Chapter 66: She Stole the Whole Damn Sled

Dove held both hands where the crossbowman could see them, which would have looked much braver if her fingers had stopped shaking. Thorne edged behind the truck until its engine blocked the weapon’s view of her chest. His growl had become a steady sound she could feel through her knees.

"You can stop pointing that at me," she called. "If you want me inside, try asking without a weapon aimed at my head."

The man beside the garage said he hadn’t been asking. Dove gripped a handful of fur, trying to keep her voice steady. "Yeah, I noticed you skipped straight to being an asshole."

Edrik stood near the rear wheel, still in bear form. His gaze moved from the chain behind them to the fuel tanks, then counted the men. He wasn’t watching Dove’s mouth or her shaking hands. He was deciding who could reach her first.

The leader opened his paper. "Cash and fuel for her return. Extra for the panther if he’s alive. You two can come quietly and make this easy."

"Easy for who?" Dove pressed her palms into Thorne’s fur before the trembling gave her away. "The man who signed that threw me out. Ash canceled it. You’re trying to collect a reward that doesn’t exist anymore."

The leader said he would take his chances, but Dove barely heard him as a bound hand appeared behind the crossbowman at the office window. Dove watched it scrape the glass, then drop out of sight. The caretakers were here, and asking for a room had stopped being an option before they reached the gate.

She whispered what she had seen. Thorne set their pack behind the truck wheel, and the red wolf courier edged toward it. Edrik watched the leader gesture another guard around the fuel tank. Five raiders were visible, with the loaded sled blocking the gap beside the garage.

"Store their sled," Sprout said inside her head. "Focus on the whole object and its secured cargo. Nothing living is touching it."

Dove nearly turned toward the voice. "You told me I had to touch things."

"Normally, yes. Emergency retrieval can reach beyond contact, but the effort is severe. Clear your hands and keep your body supported."

She told Thorne what she meant to try, barely moving her lips. "If I go limp, don’t let me fall."

His ears flattened as he asked how badly it would hurt her. "Sprout says I’ll be tired, which tells me fuck all," she whispered. "But we need them looking away from that window."

Edrik heard enough to stop questioning her glance at the sled. He moved closer to the couriers, while Thorne told her to hold tight when it happened. Dove wasn’t calm. Her palms were wet inside her gloves, and the crossbowman kept lifting his weapon whenever she moved.

The leader called for the sled to be brought closer. Its handler shoved a crate back under the ropes, released his grip, and turned toward Dove.

She pictured the runners, the tied boxes, and the whole miserable pile disappearing. For a second, nothing happened. Then the sled vanished from the snow, and something seemed to pull all the strength out of her arms.

The handler stumbled into the empty space, and everyone looked at him as the leader demanded to know what the fuck he had done.

Dove stared too, more shocked than any of them. She had expected a warning, or half a box, or Sprout announcing that she needed an expensive upgrade. There had been an entire sled, and now there were only runner marks.

"That used your available energy," Sprout said. "Do not attempt another retrieval until you have recovered. Contact storage remains your normal method."

Dove managed a laugh that sounded far steadier than she felt. "Maybe stop hiring men who lose things while you’re threatening people."

Edrik’s head turned sharply toward her. Then Thorne moved, and she flattened against his back because holding herself upright was no longer something her body wanted to discuss.

The wolf courier swung his loaded sled across the office window. A bolt struck its crate. Edrik drove the nearest guard away from Thorne, and the stag kicked the garage door into the leader’s path. They ran through the gap where the stolen sled had been.

The office door was barred from outside. Thorne pressed a paw to its lower bracket and dragged it crooked with his power. His leg shook before the bar fell. Dove wanted to tell him to stop, but the captive hand was still pressed against the glass.

He shouldered inside and knocked a desk into the crossbowman before he could reload. The weapon fell. Two caretakers lay bound behind the desk; a third sat beside the stove with blood dried on his forehead.

The oldest caretaker begged her to get the knife under the cot. Thorne lowered her beside the pinned guard. Dove’s knees nearly folded, but she caught the cot and found the knife. She sawed through one man’s wrist cord, keeping the blade away from his skin with both shaking hands, then passed it to him.

She asked him to free the others because her hands wouldn’t work properly. He told her she had managed his cord, then turned to his companions before she could argue.

Thorne nudged her against his shoulder while the freed man secured the guard and took his crossbow. Dove tried to draw a full breath. The office smelled of stale coffee, and for one awful second she wanted to be bored at work again, wishing for the end of a shift instead of an escape. Through the doorway, Edrik shoved another attacker back toward the fence. He glanced at Dove, visibly startled to find her standing after what she had done, and she forced herself to raise a hand.

"Still here," she called. "Tell me you have an exit that doesn’t involve meeting more of these assholes."

The injured caretaker pointed behind the stove. A rear door opened onto a drainage cut that joined the western track. The couriers could circle the building, but somebody had to signal them before the leader reached the fuel drums.

Thorne lowered himself for her, and she dragged one leg across his back. Outside, the stag shouted that more men were coming from the northern road. The leader answered with an order to bring a can.

Liquid ran beneath the front door. Dove recognized the sharp gasoline smell just before she heard someone strike a match.