The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond-Chapter 70: Ash Between Their Steps

"Don’t touch that." Rhett’s voice cracked through the smoke as Savannah knelt beside the scorched sigil embedded in the cavern floor. Her fingers hovered inches from the blackened stone, trembling with equal parts fear and curiosity. The moment she heard his tone, she froze, but not before sensing something old stir beneath her skin.

"It’s not just a mark," she said. "It’s humming. Like it’s alive."

Rhett stepped forward, boots scraping ash across the cracked stone. His jaw was set, the bruising on his neck deeper now, spreading like ink under skin. The confrontation with Lucia’s followers had left him wounded in more ways than one. He looked at the symbol, a blazing, jagged crest half-erased by time and scorched blood. Its edges still glowed faintly, reacting to Savannah’s nearness.

"That’s because it is alive," he muttered. "It’s part of the oath. One of the first rites performed by the Hollowfang Circle. Before Sterling silenced them."

Savannah rose slowly, brushing ash from her knees. Her gaze met his. "Then why was it buried? Why keep it hidden beneath the old watchtower unless someone didn’t want it found?"

Rhett looked away. His voice dropped. "Because it was her mark. Lucia’s."

The silence that followed felt like an avalanche settling around them. Savannah’s chest tightened.

"Your mother left this here?"

He nodded once. "They used it to bind bloodlines. Pacts older than the Syndicate. Ones we don’t talk about, not in front of outsiders, not even within the Callahan archives."

"So we’ve been fighting ghosts," she murmured. "Ghosts who still remember how to bleed."

He touched her wrist gently, grounding her. "We’re not fighting ghosts. We’re fighting a story someone tried to bury. And now it’s clawing its way back."

A deep growl echoed down the corridor. Not from outside, but below.

They both turned.

"Did you hear that?" she whispered.

Rhett didn’t respond. He had already drawn his blade.

From the shadows, a low thud. Then a scraping sound, like claws dragging over stone.

Savannah backed toward the wall, her heart hammering. "This place is supposed to be sealed."

"It was," Rhett said.

Out of the dark came a figure, gaunt, cloaked in shredded robes, the insignia of the Hollowfang branded into its cheek. Not alive. Not dead. Not Syndicate.

"You trespass on sacred blood," it rasped.

Rhett moved fast, sword raised, but the creature blocked him with unnatural speed, claws catching metal with a shriek.

Savannah ducked, reaching for the flint blade hidden beneath her coat. She didn’t hesitate. As Rhett locked blades with the monster, she slashed toward its leg, catching sinew and bone. It howled.

Another form dropped from the ceiling, then another. Four. Six. A dozen.

"Trap," Rhett growled.

They were surrounded.

Savannah shifted slightly, enough to feel the pulse of heat still emanating from the sigil.

"The mark," she said breathlessly. "What if it’s not just a key, it’s a weapon?"

He followed her gaze. "You think you can activate it?"

"I think it’s already waking."

The creatures closed in. Rhett’s breath ragged. Blood dripped from his left arm.

Savannah stepped into the circle, placed her palm over the center, and whispered the words she didn’t know she knew.

The floor exploded with light.

A scream, inhuman, ripped through the air. The creatures writhed, smoke pouring from their mouths, before they crumbled to ash around them.

When the light faded, Savannah collapsed.

Rhett caught her. "Savannah. Hey. Look at me."

She blinked, dazed. "What did I just do?"

He looked down at the burned mark beneath them. It had vanished.

"You ended the chain. Whatever bound them to this place, it’s gone."

A gust of wind blew through the tunnel. Faint. But there.

"Fresh air," she whispered. "There’s another way out."

They followed it, the tunnel sloping upward, stone turning to dirt, dirt to sand. And then they emerged, blinded by sunlight.

But the moment of peace shattered.

Across the ridge, standing like a phantom against the light, was Lucia.

Alive. Whole. And smiling.

"You found my echo," she called softly. "Good. Now find me."

And then she vanished over the horizon.

Rhett’s grip on Savannah’s hand tightened.

"This was just a test. The real war hasn’t started yet."

"You’re late," Beckett said, his voice flat, dust rising around his boots as he stood beneath the waning moonlight, the path behind him veiled by smoke and pine.

"I followed as fast as I could." Callum emerged from the brush, breathing heavy, shirt torn, blood spattered down one sleeve. "The trail vanished into the east ridge. I thought, "

"You thought wrong," Beckett snapped, gesturing toward the ravine ahead. "That’s where it ends."

The two men stared into the dark cut in the earth, a scar winding deep into the mountain like the jaw of something ancient and starving. Beckett’s eyes were hard, shadowed by more than the night.

"She was here," he said, voice thick. "Camille. I found her boot. Blood on the rocks. But no signs of a body."

Callum’s jaw twitched. "So... was she taken?"

Beckett didn’t answer. Instead, he crouched, running a finger through the dried smear on a broken branch. He sniffed it, then recoiled. "Poison."

Callum tensed. "Syndicate?"

"Something worse." Beckett’s hand hovered near his belt, where a small blade gleamed beneath his coat. "This wasn’t just to kill. It was meant to silence."

Wind whistled through the trees, and somewhere deep in the shadows, a low growl echoed back.

"We’re not alone," Callum said quietly.

"I know." free𝑤ebnovel.com

They turned as one, too slow.

From the darkness, a shadow lunged. Not a beast, not quite human either. Claws glinting, fangs exposed. Syndicate-born, but warped. Poison crusted at the corners of its mouth. It landed on Beckett first, throwing him backward into the gravel.

Callum roared, shifting mid-sprint. Bones cracked, skin split, his wolf emerging in a burst of fury. He slammed into the attacker, jaws locking onto its arm. The creature shrieked, a high, splintering sound that made Beckett’s ears ring.

He stumbled to his feet, clutching his ribs. "Don’t let it bite you!"

Callum grunted, wrestling the creature toward the cliff’s edge. But it was strong, too strong. With one guttural cry, it knocked Callum away and turned on Beckett again.

Beckett raised his blade, slashing upward just as the monster struck. Steel met flesh. Blood sprayed.

He was too late.

Claws tore across his chest, ripping deep. He collapsed against the edge of the ravine, coughing blood, vision fading.

Callum lunged again, this time with purpose. He caught the creature’s leg, yanked, and with a roar, threw it over the edge.

It vanished into the chasm below with a scream that echoed too long.

"Beckett!" Callum shifted back, scrambling to his side. "Stay with me, brother. Don’t you dare close your eyes."

"I... I saw her," Beckett wheezed, one hand pressed to his wound. "Just before it attacked. She was watching. From the rocks."

"Camille?" Callum asked in disbelief.

Beckett nodded slowly. "She didn’t run. She lured it... away from the others. She saved us."

Callum cursed under his breath, ripping fabric to bind the wound. "That’s not running. That’s sacrifice."

"I think... she was trying to lead them away from Magnolia."

Callum froze. "Then she knew."

Beckett’s voice broke into a rasp. "They’re hunting the girl. Not just Camille. They want the prophecy buried. They’re afraid of what she is."

The wind shifted. A new scent curled through the air, wildflowers and cinders.

Callum turned sharply. "Someone’s coming."

Footsteps approached from behind the treeline, light, almost floating. Then a figure stepped out.

It was Magnolia.

Her white dress was torn, her eyes wide with panic and glowing gold beneath the starlight. She didn’t look scared.

She looked ready.

"Camille’s alive," she said breathlessly. "I can feel her."

Callum stood slowly, shielding Beckett behind him. "How do you know?"

Magnolia stepped forward, holding up a small, glowing stone. "Because she gave me this. Slipped it into my hand just before she vanished."

The stone pulsed, once, twice, then turned cold.

Beckett coughed again. "It’s a tracker," he whispered. "But not one of theirs. It’s bonded."

"To you?" Callum asked.

"No," Magnolia answered softly. "To me."

Callum looked between them, tension coiling in his muscles. "Then they’re using her to draw you out."

"And I’ll go," Magnolia said.

"No," Callum growled. "It’s a trap."

She met his gaze evenly. "I know. But I’m not walking in as prey."

She turned her palm upward, and the stone burst into flame.

"I’m walking in as fire."

The ground beneath them shook slightly. Somewhere far off, a howl answered the pulse of that flame.

Beckett looked up through the pain. "They don’t fear the prophecy," he whispered. "They fear what happens... when it wakes."

Magnolia didn’t flinch. "Then let them burn in their fear."

She turned, heading into the trees.

Callum hesitated, then followed.

Behind them, Beckett slumped against the rocks, blood soaking the earth beneath him, but a smile twitching on his lips.

Because even through pain, he saw it,

The girl was no longer a prophecy.

She was becoming the storm.

Savannah’s voice rang out sharp against the echoing corridor of the west wing. The moonlight through the cracked windows painted streaks across her determined face, her eyes burning like the last flame in a dying torch.

Rhett stood at the threshold, dressed in his storm-colored coat, fists clenched at his sides. "I never said I wouldn’t follow."

She took a step forward, the fabric of her coat sweeping the stone floor like a commandment. "Following isn’t the same as leading beside me. If I’m going to risk everything, I won’t do it with a shadow hovering behind me."

His voice dropped. "You’re not going to find her there. You think Camille left tracks to be traced? She wanted to disappear."

"Then why the torn map? Why leave a trail at all?" Her lips trembled for only a breath before setting firm again. "She’s not running. She’s warning us. And you know what that means."

Rhett didn’t answer, but his silence carried more than any protest. Savannah brushed past him, and for a second, their shoulders touched. Sparks. Always sparks.

"Be ready," she murmured, not turning back. "The next time I see you hesitating, I won’t wait."

The dunes were a graveyard of footprints half-consumed by the night wind. Savannah followed them, past the old vineyard ruins, past the cracked stone arch bearing the faded symbol of the original Callahan bloodline , an ouroboros twisted into thorns.

She paused only when the scent hit her. Cinnamon. Ash. And something beneath , something feral.

"You’re not alone."

Savannah turned slowly. A voice. Female. Young.

A girl emerged from behind a broken pillar, no more than sixteen, barefoot, with tangled copper curls and violet eyes that shimmered unnaturally.

"Who are you?"

The girl smiled, and it wasn’t a child’s smile. It was ancient. Knowing. Dangerous. "They call me Ashling. I come from what was buried."

"You followed Camille."

"She followed us."

Savannah stepped back, her fingers brushing the blade strapped beneath her coat. "What do you want from her?"

Ashling tilted her head. "You misunderstand. She wants something from you. But you’re late."

The girl turned and began walking toward the ravine path, her shadow flickering like a flame. Savannah followed, her boots silent against the sand, her heart loud.

They reached the crevice where the mountain split like a cracked tooth. There, pinned to a tree by a dagger of blackened silver, was Camille’s scarf , the one she wore the day before she vanished.

Savannah’s knees threatened to give out.

Ashling gestured to the north. "There’s a place where they gather. The Hollowfangs. Your Rhett knows it. He just doesn’t remember."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because when it starts," Ashling said, voice hollow now, "you’ll have to choose between the throne , and the girl who bleeds for you."

Savannah turned toward her, but Ashling was gone.

"What did you find?"

Rhett’s voice struck the silence as Savannah stormed through the grand doors of the estate’s central hall, holding the scorched scarf in her hand like a burning verdict.

She threw it onto the war table, letting it unfurl across the map of pack lands. Beckett and Magnolia froze where they stood, their gazes locking on the fabric.

"Where did you, "

"A message," she said. "Camille’s not missing. She’s bait. And we’re being hunted from the inside."

Beckett slammed his fist against the table. "Who’s doing this?"

Savannah looked to Rhett, who was staring at the scarf like it was bleeding.

"The Hollowfang Circle. Does that name mean anything to you?"

His jaw tightened. "That faction died with Sterling."

"Then maybe Sterling didn’t die either," she said coldly.

A silence fell.

"Ashling mentioned a place," Savannah continued. "North of the ravine. Camille’s there, or what’s left of her is."

Magnolia stepped forward, her voice quiet. "Then we go."

Rhett’s gaze flicked to Savannah. "Together."

For once, she nodded.

"Together."

But none of them saw the shadow at the window. None of them noticed the flicker of movement in the chandelier’s reflection. And none of them realized that the scarf Camille left behind was not hers anymore , but marked.

With the Hollowfang sigil in dried blood.