Chapter 6 - FIRE ON THE RIDGE
The cabin shuddered violently, throwing Gertrude off balance. Alonzo caught her by the waist before she could hit the floor, pulling her hard against his chest as another massive explosion shook the mountain slope.
"Ambush!" Seth roared, drawing his broadsword as he leaped toward the doorway.
Outside, the serene winter night had turned into a nightmare of fire and steel. Crimson fire-bombs—crude, volatile alchemy weapons favored by human rebels—detonated along the outer perimeter of the royal camp. The night sky lit up in brilliant, violent flashes of orange and white, illuminating the dark shapes of armored combatants clashing among the snow-covered pines.
"Stay here," Alonzo ordered, his voice dropping into a terrifying, guttural command.
"Like hell I will!" Gertrude shouted, breaking away from him and diving for her heavy leather medical bag. She slung the strap over her shoulder and grabbed her iron fire poker. "Your soldiers are going to need patches and tourniquets out there, Your Majesty. Get used to it!"
Alonzo stared at her for a fraction of a second, a strange mix of exasperation and fierce, burning admiration flashing in his golden eyes. "Fine. But stay behind me, or I swear I'll throw you over my shoulder myself."
He didn't wait for an answer. Alonzo shifted—not fully into his wolf form, but allowing his primal strength to take over. His muscles expanded, his claws lengthened, and a terrifying, bone-rattling roar tore from his throat, silencing the nearby chaos for a heartbeat.
He kicked the front door wide open, stepping out into the burning snowstorm with Gertrude right at his heels.
The battle was ferocious. Rebel fighters, clad in dark tactical leathers and wielding silver-plated blades, swarmed up the snowy slope from the gorge. Royal guards fought back with disciplined fury, steel clashing against steel, the blinding snow stained a violent, smoking crimson.
A rebel rogue lunged out from behind a burning pine tree, a poisoned dagger aimed straight at Gertrude’s back.
Alonzo moved with terrifying, unnatural speed. He intercepted the attacker mid-air, his massive hands closing around the rebel's throat with a sickening crunch before hurling him effortlessly into a snowbank.
"Keep moving!" Alonzo yelled over the howling wind, keeping himself squarely between Gertrude and the incoming assault.
Working with frantic, steady hands, Gertrude dropped to her knees beside a wounded royal guard who had fallen near the cabin porch, tearing open her medical kit to pack a deep slash across his shoulder with clotting herbs.
"You'll live," she barked at the groaning soldier. "Hold this gauze tight!"
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She scrambled up, her eyes scanning the battlefield. That was when she saw them—three heavily armed rebel operatives slipping silently past the struggling guards, moving directly toward the rear of the cabin.
And in the center of them, leading the flanking maneuver with a cruel, mocking smile, was Coulter Woods.
