The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond-Chapter 64: Ash Between Their Steps

"Why the hell are you out here alone?"

Rhett’s voice snapped through the silence like a whip, raw and unforgiving. Savannah didn’t flinch, she had been expecting him, just not so soon. Her arms folded over her chest, the wind tugging at her coat as if trying to pull her away from the cliff’s edge. The desert stretched endlessly before her, dust clouds rising in the distance like ghosts of old wars.

"Because I needed to think," she replied calmly, though her pulse betrayed her stillness. "And because you wouldn’t."

He moved closer, his boots crunching over gravel and cracked earth. His eyes, wild with a sleepless fury, found hers in the dim moonlight. "So you run off to the ridge like a lost soul? You think that solves anything?"

"No," she said, chin lifted. "But silence does."

His jaw clenched. The air between them carried a heat that had nothing to do with weather. The kind that sparked off kindling long before the fire appeared. But tonight, that fire had too many names: Camille. Lucia Thorne. The Ghost Alpha. The Syndicate. War.

"You were supposed to stay inside. You’re not safe out here," he hissed. "Not now. Not after what she said."

Savannah took a slow breath. "You mean your mother?"

He turned away, shoulders tight with the weight of that word. "She’s not my mother. Not anymore."

"Rhett," she stepped forward, voice softer now. "She’s real. She’s coming. Hiding won’t erase her name."

He didn’t speak for a moment. When he finally did, it wasn’t to her. "I buried her. With my own hands. I saw her bleed out. I felt her body go cold. If she’s alive... then everything I knew, everything I built, was a lie."

"No," Savannah said, stepping beside him. "What you built came from your spine. Not hers."

He didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze dropped to the pendant Savannah still wore beneath her shirt, the one the Syndicate messenger had thrown at their feet. He reached for it gently, brushing her collarbone.

"She wore this," he murmured. "The last time I saw her alive. I was fifteen. She said I was never meant to lead. That my name would be the end of us all."

"And now she’s back," Savannah whispered, "to finish what she started."

Rhett’s hand dropped away. The shadows thickened, a chill lacing through the night air.

"I need to show you something," he said finally.

Savannah arched a brow. "Now?"

He nodded once. "Now."

Without waiting for her response, he turned and walked. She followed.

They moved in silence, down the steep trails flanking the back of the estate. Past the horses’ paddock and the broken fencing that still hadn’t been repaired since the attack. Past the grove where Beckett used to sketch in the mornings. Past the chapel, small, old, and crumbling.

He led her inside.

The chapel smelled of candle wax and damp stone. Pews were splintered, and the stained glass behind the altar had long since shattered. Only shards remained, catching the moonlight like fractured stars.

Rhett walked behind the altar and knelt. He pulled up the rotted rug and placed his hand flat against the stone.

"Help me," he muttered.

Savannah joined him, and together they heaved a hidden hatch open. Dust flew out like breath exhaled from the past.

"What is this?" she asked.

"A place my father never wanted me to find."

They descended into darkness, the spiral steps cold and uneven beneath their feet. The air grew heavier. Savannah’s pulse quickened. She could smell old wood, rusted iron... and blood.

At the bottom, Rhett lit an oil lamp hanging on the wall. The light illuminated a stone chamber, a library of sorts. Scrolls. Sealed crates. Weapons.

And one wall carved with names.

Savannah stepped forward. "What is this?"

"History," Rhett said. "The one we weren’t meant to inherit."

She ran her fingers along the carvings. Names, dates. Symbols. The same sigil from the Syndicate’s seal appeared over and over, but layered with another mark: a hollow circle ringed in teeth.

"What’s this symbol?"

Rhett hesitated. "The Hollowfang Circle."

Her breath caught. "The woman, Lucia, she mentioned that."

"She didn’t have to," Rhett said grimly. "My father once told me it was a myth. A bloodline so twisted, so pure in its darkness, that even the Alphas feared it. They weren’t like other factions. They didn’t take land. They took lineage. They controlled from within."

Savannah turned to him slowly. "And you think Sterling was part of them?"

"I think he led them."

The weight of it sank in. Savannah moved to a crate in the corner and pried it open. Inside were sealed letters. Journal pages. One in particular caught her eye, stained in the corner, signed in dark ink.

Sterling Callahan. Addressed to no one.

She read aloud:

"The child will never know the truth. His name is my gift and my curse. I split the blood to preserve the line, but blood always finds itself."

Rhett’s face paled. "Split the blood..."

"He means you," she said. "You and someone else."

Another name carved into the wall caught her eye.

CAMILLE.

The letters were jagged. Fresh.

Savannah froze. "She was here."

Rhett moved beside her. "No. Someone wanted us to know she was here."

Savannah turned in a slow circle. "Why would she come down here?"

"She wouldn’t," Rhett said quietly. "Not alone. Not without calling for help. Unless..."

The door above slammed shut.

Both of them jolted. Rhett ran to the staircase and tried to shove the hatch, but it wouldn’t budge. Locked.

"Someone’s here," Savannah whispered.

From the shadows of the chamber, a voice echoed, low, male, unfamiliar.

"You’re late to your own inheritance, Callahan."

Rhett spun, hand going to his sidearm. "Who are you?"

The figure stepped into the lamplight. Tall. Grey at the temples. Eyes that didn’t blink.

"I’m the archivist," he said. "I’ve guarded this place since before your father spilled his first blood."

Rhett lifted the weapon. "Why are we locked in?"

The man smiled faintly. "Because knowledge is never free. And your blood is about to remember what the mind forgot."

Savannah stepped forward. "Where’s Camille?"

The archivist turned to her. "She’s a key. And a lock. And you... you’re the flame."

The ground trembled beneath them. Dust shook from the ceiling.

"What’s happening?" Savannah demanded.

The man’s eyes glinted. "Lucia is rising."

He pressed a sigil on the wall.

And the back wall split open.

Inside was a corridor of bone. Lined with skulls. Lit by flame that burned blue.

"The Bone Path," Rhett whispered.

Savannah’s skin chilled. "What’s at the end?"

The archivist turned. "Your past. And your ruin."

He vanished into the tunnel.

Rhett looked at Savannah. "We don’t have a choice."

She nodded once. "Then let’s walk through hell together."

They stepped into the Bone Path, unaware that above them, in the chapel, Camille’s blood was already smeared across the altar in a perfect ring.

And something was whispering her name.