Kael hit the ridge with a force that cracked stone.
The storm peeled back in a violent arc around him, repelled by the raw magic ripping through his monstrous form. His paws struck the ground with echoing thuds, each one leaving fissures in the ice. His breath steamed in a thick cloud, glowing faintly silver.
The curse was no longer a quiet burn under his skin.
It raged.
It devoured.
It twisted him toward savagery.
But Ysolde's fear cut through the madness. Her scent—sharp, terrified, breaking—stabbed through his instincts, anchoring him just enough to keep moving.
He surged forward.
The first crimson wolf dared to block his path. Kael slammed into it mid-leap, his claws carving through ribs like parchment. The wolf collapsed in a spray of blood. Another lunged from the right—Kael seized it with his jaws, bones snapping under his fangs, hot metallic taste flooding his mouth.
More wolves poured in.
Kael tore through them, unstoppable.
He did not stop until the last lunged desperately and he crushed it beneath a single massive paw.
Silence followed.
The kind that only comes when predators recognize something too powerful to challenge.
Kael lifted his head.
Then he saw her.
Ysolde—kneeling, trembling, caught in the center of a glowing ritual circle. Runes spiraled around her, their red light pulsing like a heartbeat. Her hair whipped wildly in the wind, her clothes plastered to her skin with snow and fear.
Her eyes found him.
Something broke inside him at the sight.
And then he saw Keera.
Standing just beyond the circle, her crimson eyes gleaming with triumph, a dagger of obsidian in her hand.
Kael roared.
The mountains shook.
Keera raised the blade to Ysolde's chest.
And Kael charged.
The ground split beneath his paws as he lunged forward with all the fury the curse had ever held. Snow exploded behind him. The air burned with his speed.
But when he reached the circle—
His body convulsed.
The magic hit him like a wall of flame.
Kael crashed to the ground, his limbs spasming violently as the runes lit brighter. His bones twisted unnaturally, his limbs fighting themselves, his spine arching with unbearable pain. Veins bulged under his fur, glowing silver and black.
The curse was reacting.
It wanted to break.
Keera's laugh echoed over the storm.
"Yes," she whispered. "Let it tear you apart."
Ysolde's scream cut through everything.
"KAEL!"
He lifted his head, panting, growling, fighting the crushing weight of the ritual magic. His claws scraped against the ice, trying desperately to reach her.
But the circle only tightened.
Ysolde's hands shook violently as Keera pressed the dagger to her skin.
"Stop—please—stop!" Ysolde gasped. "Don't do this—"
"Oh, little human." Keera smiled. "Your blood opens the door. His curse walks through it."
She dragged the sharp edge down Ysolde's arm.
Pain exploded. Ysolde screamed. Blood fell—
And touched the runes.
The circle erupted.
Light shot upward, blinding. The ground quaked violently. Kael howled, his body thrashing in agony as the curse inside him clawed its way to the surface.
Ysolde threw her hand out toward him.
"Kael—Kael, please—!"
He fought harder. Harder than any curse should survive. His claws gouged trenches. His massive frame jerked against the magic. His eyes—silver and wild and desperate—locked onto hers.
He was losing himself.
Losing reason.
Losing everything but her.
Mine.
The word tore through his mind, savage and primal. The curse echoed it. His blood echoed it. His bones echoed it.
He would not let them take her.
Kael forced himself forward inch by torturous inch.
Keera screamed, "HE SHOULDN'T BE ABLE TO MOVE—!"
But he did.
He moved.
Toward Ysolde.
Toward the one thing the curse had never been able to silence.