Chapter 8 - Blood in the Snow
The clash in Blackwood Pass was deafening.
The silence of the ancient pine forest was shattered instantly by the roar of battle, the clash of steel against steel, and the savage snarls of transformed wolves tearing through the snow.
Caelen’s forces had expected a vulnerable supply caravan; instead, they walked straight into the teeth of the northern royal army.
Maeve fought with a cold, terrifying efficiency born of a lifetime of enduring pain and turning it into strength. When a western warrior lunged at her from the blind spot of a snow-covered pine tree, she didn't panic. She ducked beneath his swinging axe, drove her dagger upward into his side, and pivoted smoothly, using her momentum to sweep his legs out from under him.
She wasn't just surviving anymore; she was commanding the battlefield.
Across the clearing, Garrick was a force of nature. He moved through the enemy ranks like a living avalanche, his broadsword clearing paths through the western vanguard with brutal precision. Every wolf who dared cross his path was batted aside like a broken twig.
Then, through the chaos of swirling snow and flying steel, Maeve saw him.
Caelen.
The western Alpha was cutting his way toward the center of the clearing, his eyes locked onto Garrick, who was currently engaged with three elite guards simultaneously. Caelen raised a massive double-bladed battleaxe, aiming a lethal, blind-side swing at the King’s back.
“Garrick!” Maeve screamed, spurting her horse forward with desperate speed.
She didn't have time to draw her sword. As Caelen brought his axe down, Maeve threw herself off her horse, tackling Caelen sideways just as the heavy blade cleaved empty air where Garrick’s neck had been a second before.
Both of them crashed hard into the bloody snow.
Caelen grunted, shaking off the impact, and looked down with a sneer of pure malice as he pinned Maeve to the ground with his heavy boot on her chest.
“Well, well,” Caelen hissed, raising his axe high for a fatal strike. “Looks like the southern stray decided to play hero. Let’s see how much your King cares when I mount your head on a spike!”
Maeve coughed, the cold air burning her lungs, but her hands didn't tremble. Even pinned in the snow, she stared up at him with a cold, mocking smile that made Caelen hesitate for a fraction of a second.
“You’re looking the wrong way, Caelen,” Maeve whispered.
Caelen frowned—and then a terrifying shadow fell over him.
Before the western Alpha could turn around, a massive, clawed hand grabbed him by the back of his heavy fur collar with bone-crushing force.
It was Garrick.
The King’s face was twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated demonic rage. His eyes burned entirely silver, the royal wolf within him fully unleashed. With a roar that shook the snow from the pine branches above, Garrick lifted Caelen entirely off the ground with one hand and hurled him across the clearing.
Caelen crashed through a thick wooden barrier, smashing into a boulder with a sickening crunch of breaking bones.
Garrick didn't give him a chance to recover. He closed the distance in a single bound, pinning Caelen to the blood-stained earth with his heavy boot planted firmly on the western Alpha’s chest.
“You raised your hand against my Queen,” Garrick’s voice echoed like thunder across the entire battlefield, freezing every fighter—friend and foe alike—in their tracks. “You forfeited your pack, your lands, and your life the moment you stepped into my territory.”
Caelen coughed up a mouthful of blood, his eyes wide with absolute, primal terror as he looked up at the apex predator towering above him.
With a swift, brutal sweep of his royal sword, Garrick ended it.
The silence that followed was absolute.
May you like
Slowly, the surviving western warriors dropped their weapons, falling to their knees in the snow and bowing their heads in unconditional surrender.
The war was over before the winter solstice had even begun.
