The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond-Chapter 76: When Walls Remember Names

The night air in the Callahan estate was thick with the scent of lavender and secrets. Moonlight pooled in silver puddles across the polished marble floors as Savannah tiptoed past the long, arched windows, her bare feet silent on the stone. The corridor ahead loomed with a stillness too deliberate, like something watching.

She paused before the sealed wing, the one Rhett said was condemned. It hadn’t stopped her. Nothing ever did.

"Locked for a reason," she whispered, tracing the old bronze latch. Her fingers trembled slightly, not from fear, but from anticipation. Savannah had always known there was more to this estate than luxury and cold beauty. There were stories in the shadows.

The lock gave way with a creak, and she slipped inside.

The air changed instantly. Dust clung to her skin, and the temperature dropped as though the wing remembered its dead. Broken chandeliers hung like skeletal remains above her. Portraits lined the walls, their faces faded, their eyes scraped out.

She moved forward, drawn deeper.

Each step felt like trespassing into memory.

At the end of the corridor, a grand double door stood half ajar. Savannah pushed it open. The scent hit her first, old parchment, dried roses, and something deeper: wolf musk.

Inside, the room bloomed with forgotten history. A domed ceiling stretched above her, painted with constellations and war. Bookshelves clawed up the walls, some broken, some burnt. And in the center of the far wall, a mural.

She stopped breathing.

The mural was larger than life, the colors faded but haunting. A woman with fire in her hair stood among wolves, her eyes golden, regal. Around her neck was a mark, not painted, but carved, a crescent bleeding into a star. Savannah’s hand flew to her own neck, fingertips brushing skin.

The same mark.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

Her voice stirred something. The ground beneath her shivered. Beneath the mural, a plaque lay cracked but not broken. She knelt.

Etched into it, in runes and half-erased ink, read: The one who dares both bond and blood shall rule beyond death.

"Rule beyond death? What does that mean?" Savannah murmured.

A sudden wind shrieked through the open windows, though she hadn’t touched them. She looked up.

Blood, fresh, dark, thick, dripped from the mural’s eyes.

She stumbled back. "No, no, that can’t be, "

The woman in the painting seemed to blink. The wolves at her feet shifted, snarled. The temperature plummeted.

A voice, low and female, echoed in Savannah’s mind: You are not the first. You will not be the last.

Her knees buckled. Her palms slapped the marble as her heart thundered. Something ancient stirred in her blood. Her wolf clawed at her chest.

"Savannah!"

Rhett’s voice.

She turned as the doors slammed open, his figure framed in shadow, panic in his eyes.

He saw the blood. The mural.

"What did you do?" he demanded.

"I didn’t, I just found it. She has my mark. Look."

She pulled her hair aside. Rhett’s expression shifted from fear to awe to something deeper: understanding.

"She was the first Alpha Queen."

"And I have her mark."

"Then it’s not just prophecy anymore. It’s inheritance."

A howl echoed far off, not human, not wolf. Something between.

The plaque split in half.

The walls trembled.

And the mural whispered a name only Savannah could hear.

Her name.

Everything went still.

Then the moon outside cracked.

Camille’s footsteps echoed across the gleaming marble floor of Sterling’s private sanctum, a room few dared enter uninvited. Lit by the pale glow of enchanted sconces, it was a place heavy with secrets and crowned by an obsidian throne carved from volcanic stone. Sterling sat upon it like a ghost given form, his presence regal, cold, and calculating.

Camille pushed the heavy doors closed behind her, her breath hitching as the seal hissed into place. She looked different now, stronger, though pale. Her eyes carried shadows that weren’t there days ago. A half-moon scar marked her neck, a result of a ritual she hadn’t agreed to.

"You summoned me," she said, voice firm but laced with venom. "Let’s finish this."

Sterling leaned forward, resting his elbows on the throne’s armrests, fingers steepled. He looked like a king from some forgotten war, but in his eyes flickered the ambition of a man who never stopped scheming.

"You came to me," he replied with a smirk. "That’s progress."

Camille took a step forward, her boots clicking. "I’m not your pawn. Whatever this prophecy says, I won’t be bound to your war. Release me."

Sterling rose slowly. His voice softened, but it carried weight.

"You think the prophecy offers you choices? You were chosen before you were born. You carry blood older than any Alpha’s crown. You’re not the queen of a court, Camille. You’re the altar they will kneel to."

She shook her head, fury lighting her veins. "You used me. All those visions... the whispers in the dark. The priestess... the bond. You think I wanted this?"

"It’s not about wanting," he said. "It’s about becoming."

She marched toward him, face inches from his. "Then I choose not to become. If death is the only escape, I’ll find it myself."

Sterling’s hand darted out. He gripped her wrist before she could draw the blade strapped to her thigh.

"Don’t," he whispered.

"Why?"

"Because you’re not just you anymore."

Her brows furrowed. Her breath stopped.

"What did you do?"

He released her slowly, gaze dropping to her stomach. "It seems the bond was more fruitful than expected."

Camille stepped back as if slapped. Her hand covered her abdomen instinctively.

"No."

Sterling’s smirk deepened. "Yes. The Hollowfang heir now beats within you."

Camille collapsed to her knees. The floor felt cold and unyielding. The prophecy, a whisper at first, now screamed through her blood. Her lips trembled.

"You planned this."

"I planned everything."

She looked up, and there was murder in her eyes. "I swear to the gods, I will find a way to end this."

He crouched beside her, one hand brushing her hair from her face. "You can hate me. But you won’t kill yourself now, will you? Not with him inside you."

Tears welled in her eyes, fury and betrayal mixing into something darker. She wanted to claw at her skin, scream until the stone walls cracked.

"I hate you."

Sterling rose again, voice calm. "Good. Hate keeps you alive. You’ll need it where we’re going." fгeewebnovёl.com

He walked away, boots echoing like death bells, leaving her on the floor beneath the throne, a throne she never chose, and a fate she couldn’t walk away from.

Unseen behind the walls, the magic etched into the obsidian trembled. The room had accepted its queen.

And Camille wept.