Chapter 7 - The Wrath of the King
The mercenary on the ledge raised his crossbow in a panic, aiming down at the massive black wolf charging up the cliff face like a demon possessed. He squeezed the trigger, letting loose a heavy iron bolt.
Kale twisted mid-air with impossible agility. The bolt grazed his shoulder, tearing through fur and hide, but he didn't even break stride. With a ferocious roar that shook the loose stones from the cliff edge, the black wolf collided with the mercenary, sending both of them crashing hard onto the snowy ledge.
The man screamed as massive jaws clamped down around his forearm, snapping the bone like a dry twig. The crossbow clattered uselessly against the rocks and tumbled over the precipice into the abyss below.
"Who sent you?" Kale’s voice, deep and distorted by his partial shift, vibrated directly into the terrified mercenary's ear.
"Lord... Lord Renard!" the man choked out, blood bubbling from his lips as the crushing weight of the Alpha King pressed down on his chest. "He wants the crown... he said you'd never make it back from the northern waste!"
Kale’s eyes flashed with a cold, merciless promise. "Tell Renard I am coming for dinner."
With a swift, brutal flick of his jaws, the king ended the threat, leaving the lifeless mercenary slumped against the frozen rock. Below him, the rest of the ambush was collapsing into total chaos. Varr and the wild pack had descended upon the remaining mercenaries with ruthless efficiency, tearing through their lines like a pack of wolves through sheep. The survivors were fleeing wildly back down the mountain pass, screaming into the night as they realized what kind of nightmare they had walked into.
Kale shifted back, his human form re-forming with a sharp breath as he dropped down from the ledge back into the main camp clearing.
The snow around the camp was stained dark with blood, but the fires were still burning. Jaran and the surviving guards stood victorious, breathing heavily, wiping their blades on their tunics.
Elara stood in the center of the clearing, surrounded by a dozen massive wolves who sat quietly, their eyes watchful and loyal. She was untouched, her breathing steady, her violet eyes glowing softly in the firelight.
Kale walked slowly toward her, his shoulder bleeding sluggishly where the crossbow bolt had grazed him, his dark hair disheveled.
Elara stepped forward, her hand reaching out to touch the blood on his shoulder. "You're bleeding."
"It's nothing," Kale said, capturing her hand in his, pressing his palm tightly against hers. The mate bond hummed between them, steady, warm, and unbreakable. "The men are secure. The ambush is broken."
"Renard will try again," Elara said quietly, looking down at the snow. "He knows you're here. He knows you found me."
"Let him try," Kale said, a dangerous, confident smile touching the corners of his mouth. "He sent mercenaries to kill a king and his mate. When we return to Blackthorn Keep, Renard won't just lose his trade routes. He will lose his head."
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Elara looked up at him, a genuine, radiant smile breaking through the wild exterior for the first time in five years. "You really haven't changed, have you, Kale?"
"I've changed," Kale murmured, pulling her gently against his chest, burying his face in her hair as Varr and the wild pack lowered their heads in silent acknowledgment. "I was a king without a queen. Now, we finish what we started."
