Winter, White and Wicked - Shannon Dittemore Page 0,48

the haul.”

“They have wolves and more guns than we do. With you down, I can’t imagine that being difficult. At least stay awake,” I tell him. “Keep him awake, Hyla. And get that blood flow stopped.” The Paradyian crouches in the snow now, pulling the scarf from around her neck and using it to bind Mars’s waist.

“Keep him off the ground,” I tell Hyla. “The wolves like Kerce blood.” It’s how Mystra lost her foot. A bite that got infected.

Hyla grabs her boss under the arms, but Mars stays her hand. “Don’t bother.”

A twitch of his lips and he’s in the air; Winter deposits him on top of the trailer. Hyla climbs up next to him and Kyn and I turn to face the footsteps pounding the ice.

Cramponed boots stomp closer. But it’s the padded footsteps I don’t hear that make the axe tremble in my hand. Kyn hefts the gun and I tighten my grip.

We don’t stand a chance.

“Three men,” Hyla yells. “Five gray wolves. All approaching.”

“What of Mars?” Kyn yells.

“He’ll live,” Hyla says.

“Keep him awake!” I yell, shaking a tremor from my foot.

“He is my boss, Sessa. I do not tell him when to sleep and when to wake.”

“If he loses too much blood—”

“That would be very unlike Mars,” Kyn says. “And what do you care if he dies?”

“Can you find the rebel camp? Can you convince Lenore to climb into my rig?”

A moment of silence and then, “No. I don’t think I can.”

“Then Hyla better keep him alive.”

There’s something sharp in Kyn’s gaze, and I realize he likes a fight. But there’s no time to give him one. The Rangers and their Grays are coming, and, like a punch to the gut, I feel Winter’s loyalty dim. She may like me. She may prefer me to others living on her island, offer me some semblance of protection against the harshest parts of her own personality, but she loves her wolves. And as a confrontation is now inevitable, the conflict rages fierce in the ice beneath our feet and in the chill of her breath.

A massive wolf crests the rise, but it’s not the size of the Gray that makes this one dangerous. It’s the thick wreath of twyl tied around his neck. I’ve never seen the wreaths used on wolves, but the farmers near the coast use them on their animals when the winds off the Kol Sea are high. Animals aren’t nearly as susceptible as we are, and the freshly cut twyl is enough to dampen the brain-addling effects of kol. The impact is short-lived, but knowing what I know now, I imagine that wreath will be enough to fend off Kerce magic as well.

Relief stirs in my chest. I don’t want to order these wolves into submission. It’s a dirty way to fight.

The alpha is followed by four wolves, slightly smaller, all of them with wreaths of twyl around their necks. The Rangers hang back—one in the pickup, two on the ground. They’re trusting the wolves to do the grunt work.

We’ll have to be smart. Have to show restraint. There are only three of us, a shotgun, two handguns, an axe, and the sylver knives at my waist. The five wolves have claws and teeth and animal instinct.

And they have Winter.

YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE COME, she says. I WARNED YOU.

Kyn fires Drypp’s gun, a blast that has no hope of reaching the pack. Buckshot peppers the snow and still the wolves press forward.

“What are you doing?”

But Kyn’s not the only idiot along for the ride. Overhead, Kerce words fly from Mars’s mouth.

“Fluxing Blys, I thought he was unconscious,” I mumble. “They’re wearing twyl!” I yell over the sound of the shotgun. “You can’t command them.”

But the pack has taken offense—like Winter, they don’t like being ordered around. Their footfalls quicken until the salivating beasts are in full sprint.

Kyn fires again. The spray is too wide—if the wolves take any of it, it doesn’t slow them. They’re powered by something other than bloodlust. They’ve Winter in their veins. And still Kyn keeps firing.

“You’re wasting shot!” I yell, and then I hear the action on the shotgun lock open. That’s it. Kyn’s out of shells.

He curses and the alpha launches himself into the air. Kyn backs up, reaching for my arm. I dodge his grasp and step toward the beast, Drypp’s axe lifted over my head.

I can’t stop the memories flooding in. Drypp cracking away at the ice, splintering it, hurting it. Hurting her. I don’t want to