Chapter 4 - FIRE ON THE ICE
The attack was swift and terrifying.
Sera emerged from the pine shadow like a phantom, launching her two-hundred-pound frame directly onto the guard standing near the root cellar. The impact sent the man crashing into the snow, his rifle spinning away across the ice before he could even scream. Sera’s jaws clamped around his forearm, pinning him with brutal, non-lethal precision.
"Contact!" the second guard yelled, bringing his rifle up, but Ronan’s suppressed rifle barked twice from the ridge. The guard dropped instantly into the snow drifts.
Keller spun around from the porch, raising a shotgun, but Gray stepped into the open. Operating his modified submachine gun with his left hand, Gray delivered three rapid rounds into the porch support beams, showering Keller in splinters and driving him back inside the cabin.
"Ronan! Cover the trail! Marcus is incoming!" Gray barked, moving as fast as his bleeding shoulder would allow toward the ice cellar.
He reached the heavy wooden cellar door, which was secured from the inside with an iron latch. He knocked three times in a distinct, rhythmic pattern—the old code used by the neutral families twenty years ago.
"Clara!" Gray shouted above the wind. "It’s Gray Mercer! I have the dog! I have the crate!"
A long, excruciating pause followed. Then, the heavy iron bolt slid back.
The door swung inward, revealing a cramped, dirt-walled space illuminated by a single dying lantern. Standing in the center, holding a nickel-plated revolver with two hands that shook from hypothermia and terror, was Clara Vance.
Her face was pale, streaked with dirt and dried tear tracks, but her eyes held the same fierce, unwavering intelligence Gray remembered from Vienna. She wore an oversized wool coat torn at the hem, her fingers white from the biting chill.
When Sera squeezed past Gray into the cellar, Clara dropped the revolver into the dirt and fell to her knees, burying her face in the mastiff’s thick neck. The massive dog let out a soft, whimpering sound, licking Clara’s cheeks and ears with desperate affection.
"You came," Clara whispered, her voice ragged and raw. "I didn't think... I didn't know if you were still alive."
"You sent the dog to my house," Gray said, leaning against the door frame to stay upright as dizziness swept over him. "How did you know where I was?"
"Your father kept files on all his sons," Clara said, looking up into Gray’s eyes. "He was terrified of you because you were the only one who had the courage to leave. When they killed my father three days ago, I knew Marcus would burn every house in the state to find me. You were the only man left with honor."
"Honor is a dangerous luxury out here," Gray said quietly. "Can you walk?"
"My ankle is sprained," she said, trying to stand and wincing sharply. "I walked fifteen miles through the pass to drag that crate out of the valley."
May you like
Gray didn't hesitate. Despite the agony tearing through his shattered shoulder, he knelt down, scooped Clara into his left arm, and pulled her close against his chest.
"Hold onto my neck," he commanded. "Marcus is at the foot of the hill. We have five minutes to disappear."
