Boreal and John Grey Season 1 (40 page)

She drew a long breath, let it out slowly. The mountains and snow faded, leaving only the room, quiet and... empty.

Where was Finn?

Then she heard the sounds of retching from the bathroom and struggled to her feet, remembering that the dream she’d had, and the pain she’d felt, were in fact his.

***

“I’ll make you some tea,” she said, tugging his damn boots off and helping him lie down in his bed. He was shivering violently, and she couldn’t help but recall the serious elf boy in her dream, shivering as he looked at the cliff down the mountain. She touched his cheek; his skin was clammy and cold. “Finn, can you hear me?”

His gaze flicked her way and he nodded.

She’d seen his younger self and maybe it wasn’t the first time. That fascination she’d felt the moment she’d first lain eyes on him, maybe it was recognition. He’d known her face when he’d arrived; and she’d known his.

Why?
What was the meaning of it all?

“I’ll go make that tea.” She fled his room, boiled the water and poured it into two mugs. Her hands shook. That man’s face.
Fadhir
. Finn’s father. She knew that face, too. The face that haunted her nightmares and memories since she could remember; a face that brought with it memories of pain.

Finn’s shivering had subsided somewhat by the time she returned. He sat on his bed, propped against the wooden headboard, head bowed, hands fisted in the covers. He glanced up. She passed him a mug and he took it, cradling it in his lap.

“I was there,” she said softly, the horror still too raw for her to speak loudly. “With you.”

He nodded.

“Why is this happening?” Ella muttered, warming her hands on the mug. “What’s the point?”

He shook his head and she remembered him asking the same that morning. His bandana had fallen off in the bathroom and his ears poked out, those intricate black patterns on them standing out against the pale silk of his hair. She wanted to touch them, feel their shape, memorize the symmetry of his face under her fingertips, under her lips...

She sipped her tea, scalding her tongue. “Your father,” she said.

Finn flinched hard, and tea sloshed over the rim of his mug. With a curse, she made a grab for it and put both mugs on the floor, then took Finn’s hands, turning them over. They were red. He looked up, wide-eyed.

“I’m fine,” he said, sounding uncertain for the first time.

“The hell you are. I’ll get you some ice.”

His hands convulsed in hers. “Stay.”

“But you’ve burned your—”

“Since I can remember,” he said, his eyes desperate, “you’ve been in my dreams, and you made me feel safe. Stay.”

His words hung in the ensuing silence like raindrops caught in the web of time.

Ella jerked back, snatching her hands away. Tiny alarms went off inside her head, but she couldn’t pinpoint the danger. After all, she remembered being in his dream, remembered the urge to protect him from all the pain — obviously an old instinct. He’d been hers to protect since they were little and she’d failed him every single time. How could he feel safe with her?

Finn’s reddened hands curled in his lap. He stared down at them, jaw working.

“I was never able to protect you,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “How did I ever make you feel safe? I let you fall.”

Her words echoed in the hush descending on the room like thick mist. Finn’s fists tightened. She had a feeling she kept saying the wrong things — like a fish on a hook twisting this way and that to avoid the truth.

 “I’m going to train,” Finn said, a crack in his voice. He swung his legs off the other side, struggling to rise.

“Train? Now?” She reached out, grabbed his forearm. He was shaking.

“I know you don’t trust me,” he said, the words barely a breath. His hands clenched and unclenched. “I swore to you I’m on your side, and I am. I promised not to die, and I’m doing my best.”

Her heart thumped painfully against her breastbone. “God, Finn, it’s not that. I just...” She scrubbed a hand over her face. “I just don’t know what to do with...”
Fuck
. She was doing this all wrong. “I do trust you. I’ve always trusted you.”

Finn was looking at her now. Hope filled his eyes, so bright, tempered with dark confusion.

“Scoot over.” When he didn’t move, she nudged him until he shifted. He watched her as she took off her boots and climbed in next to him. When she lay down, he swallowed hard, his wide eyes reflecting the light of the lamp, then slid down to lie facing her.

“I’m staying,” she said, her heart racing. He was so close she could see every detail on his face, the greys and blues in his eyes, the fine grain of his skin, the strong line of his jaw. He was breathing fast, too, watching her as if she might vanish in a puff of smoke. Slowly he lifted his hand and placed it on her cheek, warm and rough against her skin. She covered it with her hand and smiled.

He smiled back, a faint lifting of the corners of his mouth, a shifting of color in his eyes. She put her hand on his chest; underneath it, his heart beat double time. She wanted to kiss his lips, his cheeks, his eyes —
mine, mine to protect, mine to hold
— but didn’t dare break the moment. 

She shifted, closing the gap between them, and he turned onto his back, offering his shoulder for pillow. She snuggled against him, her wounded arm thrown over his middle, and she listened to his heartbeat, feeling his chest rise and fall, the rhythm reassuring — he was alive, he was breathing — his sweet and spicy scent swamping her senses.

A great sigh went through him. She felt his body relax beneath her, muscles going lax and pliant.

“Sleep now,” she whispered, amazed he let his guard down with her after all that had happened. “I’m here.”

He mumbled something unintelligible against her hair, curling his arm around her waist, and not a minute later his regular, deep breathing told her he was asleep.

Chapter Six

Family

Something was off.

A heavy arm lay over her waist, pinning her to the mattress, and a warm breath stirred the hair at her nape, sending shivers through her. She was held against a hard chest, a heart beating at her back, the cadence slow and measured.

Who’d have thought Finn liked cuddling. Ella’s lips twitched. Being held against him felt right, and wasn’t what had woken her up.

Pale morning light filtered through the shutters. She shifted and the arm around her tightened, tendons like steel cables digging into her ribs. The heartbeat at her back accelerated, the puffs of air at her neck quicker. Was he having a nightmare?

She was about to twist around to see his face, when something hard poked her leg. She stilled her movements, blinking.
Oh
.

Looked like Finn didn’t just feel safe with her. His body was very happy to be pressed against her.

And hers didn’t mind, either.
At all
. Tingles went from her belly to her toes, tiny wisps of lightning. Just the thought of getting Finn naked and sweaty between the sheets, skin to skin, the hot press of lips... the sounds he’d make...

God, yeah
.

And still... that wasn’t what had woken her, was it? She frowned in the pre-dawn gloom. Something nudged at the edge of her consciousness, trying to break through the heaviness of sleep and the contentment of being in Finn’s arms.

A sound.

Someone was moving inside the apartment.

Breath hitching, she tried to think. Her weapons. She’d stripped them at some point, when she realized she was spending the night in Finn’s bed. Left them on the floor. She strained against Finn’s hold but he only pulled her closer to him, whispering something against her skin — her name, she realized — sending delicious shivers through her.

Dammit
. How was a girl to concentrate?

The sound came again, nearer, right outside the closed door of the bedroom.
Shit
. “Finn, wake up.”

Not fair, dammit
. He was finally resting, he’d slept through the night —
and so have you,
a smug little voice piped up helpfully — and she had to wake him because something was outside.

Right outside.

A scratch on the door, and for a moment she thought it might be Missy — the kitten may have wandered in the previous night from Mike’s apartment. Damn, if Missy had pissed on the furniture—

A screech raised all the hairs on her body. She jerked up and out of bed, scrabbling for her gun, as Finn uncoiled in a single movement, drawing his knives from his belt — hell, had he slept with them? Maybe that was what she’d felt, and not Finn being happy to be in bed with her after all—

A crash and the door cracked, splintering down the middle. Swallowing down her racing pulse, Ella cocked her gun, throwing Finn a quick glance.

He stood by the bed, ash-blond hair tousled, dark-tipped ears poking out, both knives held ready at his sides. His gaze was sharp and wide-awake, drilling a hole into the splintered door. “
Frekar
,” he whispered.

Wolves.
Plural
.

Damn
.

A wolf threw itself at the door again, breaking it in two, and lunged into the room, beak open and teeth glinting. The animal slowed, white scales shimmering and rattling on its flanks. A clawed foot clicked on the floor as it moved sinuously.

Ella aimed down the barrel of her gun at the wolf’s head, held her breath.

A screech and another wolf burst through the broken door, jumping on Finn. Her shout of fear was cut short as the first wolf turned to her and screeched.

“Damn you,” she hissed and shot it, hitting it in the neck. Crimson bloomed and the animal jerked back, then fixed a malevolent grey eye on her, claws scraping the floor.
Of course, it’s not a Shade, iron bullets won’t make it disappear
, she had the time to think before it pounced.

Her head hit the floor with a thunk, and everything went silent and dark for a moment. The respite was over too soon — a blaze of white-hot pain in her arm jolted her back. Holy fuck, that hurt. The wolf opened its beak and raised a claw — to slice her again, she thought distantly — and she fumbled at her belt for her knives.

Something hit the wolf and it staggered sideways. Drawing her daggers, she got up, ready for a throw. The wolf whined, trying to reach the hilt of a knife jutting from its flank —
Finn’s blade
. A quick glance showed her he was on his feet, swiping at the wolf with his one remaining knife.

Her wolf was recovering from the hit, turning back to her. She left it no time to take the initiative. Flinging herself to the side, she took aim and let one knife fly. It hit the animal in the side of its beaked head, burying itself deep.

The wolf staggered forward, blinking, croaking like a crow.
Take that, you bastard
. Ella lunged and grabbing the hilt of Finn’s Bowie knife, jerked it out. Dark blood fountained, and the wolf wobbled, then went down on its forelegs.

Stepping in, she buried her other knife into the junction of head and neck where the shiny scales glittered like mother-of-pearl. The wolf crashed to the floor, still.

Finn.

He’d lost his knife; it lay a few feet away. The wolf had him pinned to the floor, sharp beak hovering inches from his face. Bright lines flashed on his hands and face.

Fear
.

She vaulted over the bed, blood running down in the crook of her elbow, warm and ticklish.

Finn’s arms trembled as he pushed the wolf away — but not far enough, and that sharp beak snapped again, barely missing his throat.

Jesus
.

Ella launched herself onto the wolf’s back, plunging her knives into its scaly hide, anchors to help her climb the massive beast. The wolf jerked and twisted —
away from Finn, good
— beak clicking at her face. She almost fell, her pulse roaring, but managed to hold onto the hilts of the knives and climbed up all the way, pulling a knife free and plunging it into the animal’s neck.

Another twist of that glittering body and her grip slipped. Up and down blurred; she tumbled off, hitting the floor on her side, her arm going numb.
Shit
.

Her vision cleared, focusing on Finn. He sat astride the wolf, stabbing repeatedly the animal’s neck and head, his lips peeled back in a snarl. His hair flew in sparkling ribbons as he rode the bucking wolf. Savagely, he stabbed again and turned the blade.

The wolf dropped to its haunches, then rolled to the side, spilling Finn to the floor. He fell next to her, blinking up dazedly at the cracked plaster of the ceiling.

Then his eyes narrowed at her and he sat up, wincing. “Your arm,” he breathed, a horrified whisper.

Surely it wasn’t that bad, she’d have felt it —
son of a bitch!
The pain finally hit, burning and clawing at her. The ragged tear spilled blood. Her arm was bathed a deep red that dripped off her fingertips as she pushed up on her elbows, her whole body twitching.

Fuck, she was going to pass out. Only Finn’s sudden lunge for her stopped her from hitting the floor again. He mumbled something that sounded like a curse, and then he was gone from her side.

Off to check the apartment, no doubt, and it made sense. The ceiling spun lazily overhead, and she shut her eyes, dizzy.
God, please don’t let me throw up
.

Then Finn was back, kneeling beside her. 

“All clear?” she slurred.

Mouth in a thin line, he pressed something on her arm. Pain hit her like a truck and her mind went white. In degrees, the pain subsided, and she became aware of gentle hands patting the wound. She opened watering eyes and saw Finn apply butterfly bandages, a scowl on his face. He ripped a package of gauze open with his teeth —
white teeth, bared in a savage sneer, his hand stabbing the wolf again and again
— and started wrapping up her arm.

“Finn?” she whispered, horrified at the tremble in her voice. Goddammit, everything was fine, the wolves were dead, Finn was okay, she was okay. What else could she ask for?

Without a word, he snapped the medic-kit closed and scooped her in his arms. Oh Christ, the room swam and she buried her face in his shoulder, swallowing bile.

“Put me down,” she demanded, her voice barely making it past her lips. “I don’t like... being carried...”

Finn never broke stride. He kicked her bedroom door open and deposited her on her bed. “I’ll keep watch,” he said between clenched teeth. “You rest.”

She struggled to keep her eyes open. There was something she should be doing. Asking him if he was hurt. Checking him.

Finn left and returned presently, holding their knives. He closed the door and dragged the chair behind it, then sat with a cloth and started cleaning the blades. Up and down, strong, sure movements, and a glare that could melt steel.

He looks all right
, Ella thought before she passed out.

***

“You should move to another apartment,” a familiar male voice was saying. The sound ripped the edge of blackness, waking Ella. “Not safe for you here anymore, not after this last attack.”

Instead of a reply came a click and a pop.

A nervous bark of laughter. “Hey, it was just an idea, no need to shoot— Oh, you’re cleaning the guns, are you?”

“What do you want?” Finn asked, his tone neither hostile nor interested. Bland. Tired.

“I told you.” Mike cleared his throat. “Here it’s dangerous, so maybe moving—”

Another pop and click. “Location doesn’t matter.”

“And how do you know— will you leave that gun alone for a second?”

A beat of silence. Ella struggled to lift heavy lids. She heard the sound of something soft hitting the floor, a quiet curse.

“You look bad, man,” Mike muttered. “That cut looks nasty, let me have a look — okay, okay, hands off, I get it.”

Cut? Nasty?
The words jolted Ella into complete awareness. She forced her eyes open, needles of light stabbing them. She groaned.

“She’s awake.” Mike started toward her, a blurry shape. He sat on her bed, hands twisting nervously in his lap. “Hey, girl, how’re you doing?”