Boreal and John Grey Season 1 (18 page)

Missy growled and went back to her bowl to investigate if any more food had miraculously appeared. Ella took pity and dished out some more. Through the door, she heard the shower running.

Finn. In her shower
.

Damn
. Definitely not the train of thought she needed right now. Grabbing the bags, she unloaded them on the counter.
Okay. Oatmeal
. Even with her limited kitchen skills she could manage that much. She put the milk to warm up in a pan, stirred in the oatmeal, added the sugar and cinnamon, and inhaled the aroma.

Why hadn’t she cooked anything in so long? The smell made her think of lazy Sundays and warm sunlight. Made her feel calm.

Like Finn. He made her feel stronger, more grounded. Needed. Simon never needed anyone. He was the one who always gave and gave, always there to lend a shoulder to cry on, a helping hand, a solution to a problem. Always in a good mood, no dark cloud cast by his past, no problems in his life.

But Finn radiated need. Those sad glances, that stubbornness, that lack of self preservation...

Was that how Simon had felt with her? That urge to protect?

Shaking her head at herself, she lowered the heat, stirring the oatmeal one final time and pulling out two bowls. Finn did depend on her for certain things — small but important stuff, like food, bed, someone to check him when he was hurt. But he also took care of her in important ways — like keeping her alive, no small feat lately.

She filled the bowls and covered the remaining oatmeal. Yeah, let Finn lean on her a little. She owed him that much. And it made her glad.

Chapter Six

Truth

“Food’s ready!” She carried the bowls to the coffee table and went back for spoons, water and the pills for Finn. She threw away the cartons of cold Chinese food; the noodles and meat had formed congealed lumps and Missy had managed to open one and spill half of it. She cleaned up the mess, spotted the Frangelico liqueur and placed it on the table with two small glasses. Almost festive.

Here’s to you, Simon
. She swallowed past the lump in her throat.

Then Finn walked in, his bare feet silent on the carpet, and her brain blanked. He looked really good in black, his wet hair brushing those broad shoulders, though he also looked much paler, like a ghost. Under the bandana, his eyes flashed when he caught her gaze.

She nodded at him, irritated when heat rose to her face, and pushed the tablets toward him. “Better take them with the food.”

He sat across from her, stretched out his bad leg and glowered at the pills, not moving to take them.

“They’re just iron, vitamins, minerals. And some strong painkillers.” He deserved to have a good night’s sleep. She poured him a glass of water and forged on with the one-sided conversation. “Bottoms up. Trust me, you’ll feel better within a couple of days.”

He took them. Then he grabbed his bowl and dug into the oatmeal, and that was the end of dinner-time conversation as far as Finn was concerned. Further attempts to find out if he liked the oatmeal, if he wanted water, if she should turn up the heater and what he thought of her cooking efforts fell on deaf ears, until he finished and practically licked his bowl.

She opened her mouth to tease him about it, but shut it again. He’d been starving. It wasn’t funny at all.

She managed half her oatmeal, then set the bowl aside. Her mind buzzed as if she’d drunk ten cups of coffee.

Finn gave her bowl a long look and she pushed it toward him. “There’s more,” she had the time to say before he snatched the bowl, emptied it and scraped it clean.

Then he glanced at the kitchen.

Okay, so
starving
had been an understatement. She got up and fetched the pot. “All yours.”

Finn hesitated only for a second. Then he acted pretty much like Missy with her food. He all but growled as he attacked the rest of the oatmeal, flinching when she made any sudden movement as if afraid someone would take it from him.

Which conjured all sorts of unpleasant images concerning his past. 

He finished the last spoonful and slumped back on the cushions, eyes closing, a hand resting on his stomach — relaxed, a slight flush to his cheeks, his breathing slow.

And she had that warm feeling in her chest again.
Damn
. She picked up the bottle. “Here.” She poured them both some liqueur. “A toast.”

He reached blindly for the glass and sniffed the drink. “What’s this?”

“Sweet hazelnut liqueur. Italian.” She raised her glass. “Here’s to surviving the wolves.”

The sugary goodness flooded her mouth, exploding against her taste-buds, and she sighed in pleasure.

Finn downed his in one go.
Such a waste of good liquor
. She served him another while she sipped hers and watched it go the way of the first.

Finn weaved a little before managing to slam his glass back on the table. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and flashed her a brilliant smile.

Whoa, baby. Beautiful
. And heh, a tipsy Finn.

Ella grinned. The liqueur was relaxing a knot that had held her chest since Simon vanished. “So, buddy, tell me.” She toasted him. “Who are you?”

He looked confused, pale brows drawn over his eyes. “Finn.”

She snickered. “Yeah. And where do you come from?”

“The mountains,” Finn said, muttering something more under his breath.

Right, right
. She put her glass on the table. “Where you learned how to hunt scaly wolves with beaks and dragons and stuff.”

If possible he looked even more confused. “What?”

Huh
. The subtle approach didn’t work, either. “And you were in the army. What happened then?”

“I left.”

Oh yeah. Simple as that
. She checked the bottle. Still some liqueur left.
Nice
. “And then what, you wandered the world, saving damsels in distress from Shade attacks?”

Finn sighed, leaned his head back. The lines around his mouth and eyes were smoother now. “I worked in a small town. Served tables. Washed dishes.”

Finn, a waiter?
Ella chuckled.
A good one, Finn
. Wait, Finn didn’t do humor, right? “Where?”

“Blackwater.”

She’d been there; it wasn’t far. “So if you were cozy and warm, what made you leave your nest for the big city lights?”

“Shade attacks. I put people in danger.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Couldn’t stay.”

“Wait a second...” She sipped from her glass, let the warmth spread down her belly, her back. “You make it sound as if the Shades are after you.”

He laid his head back again, sprawling on the cushions, and closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

“And why the city? Why not go back to the mountains and the countryside?”

“Dreams,” Finn whispered. “Calling me here.”

A shiver rolled up Ella’s back. “Dreams? What about?” Something nagged at her in what Finn had said.
Wait a sec
. The Shades were after voyants and oracles, and Finn was certainly a voyant, but they’d only just determined there was a pattern to the attacks, and Finn made it sound as if he’d known for some time. “When did they first come after you?”

Finn mumbled something, head lolling to the side. Ella sighed. Conversations with Finn tended to be on the short side.

She studied his face, the pale lashes resting on high cheekbones, the small frown drawing his brows together even in sleep. Getting up, she guided him to lie down.

He jerked awake. “Ella?” he mumbled.

“It’s okay. Rest. I’m here.”

Her voice seemed to relax him once more. He sighed, eyes falling shut. She carried over a blanket to cover him in case he was cold, but heat radiated from his body in waves. She set the blanket aside.

Ah hell, maybe all he needed was to rest. Maybe afterward he’d talk to her.

Hope sure died last.

***

Ella stood under the hot water spray, letting it beat on her aching shoulders. Mud and blood swirled down the drain as she rested her forehead on the cool tiles and tried not to think, not to remember.

An exercise in futility, of course.

She’d hoped the shower would help her relax and sleep. But it wasn’t working. The fuzziness of the liqueur had worn off, leaving her strung like wire all over again. Looked like it’d be another sleepless night.

Dressed in her jeans and a long warm sweater, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, she stood by the window watching the snow flurries against the night sky. Alone with her thoughts. She hadn’t planned on it, and didn’t want it, but she wasn’t going to wake Finn to distract her. Unfortunately, with Finn occupying the couch the TV wasn’t an option, and sleeping was out of the question. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Simon’s mutilated body, saw the strange wolves, beaks dripping blood. Saw Finn crouched, his gaze unfocused and blank.

Heard Dave’s words about the elves. Children-snatchers. Cruel and blood-thirsty. A war to come. The army.

And spirals after spirals spinning in her mind, a feeling of dread and memories lurking underneath the surface of consciousness, waiting to pounce.

Maybe she should go out for a midnight walk. Or read. Yeah, maybe read.

Missy poked her nose out of the bedroom and meowed. The kitten gave the living room a once over, obviously didn’t like what she saw, and retreated. Ella sighed and followed Missy who jumped up and curled on Ella’s bed, blinking sleepily.

“Move over, kitty.” She settled on the bed and reopened the book she’d gotten from the library. What better opportunity to check if there was anything of use in its pages than now, since Dave had promised they’d have the night off? Besides, the endless blah-blah about Sirurd’s qualities and the elves’ wealth and all that showing off of power might lull her to sleep.

Apparently all Boreals were born with the gift of magic. Touching the energy of things, they called it, and that was how they created the magical feats that had astonished Sirurd and his guests.

Manipulating electric fields or something like that? Ella shook her head. Had to be spectacular, if true.

Then came descriptions of the elves, who had apparently fascinated Sirurd’s wife enough to make a speech about their beauty and unique appearance. Pale they were, as if carved of ice, for their world was cold and lying under eternal snow. Their eyes were grey and their hair almost white, their skin reflective so they could blend in the landscape and escape dangerous predators. Like arctic animals.
Like...
She flipped to the next page, the headache returning.
Like Finn
.
Shit.

The elves explained they used to live underground while the ice storms raged on the surface of their world. But the dark elves fought them for dominion of the underworld and won the battle, exiling Light Elves to the surface. Their race was doomed, the elves explained. They hoped to make a new beginning in Midgard.

Missy sniffed the book, licked Ella’s hand and curled up in her lap, pushing the book aside. Ella petted the kitten absentmindedly.

White animals, Finn had said, from a world of ice. Pale elves, adapted to their environment. And Finn... Dave had called him odd, but neither of them had suggested...
No
. The elves hadn’t crossed over yet. Had they?

She got up, book in hand, and went to check on Finn. Passing in front of the window, she saw that the snowfall was turning into a storm. The clouds were dark and heavy over the city. Lightning sparkled in the distance, followed by the deep rumble of thunder. She shivered.

Finn groaned and curled tighter on the sofa, gripping his head.

“Finn?” She went and shook him. “Hey, Finn. You okay?”

He frowned, face pinched and body stiffening. Something was wrong.
Nightmare?
She lifted her hand to his face and her breath caught in her throat.