The dagger sliced deeper.
A second drop of Ysolde's blood fell onto the runes.
The ground cracked.
Magic surged upward, wild and uncontrollable, spiraling into the sky in blinding tendrils of red lightning. Wolves screamed. The air fell out of Ysolde's lungs in a violent gasp as the circle drank in her blood, pulling on her chest with terrifying force.
Her vision blurred.
Her veins burned.
Something inside her—something old, forgotten, buried—shuddered awake.
Keera staggered back, eyes wide.
"No… no, this isn't—this isn't how this ritual should—"
The runes pulsed again.
Kael roared, the sound ripping like a blade through the storm. His body twisted in agony, the curse blooming across his skin in silver fire. His massive form flickered between shapes—wolf, shadow, monster, man—each form unstable, the curse ripping through him like a live thing.
Ysolde reached toward him despite the pain ripping through her arm.
"Kael…"
He crawled toward her, each movement a war against the magic binding him. His claws sank into the ice. His breath came in ragged, tormented bursts. His eyes locked onto hers with unbearable intensity.
She didn't understand the bond.
She didn't understand the magic.
She didn't understand why her blood mattered.
She only knew one thing:
He was hurting because of her.
Ysolde forced herself upright despite the force dragging her down, her body shaking violently.
"No…" Keera whispered. "This isn't possible. You shouldn't be able to stand—you shouldn't—"
Ysolde didn't hear her.
All she heard was Kael.
His roar cracked the runes.
The circle faltered.
And then—
Something tore.
Not in the world.
In the magic.
A bright flash of silver burst outward from Kael's chest, colliding with the red glow of the ritual. Smoke exploded. The air burned white-hot. Wolves shrieked and collapsed. Keera stumbled backward, covering her face.
"No—no, stop, STOP—"
Too late.
Ysolde's blood surged brighter.
Kael's curse surged with it.
The two forces collided—
And bound.
Not breaking.
Not destroying.
Binding.
Ysolde screamed as the magic shot through her, every vein lighting up like molten fire. Kael threw his head back, roaring as the curse fused around her presence, merging with something ancient in her blood.
The world shook.
The storm stopped.
Silence fell.
Kael collapsed beside her, his massive form shuddering, then settling. The silver glow dimmed—not gone, but subdued, like a beast kneeling at her feet.
Keera stared in horror.
"You… you're not human at all."
Ysolde pressed a trembling hand to her chest, trying to breathe.
"What am I…?"
Keera backed away slowly, terror widening her crimson eyes.
"You're Old Blood. The last of a line wolves eradicated to end the war." Her voice cracked. "If Kael bonds with you… he becomes unstoppable."
Kael stirred.
The snow beneath his paws melted.
His eyes opened—clear silver, no longer pulsing with madness. No longer overtaken by the curse.
They fixated on Ysolde.
He rose, towering, breath harsh and controlled. When he spoke, his voice was rough, strained, and unmistakably possessive.
"Ysolde."
She swallowed hard. "Kael…"
He stepped closer.
The curse didn't fight him.
It bowed to her.
"Don't touch her!" Keera screamed, summoning more wolves. "KILL THEM BOTH—"
Kael didn't even look at them.
His gaze stayed locked on Ysolde as he said, voice low and lethal:
"MINE."
Then the night erupted into war.