The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond-Chapter 18: THE BLOOD BOND STIRS

The high council chamber of Blackmist Keep stood in stone silence, yet tension buzzed louder than thunderclouds. Oak beams arched above, carved with runes from long-forgotten wars, and the scent of ash and old blood lingered like a ghost too stubborn to pass on.

Magnolia stood at the long obsidian table, head high, spine drawn taut like a bowstring. Her hands were folded, but the mark under her glove itched with a pulse she couldn’t name. One more word and she might just erupt too soon, too dangerously.

Rhett stood beside her, shoulders square in his black coat, the gold embroidery marking his status as Alpha Lord. Every inch of him exuded calm power but she saw the storm beneath his eyes. The weight of alliance and duty twisted into every word he didn’t say aloud.

Ivy tapped her stylus against the table tap, tap, tap and all eyes turned to her.

"I think it’s fair to question the Luna’s stability," she said. Softly. Sweetly. Like honey poisoned just right. "Given the erratic flare of her bond and her... sudden incapacitation during the last summit."

A hum rolled through the room. Elders leaned back, eyes narrowing. No one interrupted Ivy not because she was right, but because she was terrifying.

She sat draped in deep forest green, hair coiled atop her head like a serpent waiting to strike. Her cheekbones could cut glass, and her voice always tasted of danger. Daughter of one of the oldest bloodlines, Ivy had power politically and magically. And she knew it.

Magnolia inhaled through her nose. Counted to four.

Then, finally: "If you have concerns, you’re free to raise them privately, Ivy. But questioning my strength in front of half the northern lords feels less like concern and more like theater."

A soft chuckle came from Beckett near the hearth. He didn’t look up.

Ivy turned to the others. "We’re standing at the brink of war. Alpha Sterling prepares to contest the Blood Accord. If our Luna falters again "

"She hasn’t," Rhett said, voice steady.

"But she could," Ivy pressed.

Rhett’s jaw ticked. Magnolia put a hand on his arm, not to calm him but to steady herself.

"I’m here, aren’t I?" Magnolia said, stepping forward. "You want transparency? I’ll give it. My bond’s changing. And yes, I feel it. It’s stronger than it was last moon, maybe stronger than it’s ever been. But that doesn’t mean it’s broken."

Ivy’s eyes flashed. "Unstable magic can’t be caged by sheer will, Magnolia. And if your bond’s growing out of your control, you are a liability to every soul in this room."

The floor beneath her boots felt thin, like ice above flame. Her vision narrowed.

Rhett moved to step in.

But Magnolia raised her hand. "If you think I’m a threat, Ivy, you’re welcome to test me."

A beat of silence. Then Ivy stood.

"I don’t duel the cursed."

That did it.

The air in the chamber snapped. Not just tension but energy. Magnolia’s blood surged with heat. Something inside her stirred.

And for the first time in years

Her wolf opened one eye.

A low growl curled at the base of her throat. Not loud. Not deep. But ancient.

Every elder froze.

Beckett straightened. Ivy’s smile slipped.

"Enough," Rhett growled.

But Magnolia couldn’t look away from Ivy’s eyes. Something inside her was rising and if she didn’t walk away now, the next words she spoke might taste like blood.

She turned. Slowly.

And left the chamber without another word.

Behind her, silence hung like a guillotine. And Ivy? Ivy smiled again but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Something had shifted.

And everyone felt it.

The sound of Ivy’s words clung to Magnolia like wet ash. "I don’t duel the cursed," she’d said.

Magnolia had barely made it down the council hall stairs before her vision blurred at the edges. Every step felt wrong too soft, too loud, too slow. She passed two couriers, an elder’s apprentice, and one of the Luna guards all of whom kept their heads bowed as she passed.

They felt it. Whatever was rising in her, it was no longer just hers.

The torchlit hallway narrowed toward the eastern ramparts. Cold wind licked through the cracks, curling against her face as if to soothe her. But it wasn’t comfort she needed. It was control.

She reached the far end of the hall and leaned against the stone balustrade. Her glove came off with a sharp tug, and she pressed her bare palm to the ice-cold stone.

The mark burned like a coal under skin.

Not pain. Not quite.

It was energy. Caged. Scratching.

Behind her, footsteps approached.

Beckett.

She didn’t turn as his boots echoed closer.

"They’re rattled," he said simply.

"They should be," Magnolia answered, voice taut. "I am."

"You didn’t deny it."

"I didn’t need to. Ivy said enough for both of us."

Beckett leaned beside her, looking out over the ridge. The valley was steep tonight. The moon bloated and full. The trees too quiet.

"Your control slipped," he said after a pause.

She shut her eyes.

"I know."

"She saw it. They all did."

"And you think I should’ve hidden it better?"

Beckett tilted his head. "I think if your wolf wakes in public again, half the elders will call for your replacement and the other half will whisper about blood magic."

She turned to him sharply. "You think it’s blood magic?"

"No," he said. "But I know how this court thinks. And if you keep denying what’s happening, you won’t just lose your seat, Mags. You’ll lose everything."

Her shoulders tightened. "My wolf has been silent for ten years, Beckett. Not a growl. Not a breath. Nothing. Then Ivy breathes poison into the air and suddenly I want to rip her throat out."

Beckett didn’t flinch. "Then maybe it’s time to ask why."

"I don’t know why!" Her voice echoed too loud, too sharp, down the empty corridor. She caught herself, breathing fast.

The mark on her hand pulsed again.

No. Not pulsed.

Pushed.

Beckett stepped back. "Magnolia."

She staggered forward, gripping the wall.

And then it hit her.

A growl not from her throat, but from her chest. Low. Subterranean. Her spine arched as heat raced up it, bones cracking, nerves lighting like wildfire.

She dropped to one knee.

Her breath came in bursts.

"Mags!" Beckett moved to catch her, but she held up a hand.

"Don’t," she hissed. "It’s coming."

"What’s coming?"

And then her eyes changed.

Not golden like most wolves.

Silver. Laced with dark streaks. Pupils drawn vertical.

Beckett backed away. "Mags, shift down. Shift down now."

She clawed at the stone.

Her fingers split open, nails sharpening before retreating. Her teeth lengthened then vanished again.

It was like her body didn’t know how to change. Or didn’t want to.

The wolf was half-awake. Half-risen. Confused and furious.

"I can’t " she choked. "I can’t control it."

The bond flared.

Beckett dropped into a defensive stance, murmuring a grounding spell, but the wind inside the corridor had already changed. It circled Magnolia like a cyclone papers flew off desks, torches flickered out. The stone under her knees cracked slightly.

Then she screamed.

Not from pain.

From release.

A beam of silver light burst from her chest, slamming into the archway and tearing a deep fracture down the middle.

The air went still.

Magnolia collapsed.

Her breath came shallow, skin damp with sweat, hair stuck to her temple.

Beckett dropped beside her. "Talk to me. What was that?"

Her voice was paper thin. "She woke up. And she’s angry."

"Your wolf?"

"She’s not just mine anymore," Magnolia whispered. "She’s... changed."

Beckett helped her to her feet. They didn’t speak as they crossed the inner grounds, shadows stretching long behind them. Once inside the North Wing, they passed guards who visibly flinched when Magnolia walked by.

Not because she looked dangerous.

Because she felt different.

As if something inside her no longer recognized their laws.

They stopped at her chamber door.

"You should rest," Beckett said.

"I’m not sure that’s possible."

He hesitated. "You scared them today."

She met his eyes. "I scared myself."

"If Ivy calls a vote "

"She won’t," Magnolia said. "Not yet. She’s waiting to see what else I become."

"And what are you becoming?"

Magnolia didn’t answer.

Because she didn’t know.

She sat alone that night in front of the mirror.

Her reflection was the same.

Brown eyes, framed by lashes too dark for her pale skin. Hair loose, falling in waves past her shoulders. A faint scar at her jaw from a training match five years ago.

But beneath the surface... she wasn’t the same.

She lifted her hand.

The mark pulsed again.

And this time it responded to her voice.

Not words.

Just a feeling.

A single, brutal command.

Enough.

The mark dimmed.

But the wolf did not sleep.