it whispered.

Suddenly the world ignited. Flames exploded in every direction. The heat slammed into her like a wall. She screamed,

And jolted awake.

Her breath caught in her throat as she sat upright, drenched in sweat, chest heaving.

Smoke. The scent of smoke.

She looked down.

Her sheets were smoldering.

Tiny blackened holes peppered the white cotton. Wisps of smoke curled upward from where her hands had clenched the bedding.

She scrambled out of bed, heart thundering.

Then her eyes widened.

Camille stood at the foot of the bed.

Silent.

Watching.

Still in the same tattered dress, her bare feet leaving faint ash prints on the wooden floor.

Her eyes were closed.

But her mouth was moving.

Whispering something. Repeating it over and over again.

Magnolia backed away until she hit the wall.

"Camille," she said shakily. "Are you awake?"

No response.

Then her eyes snapped open.

Pitch black.

The whispering stopped.

Camille tilted her head.

"You saw him," she said in that not-Camille voice.

Magnolia couldn’t speak.

"He showed you what’s coming."

"I... I don’t understand, "

Camille stepped forward, her voice low and vibrating. "He’s not unborn. He was returned. Cast out by your kind, reborn in ash and pain. And he remembers."

Magnolia tried to swallow. Her throat was dry. "The baby... who was it?"

Camille blinked. The blackness faded. For one flicker of a second, she was herself.

And in that second, she whispered, "My son."

Then collapsed to the floor.

Magnolia caught her before her head hit the ground, cradling the girl’s small frame. She was burning hot. Her skin felt like fire under silk.

"Help!" Magnolia screamed. "Somebody help me!"

Footsteps thundered down the hall.

The door burst open.

Rhett was the first inside, followed by two guards and a healer. His eyes scanned the scorched sheets, the smoke, Camille’s unconscious body in Magnolia’s arms.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"I had a dream," Magnolia said breathlessly. "A vision. There was a baby, he was on fire, he said she was his mother, "

"She what?" Rhett snapped.

"She said he was her son."

The healer dropped to his knees, checking Camille’s vitals with hands that glowed faintly blue. "Her pulse is high. She’s burning from within. I need ice, sigils, moonroot, now."

Rhett turned to a guard. "Move!"

Magnolia barely heard them. Her gaze remained fixed on Camille’s face, sweating, twitching, whispering things no human ear should understand.

Something had awakened inside her.

Something the Elder Alpha had been waiting for.

And something that had just shown Magnolia a glimpse of a future too terrible to name.

The Ash Child was coming.

And Camille was the gate.

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