Nina flung her useless gun at him as she dived sidelong. The spear’s golden cover snapped open, rippling energy erupting – and hitting the shotgun at point-blank range.

The flying weapon blew apart. The gunpowder in the remaining cartridges detonated, blasting out buckshot like an exploding hand grenade. It tore through the gaps in the warrior’s armour, lacerating his face and neck. He fell back with a scream, blinded and spitting blood from shredded lips.

Nina let out a cry of her own as shrapnel stabbed into her. She painfully sat up to see bloody rips in her trousers and shirt. The wounds were not deep, but they stung like hell. She scooped up snow and pushed it gently against the injuries to numb them, then stood. Her left leg, which had taken the brunt of the damage, quivered as she put weight on it, but held.

She wouldn’t be sprinting for a while, though. Pain burned through her calf muscle. A clumsy jog was the best she could hope for.

And that would not be enough. Through the mist, she saw more towering figures hurrying up the hill.

She hobbled to the wounded Nephilim and snatched up his baraka. It occurred to her that she could use the weapon to finish him, but the moment she fired, the warriors below would home in on her.

Instead she went to the chamber’s rear wall, which was painted to resemble a mountain range. There had to be a way out—

There was – behind the castle’s wreckage. Doors below an emergency exit sign were blocked by debris. She could clear it, given a few minutes . . . but she didn’t have a few minutes.

She looked around in desperation. If there were any other exits, she couldn’t see them. The only way she could go was back down the hill.

Straight into the arms of her hunters.

The other Nephilim were moving quickly, following their comrades’ tracks. Nina gripped the baraka, but it was seven against one. Fighting was not an option; she had to get past them. Somehow.

The ski lifts could carry people downhill as well as up, but she would be completely exposed. Skis or a snowboard would be faster, except there were none to hand. So how . . .

‘No, nope,’ she told herself, even as she started towards the bobsled run. ‘I am not going to do that. I am so not doing that!’

But somehow she found herself crouched at its top. Several sleds waited beside a heavy-duty chain lift. She looked downhill. The limited space dedicated to the run meant it lacked the sweeping turns of an outdoor track, but it still snaked enough to give thrill-seekers some excitement on their ride.

Right now, that was the last thing she wanted, but it was the only way to get down without being caught. The leading Nephilim were more than halfway up the hill.