Winter, White and Wicked - Shannon Dittemore Page 0,10
I’d already dropped my haul, and after my fight with Lenore, I was ready for a little challenge.
And Winter delivered. The storm was raging when I reached the summit of the Kol Mountains. It was all noise and bluster and the terrifying kind of beautiful only Winter can be. It took all my skill to keep the Dragon on the road.
The girl was just a slip of a thing—all legs and arms, little more than a dishrag draped around her body. I was caught up in the sights and sounds of the season and it’s a miracle I even saw her astride the snowmobile.
For a terror-stricken moment, I didn’t know if I could stop the rig. If it was any other truck . . . but it was the Dragon, and so, with my foot pushing hard on the brake, I slipped and skidded to a choppy halt just feet from disaster.
Every muscle in my body was pulled taut—horror at what could have happened and anger at this stupid, stupid girl for underestimating Winter.
I kicked the door open and dropped to the snow. It was only then that I caught a clear look at her pale face. Half of it was made of stone, a crescent of amber rock bending from her left temple to her chin. After a quick glance around, I realized I was closer to the turnout than I’d thought. Her home was likely up on the rise. I craned my neck to the mountains above me. The Shiv are fiercely protective of High Pass and, outside the Dragon, I had no protection.
I backed toward my rig, but the mountaintops were absent any movement, the cave openings empty except for the flickering of firelight deep inside. She really was out here alone, and my anger dimmed. She was in shock, frozen where she sat, one hand on the handlebars, the other halfway to her mouth.
I thought perhaps I should ask her if she was OK, but I never got the chance.
Headlamps flashed over the rise, two beams on the snow beyond the girl. And then a pickup thundered into view, bouncing around the corner, metal barrels in the bed slamming around, the harpoon gun on the roof of the cab threatening.
I never did find out what Jymy Leff was doing out there.
The girl’s hair flew wide as she turned to face the oncoming danger, his headlamps capturing her, turning her to silhouette.
Jymy’s brakes squealed but he was going too fast. He was going to hit her. There was no way to stop in time. Even if he cranked the wheel . . . there was just no way . . .
I ran toward the girl, screams tearing at my throat.
A gust of wind slammed through the pass then, so fierce it sent me sprawling. Before I could pull myself upright, a wall of snow shot up from the ground between Jymy’s truck and the girl. She turned toward me again, her stone face freckled with powder. I blinked at her and she blinked back.
And Jymy’s pickup slammed into the wall with a crunch I can still feel at the base of my skull.
For a moment all was quiet. And then the girl jumped off the snowmobile and ran on tiptoes across the road, sliding down the bank and disappearing from sight.
I didn’t see the Shiv man until later. Not until after I confirmed Jymy was well enough to start his pickup. I didn’t see him until I’d climbed into the cab of the Dragon and navigated around the debacle in the middle of the road.
He was standing on the shoulder, not far from the turnout that led down to the ancient Kerce Memorial. One wizened hand held a walking stick and the other rested lightly on the girl’s head. She waved up at me and it was all I could do not to pull the Dragon over, climb out, and slap her.
CHAPTER 4
Mars wants to know what happened with the girl, but there’s too much there. Too much I don’t understand. And the Kerce collect stories to use as weapons.
“Jymy’s a liar,” I say, “but you’ll have to make do with his version. A detailed history of my comings and goings was not part of our deal.”
His nose flares. “Very well, Miss Quine. But the past always demands a reckoning. Denying what happened will not save you from the aftermath.”
“Duly noted,” I say, but my voice cracks and I can’t help wondering what Jymy told him. What