Chapter 6 - Ambush in the High Pass
Kale’s head snapped up instantly, his wolf surging to the surface with a savage snarl. The tender moment shattered like brittle glass.
"Ambush!" Jaran roared from the camp perimeter, his sword flashing as an arrow whistled out of the darkness and buried itself deep into the wood of a provision wagon.
From the cliffs above, a shower of heavy iron-tipped bolts rained down upon the camp. Heavy boulders, dislodged by unseen hands, came crashing down the steep slopes, smashing through tents and scattering the panicked horses.
"Rogue pack!" one of the elite guards shouted, raising his shield just in time to deflect a massive stone. "Lord Renard’s mercenaries! They followed us through the pass!"
Kale cursed violently. Renard. The treacherous southern lord hadn't just been whispering in the council chambers; he had hired a blood-pack of northern mercenaries and rogue shifters to eliminate the king while he was vulnerable, ensuring the throne would fall into compliant hands.
"Form a defensive circle around the Luna!" Kale commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos like a whip. He pushed Elara behind him, drawing his massive black-steel broadsword with a motion so fast it hummed in the air.
Elara’s demeanor shifted in a heartbeat. The vulnerable, terrified woman who had wept in his arms vanished. In her place stood the true Luna of Blackthorn Keep—and the undisputed alpha of the wild northern pack. Her violet eyes flashed with cold, deadly fury. She let out a sharp, piercing howl that echoed off the canyon walls—a call to arms that wasn't human.
Instantly, Varr, the giant silver wolf, lunged up the rocky slope toward the cliff ledges where the mercenaries were positioned. Dozens of wild wolves followed him in a relentless, gray tidal wave, leaping from rock to rock with impossible agility, disappearing into the darkness to tear the ambushers apart limb from limb.
"Protect the king!" Jaran yelled, engaging two heavily armored mercenaries who had dropped down from the ledge directly into the camp. Swords clashed with deafening metallic rings, sending sparks flying into the snow.
Kale didn't wait for the skirmish to settle. His eyes locked onto a figure standing high on an outcropping thirty feet above them—a man clad in heavy plate armor bearing the crest of House Renard, lowering a heavy crossbow aimed straight at Elara’s back.
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"Not today," Kale growled.
With a powerful explosion of muscle and speed, Kale didn't just run—he shifted partially, his bones cracking and reforming as his massive royal wolf broke free, surging up the vertical rock face with terrifying momentum.
