Winter, White and Wicked - Shannon Dittemore Page 0,8
into our line of sight and yanks the weapon from Jymy’s hand. She releases the mag and drops it to the ground. Then she ejects the loaded round and chucks the gun to the edge of the lot.
It happens so fast, Jymy’s hands are left grasping for air. His face turns red and he takes a step toward Mars, points at Hyla. He waves his arms, pounds his fist, demanding things Mars looks very reluctant to give. We’re too far away to hear anything from here, but it’s not uncommon for a Ranger to stop a rig out on a run. It’s expected.
“Mars is going to pay him, right?” Because that’s what we do. We pay them off. All of us. Rangers are duty-bound to check our loads for contraband and our permits for errors, but a bag of coin and it’s like we were never there. It’s how rig drivers survive up here. How we carve out a life in the unforgiving wilderness.
“Just having a little fun first, looks like,” Kyn says. “I like this gun. What’s it loaded with?”
“Buckshot.”
“Large game then?” He moves the gun left and right, scanning the tree line.
“It’s not for hunting. Not buck anyway.”
“You’re small, quiet. Winter favors you. You could be an excellent hunter if you wanted.”
“I prefer fishing,” I say. “And if Winter favors me it’s because I don’t order her around.”
“But you could,” Kyn says. “You’re Kerce and that means you could.”
I ignore him, my eyes on Mars. His lips are moving now, saying things we can’t hear, things most people could never understand. Words that have Winter angry and blowing hard.
A gust of wind strikes Jymy in the chest and his boots slide backward on the ice. His arms flail and he cries out, but it’s his wolf that goes ballistic. Snarling and snapping, his mouth frothing.
Mars speaks a final word and Jymy’s lifted off his feet and thrown into the side of his own truck. Ice and snow rain down on him as he crumbles to the ground. The metal sign on the refueling station swings wildly.
“Fluxing smuggler,” I say, pulling on my gloves and kicking the driver’s door open.
“Sylvi—” Kyn’s fingers snag my stocking cap, but I’m gone. I’m not going to let this go to hell. Not when I have more than enough coin to pay for safe passage.
“Back inside, Miss Quine,” Mars says, heading toward me.
“Just pay the man so he doesn’t chase us down with that harpoon gun and drag away your precious haul.”
And then Jymy’s on his feet again. He pulls a knife from his boot and flings it at Mars’s back.
“Watch out!” I cry.
And though I thought Hyla was fast, it’s nothing to Winter’s magic working through Mars. Kerce words spill from his lips and his body spins out of the way. At his command, Winter catches the blade and flips it.
Jymy’s knife hovers in the air for a moment. Then, with another twitch of the smuggler’s lips, it shoots like an arrow back toward the Ranger and sinks into his chest with a wet thud, the force throwing him into a tower of snow tires. The tires scatter and Jymy falls, grasping at the hilt, trying to pull it free.
My knees buckle, but Hyla is there to hold me upright.
“He just . . . you just . . .” I can hear Jymy gasping from here, pulling at the knife, his chest gurgling.
Mars stares at him for a long second before making his way back to the Ranger. But instead of kneeling to help, he turns his attention to the wolf in the bed of the pickup. The beast snaps and snarls, yellow eyes flashing, heat rising off his coat.
Mars is facing away from us, so we can’t hear, we can’t see. But, after a moment, the wolf’s yapping falls away. The air rings with silence as the animal settles back onto his haunches and allows Mars to scratch his head.
“I’ll be damned,” Kyn says, his arm brushing mine.
I shake my head, slow, confused, my eyes moving from the Ranger to his wolf and back again. I’ve heard stories about Winter’s wolves, heard tales of her speaking to them, teaching them her language. I didn’t realize that made the animals subject to Kerce magic. Would never have thought—
“My apologies for the delay, Miss Quine,” Mars says, suddenly there, pulling the square of cloth from his pocket, and dabbing at the new sores on his lips. “Business to attend. Terms to negotiate.”