The forest should have been silent.
Winter swallowed sound here, muffling every branch and breath under its white weight. Yet Ysolde felt watched—an awareness crawling along the back of her neck as she trudged through the snow with her battered satchel of herbs.
The sun had died early, smothered behind storm clouds. Shadows stretched long and wrong.
Just reach the old trail… then home. No stopping. No looking back.
A low groan cut through the wind.
Ysolde froze.
Another groan—pained, ragged.
Not animal.
Human.
She hesitated only a heartbeat before turning toward the sound. The villages whispered warnings about these woods—voices that spoke of creatures that weren't quite men. But her body moved on instinct, the same reckless drive that had gotten her into trouble all her life.
She pushed past a fallen pine… and stopped dead.
A man lay collapsed in the snow.
No—not a man.
He was too large. Too coiled with muscle. His bare chest was streaked with blood, each breath rattling like broken glass. Dark hair clung to his forehead, half-frozen. His skin was burning hot despite the cold.
And claw marks—massive ones—slashed across his back.
Ysolde's pulse kicked.
Wolves.
But no wolf left wounds like those.
She crouched slowly. "Can you hear me?"
His eyes snapped open—blazing gold, unreal and feral.
Ysolde staggered back. Every instinct screamed to run, but her body locked when he growled her name—
"...Ysolde."
She hadn't told him her name.
He pushed up on one elbow, barely holding himself upright. Snow steamed around him from the heat of his skin. His breath fanned in uneven bursts, animal and fierce.
"You shouldn't be here," he rasped.
"You're dying."
"I don't die," he answered, voice drifting toward a snarl. "Not easily."
Another crash ripped through the forest—shattering ice, tearing branches.
Something massive was coming. Hunting. Following him.
Ysolde's fear sharpened. She grabbed his arm. "If you can stand, get up—now."
He stared at her like she was something impossible. Blood dripped into the snow beneath him, too dark, too thick.
"Why would you help me?" he asked.
Because she couldn't watch anyone die. Because leaving him would stain her forever. Because—
The trees exploded behind them.
A shadow lunged from the darkness—towering, monstrous, fur bristling like knives.
Ysolde didn't think. She threw herself over the wounded stranger, bracing for teeth and death.
The creature slammed to a halt.
A ripple of black energy burst from the man's skin, cracking through the air like a storm. He rose—slow, shaking, but terrifyingly tall. His eyes burned brighter, molten gold swallowing all reason.
The creature whimpered, backing away.
The man didn't chase it. He simply stood there, chest heaving, glaring at Ysolde.
"You touched me," he said, voice rough with confusion. "The curse… quieted."
She didn't understand. Her hands were still on his skin—hot like fire beneath ice.
He stepped closer, towering over her, snow swirling around him in spirals like drawn by his breath.
"Your name," he demanded softly, dangerously. "Say it."
"Ysolde."
Something ancient shifted in his gaze. A recognition. A vow awakening.
He lifted a hand toward her face, not gentle—possessive, claiming—not quite human.
"In the name of the old blood," he murmured, "I place you under the King's Vow."
The air cracked.
Magic—real, cold, merciless—coiled around her throat like invisible chains.
Ysolde stumbled back. "What did you just—"
"You saved my life." His voice sank into something darker. "And now I owe you a debt that cannot be broken."
She shook her head. "I don't want anything from you—"
"You have it regardless," he said. "You belong to me until the debt is repaid."
Lightning crawled across the sky.
Only then—only in the flash—did she see the truth behind him.
A crown of shadows.
A beast beneath his skin.
And a mark glowing faintly over his heart… fading only when she touched him.
Her voice trembled. "…What are you?"
He stepped closer, trapping her between him and the darkness.
"I am Kael Draven," he said. "Wolf King of the North."
Snow howled around them like a living thing.
"And you," he whispered, "are the human who should not exist in my lands… yet silenced a curse no wolf has survived."
His hand closed around hers—unshakable, burning.
"When the Vow binds, no creature may harm you," he said. "But you cannot leave me."
Ysolde's blood iced.
"What does that mean?"
His answer was simple. Final.
"It means you belong to the King now."
And the storm swallowed them both.