By the rain of gunfire that falls over us.
Chapter Thirteen
Maxim
“Get down!” I slam into Annika, taking her down into the snow. Back at the house, the door slams open, Yvan and Gregor already returning fire. I’m blinded by the light flooding from the door and windows, by the starbursts of muzzle flashes as they fire into the dark. “Are you hurt?”
Annika is already back in a crouch, dragging me from the spot where we fell. She yanks me behind what remains of a low, stone garden wall, barely enough to shield us both. “Give me a gun.”
“What?”
“A gun!”
I’m not playing, Maxim. This isn’t a game anymore.I give her a pistol, drawing a second one for myself. Her eyes glint in the dark. If she wants to kill me, if this is all some kind of ploy, she can do it now. She can end this. She could even claim it was our enemy’s bullet.
Instead, she rises up from her crouch, aiming neatly over the wall. Her elbows rest on the stone for an instant; she squeezes one eye shut.Pop! Pop! Pop!I hear a man scream in answer.
She’s dangerous.
I ignore Sacha’s voice in my mind and rise up next her, firing into the dark. Two Jeeps take form on the road. I count the muzzle flashes as we unload into the cars: one, two, three—seven that I can see.
Revenge for the man we killed at the train station, or a rescue mission? Would they be firing like this, into the dark, if they’d come to save Annika? Did they mean to rescue her at all? Does it matter?
Gregor barks out a curse—I look back in time to see him fall back into the wall of the house. Yvan reaches for him, too late. A spray of bullets light Gregor up, blood misting the air as dark holes appear in his chest. His body jerks at the impact, then he slides into a heap in the snow, leaving a man-sized streak of blood on the house wall.
Yvan roars in rage, returning fire in a relentless arc. Men on the road scream in agony. Yvan thunders toward them, automatic rounds peppering the Jeeps. I see the silhouette of a man slump out of a window.
What is this all for?I’m on my feet now, striding toward the vehicles, Yvan falling into step beside me. The muzzle flashes have dwindled to three—a bullet from behind me silences one of them. Yvan and I unload into the cars,crack crack crack crackechoing into the fathomless plains of snow.
Until: silence.
“Motherfuckers,” snarls Yvan, lowering his assault rifle. His massive shoulders are shaking. Rage? Fear? The thrill of the fight? “They come for her, they take one of ours. It’s wrong. This is wrong, Maxim. Your little cu—”
A shadow moves, liquid in the dark, beyond the Jeep. I see the rifle swing up toward Yvan’s head, I’m cocking my pistol—
Pop!
The figure jerks once, staggering backward before collapsing in a heap on the icy asphalt. Yvan stares at the body, then at me, then over my shoulder. I follow his gaze. Annika cocks her pistol as she moves toward us. It’s so natural for her, holding a gun, taking a life—I keep forgetting that before this world was mine, it was hers.
Her keen eyes peel the street, the cars. Apparently satisfied, she lowers her pistol and glares at Yvan. “His littlewhat, Yvan?Kozyol,” she spits.
Yvan grunts, an apology or just dismissal. Neither seems to care much. Both Annika and Yvan look to me.
“We need to search the cars.” I say, answering their unasked question and running a hand over my hair. It leaves my face wet. In the distant glow of the house, I see my hand is red and slick. “Fuck.”
“You’re hit,” says Annika, her voice girlish and strangely breathless. “Where?” She comes to my side, small hands searching my body briskly. Her fingers touch my shoulder, sending a jolt of shocking pain through my entire body. I flinch away from her, grimacing. “You were shot. We need to get you inside. Now.”
“I am not leaving you alone with him,” spits Yvan. “You are still the Daughter of the Snake, whether you are fucking or not.”
“Yvan,” I say mildly.
“I just saved your life,” Annika snaps.
“I don’t trust you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Enough,” I say. “I trust her.”
