“She’s back,” I growled, my voice rougher than it had once been, when I’d been a man who could speak without effort, growing more articulate the more I used it. Still everything came out as if dragged over broken glass in my hybrid form.
Laurent stirred beside me, his wolf form uncurling from the tight ball he’d adopted for sleep. His silver-brown fur was matted with sweat and blood—our own blood, from yesterday’s climb and partial fall. His eyes found mine immediately, the human intelligence behind them unmistakable despite the bestial face.
“I felt it too,” he said, stretching limbs that should have been human but instead ended in claws and pads. “The connection’s stronger. She’s in the forest again.”
Bastien was already on his feet, restless as always, needing to move. His dark mane was fuller than when we’d first been cursed, as if his lion form was becoming more dominant the longer we remained trapped. He paced the narrow ledge where we’d made our temporary rest, tail lashing behind him in agitation.
“She shouldn’t have come back,” he snarled, though I heard the contradiction in his tone. He wanted her here but he wanted her safe, and those two desires were at war within him. “It’s not safe. Not withhimhunting her.”
Him. Gaspard. The name tasted like poison even in my thoughts. The man who’d helped the Dark Lord’s sorceress trap us here, who’d hurt our mate, who’d tried to destroy everything good in our forest. The man who’d tried to break Isabeau’s spirit and claim her for himself.
“She’s stronger now,” I said, pushing myself upright. My honey-colored fur was caked with black dust from the mountain,dulling its natural sheen. Once, I’d been meticulous about my appearance. That felt like another lifetime. Another world. “I saw it in her eyes when she appeared to us, and when she syphoned Bastien’s poison from him. She’s found her power.”
The dreamscape connection had been brief but intense. We’d seen her on the other side of that shimmering barrier, her doe eyes wide with emotion, her hands pressed against the wall that separated our realities as if she could push through it by sheer will. She’d looked different. Healthier in some ways, but haunted. Something had been chasing her. Someone.
“She’s not alone,” Laurent said quietly, his keen senses always more attuned to the nuances of our connection than mine or Bastien’s. “There was a man’s scent on her. Not Gaspard’s. Someone new.”
Bastien growled, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest. Jealousy. I felt it too, though I tried to push it down. We had no right to such feelings, not when we were trapped in these monstrous forms, locked away in this hell dimension while she fought for her freedom in the real world.
“Whoever he is,” I said, “he’s helping her. I could feel her trust in him.”
“Trust can be manipulated,” Bastien snapped, his claws scoring the obsidian beneath our feet. “She trusted the wrong people before.”
I didn’t argue. There was no point. Bastien’s protective instincts always manifested as anger, as if rage could somehow bridge the distance between dimensions and keep her safe. As if his fury could burn hot enough to melt the barrier between us.
Above us, the obsidian mountain stretched impossibly high, its peak lost in swirling red clouds that never parted. The mountain that had no summit. The climb that never ended. Our punishment, designed by the Dark Lord’s sorceress to break our spirits one excruciating step at a time.
“We need to keep moving,” I said, though every muscle in my body protested the thought. We’d been climbing for what felt like weeks, though time had no meaning here. Days blurred together, marked only by periods of exhaustion too complete to fight. “She’s getting closer. I can feel it.”
Laurent nodded, his practical nature asserting itself. “The mountain grew again while we rested. At least another hundred feet.”
Of course it had. That was how the curse worked. The mountain always grew just enough to keep the summit out of reach. Just enough to make us believe that no matter how hard we pushed, how desperately we climbed, we would never escape this place.
“Fuck the mountain,” Bastien snarled, already starting up the path that wound around the obsidian peak. “And fuck Enid and her Dark Lord. I’m not dying on this rock.”
I exchanged a glance with Laurent. Neither of us bothered to state the obvious, that we couldn’t die here. Death would be a mercy the curse wouldn’t allow. We could be torn apart, could fall from the highest heights, could be crushed under avalanches of razor-sharp obsidian, and our bodies would reform, ready for more torment. We’d learned that the hard way in those first desperate days.
We followed Bastien, our bestial bodies finding purchase on the treacherous surface where human hands and feet would have slipped and fallen. Perhaps the only mercy of our cursed forms was their strength and resilience. Even that felt like mockery, giving us just enough power to endure endless suffering, never enough to escape it.
“Something’s changed,” Laurent said after we’d climbed in silence for what might have been hours. His ears were pricked forward, his head tilted as if listening to a voice only he could hear. “She’s different. More focused. More... determined.”
I felt it too, though I wouldn’t have been able to put it into words as Laurent had. The claiming mark on my shoulder throbbed with a steady rhythm, like a second heartbeat that had synchronized with my own. Through it, I sensed Isabeau’s presence growing stronger. Not just closer physically, but stronger in herself. Her magic was maturing, evolving from the wild, untamed force that had first manifested when she’d first used it on accident to something more controlled, more purposeful.
“She’s hunting,” Bastien said suddenly, his voice tight with a mixture of pride and fear. “Not running. Hunting.”
“Hunting what?” I asked, though I suspected I knew the answer.
“The witch,” Laurent confirmed, his pace quickening slightly as if inspired by our mate’s determination. “Enid. She’s going after the source.”
A shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with the perpetual cold of this place. Enid was ancient, powerful, consumed by darkness. She’d twisted the Enchanted Forest into the Forbidden Forest, had cursed us into these bestial forms and trapped us in this hell dimension. And now Isabeau, our brave, stubborn mate, was hunting her down.
“She’s going to get herself killed,” Bastien growled, his claws digging deeper into the stone as he hauled himself up a particularly steep section.
“Have some faith,” Laurent countered. “She broke through to us in the dreamscape. No one’s done that before. No one’s been able to reach across the barrier.”
“Faith?” Bastien’s laugh was harsh, bitter. “Faith in what? The gods who allowed this? The curse that’s kept us climbing this endless fucking mountain? Or maybe faith in ourselves, three monsters who couldn’t even protect our own mate?”
His words hit like jagged claws up my spine, each one striking exactly where we were most vulnerable. Because he was right. We’d failed her. Failed to protect her from Gaspard, from the Dark Lord, from the curse that had claimed our forest. We’d been princes once, rulers of a kingdom so beautiful even the gods had envied it. Now we were beasts, trapped in a nightmare while she fought our battles in the world above.
