Boreal and John Grey Season 1

by Chrystalla Thoma

  She breathed into him, checked if his chest rose. Focus. Breathed again, watched his lungs fill and empty. She checked his pulse. Steady. Strong. Come on, Finn. She breathed into him again, and again. Come on! “You promised,” she wheezed. “No dying.”

  She blew more air between his lips. “You promised. Please.” Her heart banged against her ribs. Her hands shook. “Finn, wake up!”

  Finn gasped, his back arching. He coughed, then curled on his side, panting, and Ella bent her head, struggling with stupid tears. Oh god.

  She drew back, giving him space. Pools of ichor spread around them. Finn was covered in the stuff, and she wasn’t much better.

  Blindly he reached for her hand, and she let him take it, squeezed his strong fingers in hers reassuringly. “You’re okay,” she said, her voice close to breaking. “You’re all right.”

  His eyes opened and focused on her. He touched two fingers to his chest. Was that his way of saying thank you?

  “Finn...” So much she wanted to say, but the words caught in her throat. This is why you can’t be with him, she thought. Because the other side is pulling him and he’ll either return to his world, or die.

  Slowly she withdrew her hand and turned away.

  Chapter Three

  Falling

  Sarah wore a black skirt with tassels on the hem. They flounced as she moved around the living room. “So the Shades just come and go as they please?” She checked under the sofa cushions, as if expecting to find an answer to the tearing of the Veil right there, in Ella’s apartment. “Despite all the charms I saw on the doors and windows and every single free surface?”

  “That was a rhetorical question, right?” Ella had been scrubbing the ichor and blood off the floor since early morning. What a birthday. Better if she never celebrated it again, ever.

  Add to that the fact she’d barely slept a wink all night, Finn’s still face flashing in front of her eyes like a broken movie. Then she’d panic and get up, unable to breathe, until she convinced herself he was fine.

  Scott was in hospital. His windpipe had almost been crushed and he had a concussion which the doctors were monitoring. Not everyone withstood being choked to death and smashed into walls repeatedly like Finn.

  Which made her wonder how hard Finn had been hit to stop breathing.

  She shuddered, the memory overlaying her thoughts and darkening her vision. Yeah, that was exactly why she couldn’t be with him.

  “I’d sleep with my gun under my pillow if I were you,” Sarah said. “On an iron bed. With iron chairs all around. Something like that.”

  Not such a bad idea.

  “Where’s Finn?” Sarah checked under the coffee table.

  Would she stop doing that?

  A throat being cleared had them both turning to the kitchen door. Finn stood there, arms folded over his chest, lounging against the doorframe. Quiet like a cat, that man. Elf. Whatever.

  Her heart thumped so loudly it covered all other sound. He was a little pallid, and worry made her want to walk over and check him, maybe bully him into bed, feed him soup and tea.

  Goddammit, stop it. She forced herself to look away.

  “I wish I could hear what the Shades talk about, for clues on how they got in.” Sarah sank on the couch, crossing her legs. She wore knee length boots, high-heeled of course, and a red coat. “But I can’t complain. I haven’t been alone in my head in a long time. The silence is... refreshing. Lets me think more clearly.”

  Ella wished she could say the same for herself. She rose and went to wash her hands in the bathroom. When she returned, she found Sarah smoking a slim cigarette. The scent of fresh tobacco hung in the air, aromatic. It reminded Ella of her father and of calm Sunday afternoons in the garden.

  Rattled, she sat across from the other woman, stealing glances at Finn who hadn’t moved from his spot in the doorway.

  “Let me see the paper you got from Simon’s place again,” Sarah said. No-nonsense, right to the point. “It was a strange name.”

  “Only if you tell us what you know about John Grey and the Gates,” Ella countered, holding up the piece of paper between index and middle finger, dangling it like a carrot. A glance showed her Finn’s expression caught between a dark glare and amusement.

  “If I knew anything worth knowing, I’d be out there trying to stop the invasion from happening,” Sarah muttered. “We both suspect Dave of working for the enemy, one way or another. Give me what you’ve got and I’ll work on it.”

  Ella sighed. That woman sounded so sure of herself. She pushed the piece of paper across the coffee table. “Let’s hear your ideas.”

  Sarah flipped the paper over and over between nimble fingers. Her nails were painted crimson. “Bran Hoodvild. This looks like...” She frowned. “Have you got a pen?”

  Ella threw her one. “What does it look like?”

  Sarah sucked her bottom lip between white teeth. When she released it, they were smeared in red. “Like an anagram. And I think I know which name it fits.” She smirked. “Working for a super secret organization means I’ve got some practice with this sort of stuff.”

  An anagram. “You’re not saying...” Ella sat forward in her seat. From the corner of her eye, she saw Finn take a step into the room. “An anagram for John Grey?”

  “Nope.” Sarah scribbled something below the name and placed the paper on the table. “There. I knew it.”

  David Holborn. Dave. Shit. Ella frowned. “Simon had been investigating Dave?”

  “And you’re the only person Simon wanted to share it with.” There was only the tiniest trace of bitterness in Sarah’s voice. “In any case, I was right. David is John Grey.”

  “I’m not sure.” Ella took a deep breath, and of course Finn’s sweet spice filled her senses. “We suspect Dave of being a Guardian, a half-mechanical being created by the Dark elves to protect the Gates, gone rogue.”

  Sarah whistled. “And here I thought I’d shocked you by suggesting he’s John Grey. What makes you think he’s a Guardian?”

  “He was in a photo with me as a baby.”

  “Maybe he ages well.”

  “He doesn’t eat or sleep.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Ella sighed. Was she? “Bear with me. If Guardians are half-machines, it does sound like they don’t die, doesn’t it?” She looked to Finn for confirmation, and he shrugged.

  “Makes sense to me,” Sarah said. “The Dark elves would want to leave them on a world to guard the Gates after they closed them, if they couldn’t send replacements.”

  “Right. Now...” Ella rubbed her nose. “If a person is around for too long, someone might get suspicious, right? They would have to change their name every so often. What if the anagram is one of the names Dave used in the past?”

  Sarah snorted. “But why would he keep the same letters?”

  Robots. Machines. Letters. “Some sort of code? Maybe they need to keep the letters so their masters can find them when and if they return?”

  Sarah frowned. “A little far-fetched, isn’t it?”

  “You think? More than everything else we’ve encountered?” Ella shook her head, her ponytail whipping her neck. “How else do you explain the fact that Simon hid for me a piece of paper with a name that turns out to be an anagram of David Holborn?”

  Sarah toyed with the tassels of her skirt and chewed on a ruby-painted lip. Ella held her breath.

  The silence stretched. She glanced at Finn, caught him staring at her. He looked away with a scowl.

  “Okay, I’ll play,” Sarah said.

  Ella slumped back in her seat. “Good.”

  “If you’re right and he’s been here for a while, and if this is a name he’s used, I’ll find out what I can about him,” Sarah said. Her green eyes gleamed under her dark fringe. “You can count on me.”

  “Glad to be on the same side,” Ella muttered. Truth be told, with the Shades closing around them, and Mike and Scott out for the count, it felt good to have on
e more ally.

  ***

  Trees laden with snow lined the lake shore — trees unlike any Ella had ever seen. With their branches twisted and woven together, the trees rose like solid cones dusted with white toward the grey sky. The lake was still — too still. Frozen. A gust of wind sent snow swirling over its surface.

  A howl sounded from the hills. Then another, from much closer.

  Ella turned and started to run. Her leather boots sank in the snow that came up to her knees, slowing her. Her heart thumped an irregular beat inside her chest and her mouth was dry with fear. The weapons she carried hampered her progress — the long knives hanging from her belt, the bow and the quiver full of arrows slung over her shoulders.

  A tall figure of a man stood on a rising of the land, beckoning urgently, and she knew she had to reach him, but her legs felt unaccountably short and stabs of pain went through her knee with every struggling step.

  A growl sounded behind her, and she yelped, falling into the snow. A scream built up in her throat as something stepped closer and a stench of fur and blood washed over her. Pain shot down her chest, her stomach.

  She opened her mouth, but no sound came. She couldn’t breathe. Turning, she tried to get up but her body was frozen. She struggled against the numbness.

  And fell.

  She cried out, her jaw finally unlocked, as her back hit the hard ground, jarring every bone in her body. Scrambling backward, she tried to see around but it was dark and she thought she still smelled the wolf, acrid and coppery sweet. Her chest ached dully, a ghost of pain. She kept moving — where were her weapons, her knives? — until she hit a solid surface and pressed her back to it.

  She was unarmed and alone and—

  A creak sounded. Light flooded the dark, blinding her. She raised a hand to shield her eyes.

  “Ella?” said a familiar male voice and a broad-shouldered silhouette filled the doorway, blocking the source of light. Backlit, his hair formed a silver halo around his head.

  Finn. She wanted to say his name but her throat hurt as if she’d been screaming and... it didn’t make sense. She looked around. Faintly illuminated, her room appeared around her — her bed, her bedside table, the chair with her clothes thrown haphazardly over it. Her heart wouldn’t stop racing.

  Just a dream.

  Finn stepped into the room, his face in shadow. “Are you okay?”

  She was huddled in the corner, trembling, cowering like an animal. Jesus. She placed her hands on the wall behind her and pushed to her feet.

  Her knee buckled and she slid back down.

  Finn snarled something and strode over to her, knelt by her side. He caught her hands in his. “What happened?”

  “Nightmare,” she rasped.

  “Your leg?”

  “An old fracture.” Picked the time to act up, too.

  He lifted her easily to her feet, wrapped an arm around her and held her for a moment against his cotton-clad chest — so warm, his heartbeat thumping through her, soothing — and led her to the bed. She sat, trying to gather her wits while he drew away.

  “Finn?” she whispered. She wanted to hold him close, but didn’t dare move.

  “Daudr,” he breathed, or something like it.

  She didn’t know the word. “Why do you keep speaking in old Norse?” She clenched her hands not to reach for him. “Why not Elvish?”

  He glanced at her, an undecipherable look, quickly averted. His shoulders stiffened more, until he was hunched over. “That’s the Boreals’ first language. In case we returned to this world.”

  Oh.

  Shit. “I woke you up,” she whispered. “Sorry.”

  “I wasn’t asleep.” He turned away, staring at the light spilling through the open door.

  “You’re having nightmares, aren’t you?”

  He didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

  “I dreamed of wolves,” Ella whispered. “And a frozen lake. Someone was waiting for me but I couldn’t reach him, and the wolves were on me.” She shivered at the memory. So real.

  Finn made a small sound, like a protest. “Neith,” he muttered.

  Whatever that meant. She really should refresh her knowledge of the language. “Go back to sleep,” she said. Outside the shutters, it was still night. “I’ll be fine.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll be training.” And turning, he left the room.

  Training. How did he find the energy? Though Ella didn’t think she could go back to sleep, either. Maybe having a tea, watching Finn doing his exercises and getting all hot and sweaty in the living room would chase the lingering chill from her bones and mind.

  With tired motions, she got up and flicked on the light. A cold draft curled in the room and she grabbed a sweater to pull over her pajamas. She padded to the window, making sure it was closed and locked. Outside, ancient drainage pipes ran up and down the side of the building like a bulging vein.

  With a shiver she drew back. Heights gave her the creeps.

  She wandered over to the small kitchen and pulled her favorite mug — it had a kitten on it — from the cupboard. She missed her cat. Making a mental note to check on Miss Meow now that Mike and Scott were at the hospital, she plugged in the boiler.

  It wasn’t until she was pouring the hot water over the teabag that she remembered what the word Finn had spoken meant.

  Neith. She stilled, mug in hand. It was the name of the hunter who’d taken him in after his parents had thrown him off the cliff as a child.

  Why had Finn said it?

  ***

  “How’s Scott?” Holding the phone in one hand, she used the other to drag an iron stool next to her bed. She stepped back to give the room a critical look. The salesman had sworn the stool was pure iron. She’d convinced Finn to place iron pots and pokers around his bed, and she planned to go shopping for an iron bed soon.

  “He’s fine,” Mike said, sounding tired over the line. “They’re keeping him tonight, though, and I’m staying with him.”

  Probably safer for both of them, Ella thought but didn’t say it. Mike had to have realized by now her fears were true. The Shades were after Finn and anyone who stood in their way could get killed.

  “Let me know if you need anything,” she muttered, surveying her iron-filled room. “And keep the gun with you, yes? Just in case.”

  “Yes, Mom,” Mike said, a smile in his voice.

  Ella hung up and wiped her sweaty and filthy face on her arm. Now a shower, and life would surely look brighter.

  A crash from the other bedroom made her jump. Dammit. Drawing her gun, she stalked down the corridor and looked into Finn’s room.

  Finn sat on the bed, an embarrassed flush in his cheeks. He was clasping his bad knee.

  Ella holstered her gun, breathing a sigh of relief. “What happened?”

  He glared at his knee, then at the pots scattered around his bed.

  “Knee buckled? And you tripped over the pots.” Ella coughed to hide a grin.

  Finn nodded. He looked kinda terrible, now she took a good look at him, dark circles under his eyes and his face thin and pale. He’d started to gain some weight, finally, when they’d moved in together, and now he was losing it again, fast.

  The mattress springs squeaked as she sat next to him. “You’re not sleeping well,” she said. “You look like hell.”

  No reaction.

  “Bad dreams?”

  Finn stiffened, his eyes going flinty.

  “You can tell me about them.” The bed looked soft. She could just lie down and sleep for years. “I’ve heard it helps.”

  Finn cocked a brow. “Does it help you?”

  Touché. “Um, maybe?” She smiled down at her hands. “I told you what my dream was about this morning. What was yours about?”

  If anything, Finn seemed to close off even more.

  “Can’t be that bad, can it?” she asked and bit her lip. What did she know about bad? Finn had some truly horrific memories to draw upon. She thought
of his words after the kiss, the despair in his eyes. “Does it have to do with your mother’s death?”

  “What?” He looked away, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “No.”

  “How did she die?”

  His hands fisted on his black-clad thighs. “Of sorrow. Or so I was told.”

  She gripped her hands together, not to reach up and caress his face. “I’m sorry.” She studied his profile against the grey light from the window, listened to the sound of his controlled breathing — still too fast, too harsh.

  She made as if to get up. “I’m sorry. Forget it.”

  Finn caught her wrist. She sat back down, blinking at him.

  “I saw a frozen lake,” Finn said. She somehow knew what his next words would be, but she still jerked when he spoke. “Wolves were after me. I fell in the snow.”

  Oh god. This couldn’t be happening. Maybe she was having another nightmare. “Finn...”

  “Neith... Neith was waiting for me ahead. He saw what happened. He shot the wolf.”

  His arm was curled around his middle. She recalled a pain in her chest, from her heart to her stomach—

  “That’s not a dream,” she breathed. “It’s your memory. That wolf carved you open, didn’t it?” That long scar on his chest.

  And it wasn’t the first time she’d seen that cold world and its monsters.

  If possible, Finn went paler. He rubbed his chest, his breathing coming in gasps, and nodded. “Neith always said if you can’t go on, then hide. I didn’t listen.”

  “Finn...” She wanted to pull him into her arms, but settled for placing a hand on his arm and squeezing. “Why am I seeing your dreams?”

  ***

  A coincidence, he says. Furious, Ella slammed the cupboard closed, then regretted it and hoped she hadn’t woken up Finn. He’d claimed he wanted to sleep. Damn, but he had looked exhausted. As if admitting what his dream had been about was more than he could handle.

  She leaned against the kitchen counter and rubbed her eyes. She believed he was tired alright — but their shared dreams being a coincidence? No way.

  Damn, her brain wouldn’t function after the night she’d had. Worst night ever. On a whim, she chose the instant coffee over her usual tea and tipped a heaped spoonful into her cup. She poured water over it, stirred and sipped.