MATED TO THE SECRET ALPHA
Chapter 186: Karl

Chapter 186: Karl

The cliffs that rose from the land were jagged and crumbling, their edges sharp and unforgiving with sharp, long, frozen ice, stronger than any human or werewolf bond.

On a road carved from the cliff, a large group of people pulling large carts moved slowly, their figures barely visible against the vast white wasteland. The carts, weighed down with supplies and gear, creaked with every lurching movement, their wheels grinding against the rough, frozen ground. The people themselves were bundled tightly, their faces obscured by scarves and hoods, leaving only their eyes visible, which glinted with a mix of exhaustion and determination.

At the front of the group, a tall figure walked with purposeful strides, his boots crunching on the snow with each step. His posture was rigid, as though the harshness of the landscape could not touch him, though his breath came in sharp, visible puffs. His fur-lined cloak fluttered behind him like the wings of a dark bird, an almost unnatural presence amid the desolation.

Behind him, several others kept their pace, some of them glancing around with unease, their eyes constantly scanning the distant mountains. An eerie silence had settled over the group, broken only by the howl of the wind and the occasional creak of the carts.

Yet there was an unspoken tension in the air, a sense of something lurking just beyond the horizon, a presence that made even the bravest shiver.

A distant rumble broke the stillness of the snow-filled horizon. It was the last cart. The horse, or the person pulling the horse seemed to have caused the unrest. The long line of merchants halted and looked back at the lone cart behind.

"What is it now, Karl?!"

A gruff voice tore through the wind, cracked with irritation and cold. The speaker, a burly man with a frost-rimmed beard, turned his head just enough to shout, his breath crystallizing in the air.

"Shut up! It’s the horse, damn it!" Yelled yelled, thick frustration lacing his voice. "Move, you idiot!" he barked at the horse, driving his heels into its sides.

But the horse snorted nervously, refusing to move. Its hooves stamped at the frozen earth as if something unseen pressed against it. The cart creaked again, but this time the sound wasn’t mechanical. It groaned.

No one moved at first.

Then, one of the warriors near the middle of the line stepped cautiously toward the rear. "Karl?" he called out, slower this time. "You alright back there?"

"What do you care?! I’m fucking freezing to death!" Karl snapped, but his voice was thinner this time, carried off too easily by the wind. It didn’t sound like defiance anymore – it sounded like fear.

The man frowned and quickened his pace, one hand drifting toward the hilt of the blade strapped to his hip. The others behind him had gone still, watching.

The horse reared suddenly, shrieking, a high, panicked cry that sliced through the silence like a blade. The cart groaned again, louder this time, as if something beneath the snow and ice had stirred.

Then came the crack.

A sharp, brittle sound – like a bone snapping – followed by the earth trembling beneath their feet. Snow shifted violently off the cliffside, cascading down like a miniature avalanche. The warrior halted, his eyes darting to the edges of the narrow road.

"Karl, back up—"

But Karl didn’t answer.

The horse bolted, its reins tearing from Karl’s frozen hands. It galloped forward into the snow, wild-eyed and frantic, nearly slamming into one of the carts ahead, until it was stopped by another warrior.

A long fissure opened in the icy ground behind them, black and deep, like a wound in the world. From within came a low, guttural growl – inhuman and monstrous.

Then silence again.

No one spoke. No one breathed.

The tall figure at the front of the caravan slowly turned, his cloak whipping behind him. His dark eyes locked on the warriors at the rear. He didn’t speak, but those nearest to him tensed, as if awaiting a command.

"Karl?" another voice called, softer, now laced with dread.

A figure stood near the edge of the crevice—a man, barely visible through the swirling snow. But something was wrong. He was standing too still.

Too stiff.

One of the warriors stepped forward – then froze.

Karl wasn’t standing.

He was being held.

A long, pale arm had emerged from the dark chasm beneath the cart. It coiled around Karl’s torso like a serpent, lifting him effortlessly into the air. The hand – if it could be called that – had too many fingers, all sharp, all wrong.

"Ahh!" Karl screamed, once.

Then he was gone, yanked into the darkness below with a sickening crunch.

The scream died.

And the wasteland was silent once more.

"AHHHH!!!" Someone screamed and chaos unleashed.

The warriors and merchants scrambled, grabbing whatever merchandise and supplies they could carry. Some abandoned the carts entirely, too terrified to care about the goods they had risked their lives to haul through the frozen wilderness.

Others clung to their belongings with white-knuckled desperation, eyes darting toward the black fissure where Karl had vanished.

"Back! Move back!" the burly bearded man shouted, shoving at the crowd. "We need to–"

A second fissure ripped through the snow just yards away, cutting him off. It zigzagged across the road like lightning made solid, splitting the ice with a screeching, unnatural sound. Another groan came from deep within the earth, this one longer, more deliberate, like something enormous was awakening.

The tall figure at the front stepped forward, raising one gloved hand.

"Hold," he commanded, voice low but laced with an authority that cut through the panic. The wind seemed to obey him. For a single breath, the group froze.

But the mountain did not.

The ice cracked again – this time from above. One of the cliffs loomed ominously as the snow and rocks atop it shifted, and then...

"AVALANCHE!" someone screamed.

The warning came too late.

Snow and rock thundered down the mountainside, a roaring white wall consuming everything in its path. Warriors dove for cover, merchants screamed, carts were overturned and crushed beneath the weight of nature’s fury. The road buckled in places, broken by both the earth’s fury and the monster lurking below.

The tall man didn’t move. His black cloak whipped around him as snow crashed down just feet away – yet none of it touched him. Around him, a dome of stillness held, unnatural and cold. His eyes, obsidian, scanned the fractured land.

He looked at the crevice.

And it looked back at him.