The storm bucked and writhed around him, trying to bury the world in white, but Kael tore through it as if it were nothing more than smoke.
His paws struck the earth with enough force to crack ice. Snow exploded in violent bursts behind him. Every muscle, every bone, every nerve fiber inside him was stretched to its limit, trembling under the weight of the curse he'd been suppressing for years.
But suppression had never been enough.
Not when she was taken.
Not when Ysolde's scent was fading into the blizzard.
A growl rippled through his monstrous chest, low and unnatural—more vibration than sound. His teeth bared reflexively, dripping silver-tinted frost. The silver veins of the curse glowed across his fur like cracks in armor, burning with the rage he could no longer contain.
He felt her.
Not her presence—she wasn't close enough for that.
But her fear.
Fear had a scent. Sharp, metallic, tinged with the edge of hopelessness. The moment it hit his senses, Kael's body reacted violently. The curse surged, feeding on his emotions, bending him toward violence with a hunger he fought desperately to control.
His paws dug into the ice, slowing him just enough that he didn't lose control completely. But the restraint was thin—a thread stretched across a chasm.
A thread named Ysolde.
He had not meant to bond with her. He had not meant to claim anything. He had followed the ancient laws out of necessity, not desire. He had needed her close to silence the curse, not to invite her into his blood.
But when she'd been ripped from him, something in him had snapped clean in half.
A shape darted in the distance. A wolf, crimson-furred, sprinting across the ridge.
Kael didn't give him time to howl.
He launched forward, claws carving through the snow like blades. The wolf turned, eyes wide in horror, just as Kael crashed into him with devastating force. There was no struggle. No hesitation. Kael drove him into the ice until it shattered.
Crimson blood sprayed across the snow.
Kael didn't stop.
Another wolf appeared, trying to flank him—Kael caught it mid-lunge, jaws locking around its spine. Bone crunched. The wolf fell in two pieces.
He moved on.
More of them emerged, drawn by the alarm scent—but they hesitated at the sight of him. At the glowing curse lines. At the size. At the ancient magic dripping from his fangs.
"Monster…"
The word came from a partially shifted wolf, fear shaking his voice.
Kael's head snapped toward him.
The wolf tried to retreat.
Too slow.
Kael was upon him in a heartbeat, pinning him to the ground. The wolf clawed at the ice, trying to crawl backward.
"S-stop—"
Kael's massive claws pressed into his chest, cracking ribs.
Where is she?
The thought burned through Kael's mind. Not a question. A demand.
He leaned low, breath steaming through the cold. The wolf whimpered, pinned beneath a force he couldn't fight.
Kael slammed him harder into the ice.
Where. Is. She.
He couldn't speak in this form. The curse stole coherent words, leaving only instinct, violence, hunger. But wolves understood the language of dominance.
The wolf lifted his trembling hand and pointed toward the distant ridge.
Kael rose slowly, stepping off the body.
The wolf scrambled away—
Kael turned and slashed once, effortlessly.
The wolf's cry was swallowed by the storm.
He didn't watch him fall. Ysolde's scent was pulling him forward again—thin, fading, shockingly fragile.
The storm shifted. A new scent cut through the blizzard.
Magic.
Ritual magic.
His heart lurched.
They weren't just taking her—they were using her.
Kael roared, and the sound wasn't a king's voice or a wolf's cry. It was the sound of a curse given flesh, ripping free of restraint.
He raced across the ice, faster than any natural creature could move. The silver veins of the curse pulsed stronger, his body reshaping itself with each stride as the monstrous form overtook him.
He would lose himself if he wasn't careful.
He would become the beast the pack accused him of being.
But he didn't care.
Not if it meant finding her.
The ridge appeared—jagged shadows through the storm. Beyond it, faint flickers of crimson light. Symbols carved into the ice.
A ritual circle.
Kael's vision sharpened, locking onto a silhouette at its center—the outline unmistakable, even in the blizzard.
Ysolde.
Her hands bound. Her hair whipped by the wind. Her breath visible in small, frantic bursts.
A snarl exploded from Kael's chest.
He charged.
A dozen crimson wolves leapt into his path.
He didn't slow.
He tore into them with the fury of a storm given flesh—claws shredding fur and bone, teeth crushing throats, blood spraying warm across the ice as he carved a path through them. The world blurred into violence and instinct.
Another wolf leapt—
Kael slammed him into a pillar of ice so hard the pillar shattered.
He didn't stop until there were no wolves left standing.
Then he saw the figure beside Ysolde—the woman with bone rings in her braids, eyes glowing crimson with power.
Keera.
His breath steamed violently as he stalked closer, each step melting the snow beneath his paws.
"Perfect," she said softly, raising a blade of obsidian, its edges pulsing with magic.
"Come closer, Your Majesty."
Kael snarled, lowering his head—
And then he froze.
The runes around Ysolde flared blood-red.
Magic surged.
The circle activated.
And Kael understood too late—
They weren't just hurting her.
They were using her to break his curse.
He lunged—
But his body buckled, the curse knotting violently inside him, ripping through his nerves. Pain exploded through him. His claws gouged the ice. His spine twisted unnaturally.
Keera smiled.
"Yes," she whispered. "Let the beast surrender."
Ysolde screamed his name.
Kael dragged himself forward despite everything—pain, curse, magic. His body failed, collapsed, shook uncontrollably—
But he kept moving toward her.
Toward the one thing his curse could not kill.
Ysolde.