She didn’t blame them, drawing closer to Scarface. They were being hunted by something that could take down ferals without making a sound. Something that struck from the white and vanished. Something that had done this before.
A lot.
She forced herself to keep breathing. To keep moving when Scarface pulled her forward. Her hands were numb, her feet like blocks of ice in her boots. The storm was getting worse, the wind strong enough to make even the ferals lean into it.
The terrain funneled them into a channel between towering rocks. Wind howled through the gap, and there was snow piled in drifts up to her waist, forcing Scarface to half-carry, half-drag her through.
Then a rock skittered across their path. A rock… it was more like a boulder.
It tumbled and rolled over the ice with a sound like breaking glass, stopping directly in front of the Leader.
The ferals around her froze. The Leader’s head snapped up, and Tank spread his arms, claws extending. Scarface’s grip tightened on her arm until she thought her bones might snap.
A shadow moved on their downwind side. Too fast. Too fluid. Tank spun toward it, but whatever it was had already gone. There was nothing but swirling white and his own harsh breathing.
Then the feral behind them was taken.
No sound. No struggle. One moment there, the next being dragged downslope so fast only a line scored in the snow and blood spray marked where he’d been. By the time they reached the spot, fresh snow was already filling the tracks.
No body. Nothing.
The silence that followed was worse than screaming. It pressed down on them, broken only by their ragged breathing. Three ferals left: Scarface, the Leader, and Tank. And all of them were looking at the white around them with something she’d never thought she’d see in those red eyes.
Fear.
Real, bone-deep fear.
Scarface’s fingers dug bruises into her arm as they hurried forward, the four of them huddled together like that would somehow help.
Terror sat in her chest like a block of ice. Her leg throbbed with each heartbeat. The cold had stolen all feeling from her extremities so she focused on one foot in front of the other.
It was all she could do. She’d had extreme weather survival training so she knew that stopping meant dying.
The wind shifted. For a moment, the white cleared, and a dark figure waited ahead. Silent. Still. Eyes reflected the dim light—not red like the ferals’, but yellow. Bright and predatory and locked on target.
Recognition slammed through her.
Zeke.
But not like she’d ever see him before. He stepped out of the white like something from her worst nightmare. Snow clung to his massive frame, steam rising from his skin. Those yellow eyes fixed on the ferals with the intensity of a predator who’d been playing with his food.
Tank charged first, roaring as he launched himself forward.
Zeke sidestepped like Tank was moving in slow motion. His fist connected with the big feral’s knee from the side. The crack of bone breaking was loud even over the wind. Tank went down hard, and before he could do more than gasp, Zeke’s hand closed around his throat.
One squeeze and it was done. Tank slumped to the ground, just another rapidly cooling corpse.
The Leader tried to grab Michelle, as leverage or as a shield, she didn’t know, but Zeke was already moving. A shoulder check sent the Leader flying into the rocks hard enough to crack stone. The feral scrambled up, but Zeke was already there, spinning him around with a hand hooked under his jaw.
Then he twisted, and the crunch of bone snapping filled the air. The newcomer leader dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.
Scarface yanked Michelle backward, trying to use her as a shield while edging uphill. His cracked plating leaked freely now, blood steaming in the cold. Zeke moved faster than she’d ever seen anyone move before, shoving his big body between her and Scarface. She stumbled back and went down hard on her ass, eyes wide as she watched Zeke’s claws find the fissures in Scarface’s armour, tearing them wide. Scarface fought with pure desperation, but Zeke pinned his arm and punched talons straight through the weakened armor.
The sound Scarface made... Yeah, that was going to haunt her dreams.
Then there was nothing but silence. And the sound of her ragged breathing.
Zeke straightened slowly, chest heaving. Blood dripped from his claws, dark against the snow. Those yellow eyes found her where she knelt, shivering so hard her teeth hurt.
