Chapter 8
MAGNUS
The cold hits like a physical blow. Subzero temperatures make lungs burn with each breath. Wind cuts through layers like they're nothing. Snow stretches in every direction, pristine and deadly in the weak morning light.
I move toward the lean-to where the snowmobile sits under its tarp. Neve follows without a word. The anger's still radiating off her. The frustration of being protected when she wants to act. I don't care about her anger. I care about keeping her breathing.
The tarp comes off stiff with ice. I check the machine with practiced efficiency.
Fuel levels. Oil. Track condition. Everything mechanical that could fail us in the middle of nowhere.
Neve loads our packs onto the cargo rack and straps them down with precise movements.
No wasted motion despite the cold making her fingers clumsy.
"Where exactly are we going?" Her voice cuts through the wind.
"North. Off-grid location about at least a day's travel… if we’re lucky." I finish my inspection and swing onto the machine. "Get on."
She climbs on behind me. Her arms wrap around my waist. The weight of her against my back is grounding in a way I don't want to examine. I start the engine. The roar shatters the morning silence. We pull away from the cabin that's been my base for three years.
I don't look back.
The terrain is brutal. The storm left drifts that slow us down even with the powerful machine. I navigate by landmarks and instinct. No GPS. No technology that can be tracked. Just knowledge of the land and the awareness that every mile we cover is one more between us and the hunters.
The hours drag. The cold seeps through gear designed for arctic conditions. Neve's grip on my waist stays firm. She doesn't complain. Doesn't ask to stop. Just endures with the same toughness that's kept her alive this long.
I'd burn the world down to keep her safe. The thought surfaces without warning, visceral and absolute. I'd hunt down every man who put money on her head and make them understand what happens when you threaten what belongs to me.
The intensity of that drive is dangerous, the kind of obsession that compromises judgment and makes you act rashly based on wanting instead of thinking.
I still don't care.
Around midday, I kill the engine. We're in a valley between ridges with protection from the wind and good visibility in all directions. As safe as anywhere in the open.
"Break." I climb off. "Fifteen minutes. Eat. Drink."
She dismounts stiffly. The cold's gotten into her joints despite the layers. She pulls emergency rations from her pack and shares them without being asked. We eat standing up, consuming calories more than food, fueling bodies pushed to their limits.
"This off-grid location." She's studying the terrain. Always analyzing. "What is it?"
"A compound. Fortified. Run by someone who values privacy."
"Someone you trust?"
"Someone who won't turn us away." I check my watch. Calculate distance and daylight. "He's not social. But he'll help."
"He?" She catches the pronoun. "Who is he?"
"Zeb Cross." I meet her eyes. Watch for recognition.
Her expression shifts. "Zeb Cross. The guy from the stories?"
"There are stories?"
"My friend Caryn—" She stops. Stares at me. "Caryn Stevens went looking for him. She never came back."
"She stayed. She's his woman."
"His woman." The word hangs between us. "You mean his wife?"
"I mean his woman. Zeb doesn't have much use for society's rules." I let that sink in. "Your friend figured that out. Stayed anyway."
The silence that follows is heavy. She's processing the information. Her friend is alive. She chose to stay with a man who lives off-grid in the mountains. She chose that life over the one she left behind.
"She's happy?" Neve asks finally.
"She's his. He's hers. That's all that matters to them."
"You're serious."
"I'm serious." I move back to the snowmobile. "Questions later. Moving now."
She doesn't argue. Just climbs back on and wraps her arms around me. Trusting me to get her through this even as her understanding of reality keeps expanding.
We ride for hours more. The sun tracks across the pale sky. Shadows lengthen. Temperature drops as afternoon bleeds into evening. When the light starts failing, I find shelter. Small outcropping of rock that provides windbreak. I kill the engine.
"We camp here." My voice is rough from cold and lack of use. "I'll build a snow cave. More insulation than the tent."
"I can help." She's stiff when she climbs off.
"Start the camp stove. Melt snow. We need water." I point to the compact fuel canister stove.
She nods and moves to follow orders. I start digging. Building the snow cave the way I learned in survival training. Mindless physical work that keeps blood moving and cold at bay.
By the time I finish, she's got water melting and food heating. I crawl into the cave. She follows. The space is small. We're pressed together by necessity. Sharing heat.
We eat in silence. Dehydrated meals that taste like cardboard but provide the calories we need. She's methodical about it, eating because she needs fuel.
When we're done, I pack snow into the entrance. Not sealed completely—we need air circulation. But enough to block wind and create insulation. The space is dark except for faint light from the entrance. Our breath fogs in the cramped cave.
"Magnus." My name in her mouth is question and demand both.
"Sleep. We move at first light." I pull her against my chest. Position her between me and the insulated wall.
She settles against me with her head tucked under my chin. Trusting me to keep watch. Her breathing eventually evens out. Sleep taking her despite the cold and fear.
I stay awake. Listening to the wind outside. The silence of the wilderness. The steady rhythm of her heart against my chest.
I'm monitoring the radio one last time before shutting down for the night when I hear it. Frequency I recognize. Voice I know. Smithfield—pilot out of Fairbanks who's moved cargo for me in the past.
"—confirmed intel on three cache locations. Ridge cabin is primary target. Weather's clear enough for flyover. Moving assets into position for intercept."
My jaw locks. Smithfield. Selling information about my operations. Feeding my locations to the hunters for cash. He knew the ridge cabin. Knew the supply points. Knew my patterns because I'd used him for transport to several of those sites.
I switch frequencies. More chatter. Different voices. Coordinates being discussed. Search grids being assigned.
They're organized. Well-funded. Professional operation with resources I can't match.
And now they know where every one of my safe locations is.
The betrayal doesn't surprise me. This is the world I operate in. People sell what they know when the price is right. Smithfield calculated his odds and chose the money. Smart business decision on his part.
Doesn't mean I won't put a bullet in him when this is over.
I switch off the radio but keep the emergency frequency open, then switch to a channel I know Zeb monitors. I keep my transmission brief and coded.
"Beast. This is Icarus. Compromised. Cache locations burned. Coming in hot with company. ETA tomorrow night. Bringing a package."
Static. Then Zeb's voice. Rough. Not pleased. "How hot?"
"Professional hunters. Well-funded. Package is priority target."
Long silence. Then: "Come in from the north approach. I'll be watching."
The transmission ends. Zeb's not happy about me bringing trouble to his door. But he won't turn us away. Won't leave Neve exposed when I show up asking for shelter.
That's what matters.
Neve's still asleep against me. Unaware that we just became even more of a target. That the hunters know where we might run.
The temperature drops as night deepens. I drift at some point. Not sleep. Just the edge of it. Enough to rest without losing awareness.
Then I'm awake. Completely awake. Instantly alert.
Something's wrong.
I don't move. Don't give away that I've noticed. Just extend my senses beyond the snow cave. Listening.
There.
The sound is faint but distinct. Movement. Footsteps in snow despite whoever it is trying to stay quiet. They're circling the area with professional precision.
They've found us.
My hand moves to the pistol at my hip. Slow. Silent. Neve's still asleep. I cover her mouth with my hand. Gentle pressure. Enough to wake her without startling.
Her eyes snap open. Instant alertness. Her body tenses.
I lean close. Lips against her ear. Breath barely a whisper. "They're here. Outside. Don't move. Don't make noise."
She nods against my hand. I release her slowly.
The footsteps continue circling. They haven't found the entrance yet. The snow I packed looks like natural drift in the dark. But dawn's coming. The light will expose us.
The snowmobile is too far away. Breaking camp will make noise. Based on the footsteps, there are at least three of them, maybe more. Any movement will give us away.
"When I say move, you run for the snowmobile." My voice is barely audible. "Don't wait. Don't look back. Get on and start it."
"I'm not leaving you." Whisper-quiet but absolute.
"You'll do what I tell you. I'll cover you. But you be ready to run."
She's about to argue. Before she can speak, the footsteps stop.
Silence.
Then a voice. Male. Professional. Close.
"Check that drift. Something about it doesn't look right."
My hand tightens on the pistol. We're out of time.
I meet Neve's eyes in the darkness. See her fear. Her trust. Her readiness to fight despite being terrified.
This is my world. Violence and consequence. Moments like this where death waits outside and choices narrow to survival or surrender.
And now it's hers too.
The sound of snow being disturbed is loud in the small space. Someone's digging. Finding the entrance. Exposing us.
I shift. Put myself between her and the opening. Gun ready. If they want her, they come through me first.
Light breaks through. Flashlight beam cutting into the cave through the loose-packed snow at the entrance. Someone's pulling away the barrier.
"Found something."
The entrance opens wider. Cold air rushes in with the light. A rifle barrel appears. Then a face behind it. Young. Professional. Eyes that go wide when he sees me.
I pull the trigger before he can get his weapon up. The shot is deafening in the enclosed space. The man drops, blood spray hot against the cold air.
"Move!" I shove Neve toward the opening. "Now!"
She scrambles out. I'm right behind her. The dawn is gray and brutal. Two more men are closing in. They see their partner down and their weapons come up.
I fire twice. One drops. The other dives for cover behind a boulder.
"Start it!" I'm moving. Putting myself between her and the shooter. "Go!"
She's on the machine. Engine roars to life. The man behind the boulder is lining up a shot. I fire again. He jerks back. Hit but not down.
"Magnus!" Neve's screaming my name.
I'm running. The man's getting up. Bringing his weapon around. I fire the last round in my magazine. He goes down hard this time.
I vault onto the snowmobile behind Neve. She's already accelerating. We're moving before I'm fully seated. Snow kicks up behind us. More shots ring out from somewhere. The hunters have backup.
We're racing across open ground, exposed and vulnerable. More figures appear from the treeline. At least three, maybe more.
Bullets whine past us. One hits the windscreen and cracks spider across the plastic.
"Faster!" I'm reloading with one hand while the snowmobile bounces over rough terrain.
She opens the throttle and the machine screams. We're flying across the snow with distance opening between us and the hunters. But they're organized and professional. They'll have vehicles, backup, and resources.
Behind us, engines roar to life. Not one engine. Multiple engines. The hunters have snowmobiles of their own, fast ones.
And they're gaining.