The storm thinned just enough for Ysolde to see the camp—if it could even be called that. It wasn't a settlement, but an encampment carved into the mountain's side, half of it sheltered by a natural cave and the rest exposed to the violent wind. Dark crimson banners whipped in the air, each marked with a sigil she didn't recognize—two fangs crossed over a moon dripping with blood.
The moment the stranger dragged her over the threshold, every wolf in sight turned toward her.
Some were fully wolf-shaped, their fur coarse and dark red, their eyes glowing unnaturally. Others were halfway between forms—spines sharp under skin, claws curled like hooks, faces stretched as though shifting had gone wrong. None looked like Kael's wolves. None looked… stable.
She stumbled as her captor shoved her forward, collapsing to her hands and knees. Her breath left her in a plume that froze instantly. Snow clung to her lashes, her hair plastered to her cheek.
"Get up," he snapped, dragging her upright again.
Her legs buckled, but she managed to stand.
The wolves parted, forming a semicircle around her. Their growls filled the air—low, hungry, judgmental. If she made one mistake, they would tear her apart long before Kael could ever reach her.
A woman stepped between them.
Beautiful—violently so. Tall, with hair braided tightly against her skull, each braid threaded with small bones and metal rings that chimed softly in the wind. Her eyes… crimson. Not dyed. Not bloodshot. Crimson down to the pupil, glowing with ritual magic.
She approached with a slow, serpentine grace.
"So," she murmured, her voice smooth as frozen silk, "the King's forbidden human arrives at last."
Ysolde's jaw tightened. She met the woman's gaze without flinching—even though her insides trembled violently.
"You're Keera," Ysolde said. "They spoke of you."
Keera's lips curved faintly.
"Let me guess. Ruthless. Ambitious. Insane."
"Cruel," Ysolde whispered. "They said you were cruel."
Keera laughed—soft, delighted. "Oh, little human… cruelty is such a subjective word."
Her fingers gripped Ysolde's chin, lifting her face to inspect it. "You really don't know what you are, do you?"
"I'm human."
One of the half-shifted wolves snorted. Another laughed under his breath.
Keera clicked her tongue. "If you were truly human, Kael's curse wouldn't crawl toward you like a starving hound." She leaned closer, her breath brushing Ysolde's cheek. "If you were human, his blood wouldn't react when you're near."
Ysolde's heart slammed into her ribs.
"Why does he—why does the curse—react to me?"
"I won't ruin the surprise." Keera stepped back. "Pain teaches faster."
Before Ysolde could move, Keera snapped her fingers.
Two wolves seized her arms, dragging her toward the center of the camp where a massive circle had been carved into the ice. Runes spiraled outward from its core, glowing faintly like embers under frost.
Ysolde fought, heels scraping against the frozen ground.
"No—let go! Let me go!"
Her captor leaned in, voice low at her ear.
"Struggle harder. It makes this more interesting."
Keera approached the circle's edge. "Place her."
They threw Ysolde onto the ice. Cold burst through her, biting her skin through her clothes. She forced herself to her knees when they tried to pin her down, but Keera only smiled.
"You have fire," she said. "That will make this work beautifully."
Ysolde glared up at her. "What do you want?"
Keera crouched, tracing a rune with the tip of her claw. "Your blood."
Ysolde's chest tightened. "Why?"
"For the ritual. A curse this powerful needs a catalyst." She looked up at Ysolde. "And your blood carries something ancient. Something the King fears." Her voice lowered. "The Old Blood."
Ysolde's pulse stilled.
"What blood?"
"The one that should have died a century ago," Keera whispered. "The one the wolves hunted to extinction so their kings could rule free."
She rose smoothly. "But one survived. A scrap. A remnant. Pathetic, but powerful."
Ysolde shook her head. "No. That's not—"
"The moment your blood touched Kael," Keera said, "the curse silenced. That alone proves everything."
Ysolde's breath caught. "I just… I touched him when he was hurt. Anyone could've helped—"
Keera's laughter cut her off. "Oh, sweet girl. You think this is about healing?" She leaned closer, her crimson eyes gleaming. "No. This is about power. And the fact that Kael—the King who lets no one near him—let you touch him at all."
Ysolde opened her mouth to argue, but the ground vibrated beneath her.
Keera's head snapped to the side.
The wolves stiffened.
A ripple of terror went through the camp.
One of the wolves near the edge whimpered, ears flattening against its skull.
"He's coming," Keera breathed.
Ysolde's heart leapt.
Kael.
The storm shifted—like someone was cutting through it, each step sending tremors through the mountain.
Keera's grin sharpened.
"Good. Let him watch."
She gave a sharp nod.
"Begin the ritual."
The runes ignited at once.
Light burst from the ice, red as fresh blood, spiraling upward in jagged streaks. The wolves chanted in a guttural, unnatural harmony. Ysolde felt something hook into her chest—something pulling, tugging, tearing toward the circle's center.
Pain flared, sharp and sudden.
The ritual had begun.
And Kael was moments away from reaching her.