“I want you,” he whispered. “I don’t... I don’t know...”
“Don’t know what?” She tightened her hold and grinned when he groaned and arched into her hand.
“What you like.” He licked his lips, panting, and watched her from hooded eyes. “Don’t know much about such things.”
“Not much hook-up in the snowed plains back home, was there?” She snickered, fearing for a moment she’d gone too far, but Finn’s smile returned; lazy. Dangerous.
“Hook-up,” he whispered.
Oh god, when he said it like that... “Or maybe the aelfar aren’t into baby making? Maybe you grow out of flower buds or something?”
“Mm.” Finn’s eyes were heavy-lidded, his hair fanning around his head, soft and bright.
She released his hardness and trailed her fingers lower, exploring, coaxing a whimper from Finn’s throat. “I love everything you do to me,” she said, and meant it. “I want to touch and kiss you everywhere, to know every inch of you. That gives me great pleasure.”
And god, she could spend days looking at him. A velvet sofa, flames in a fireplace, a rug and Finn laid out before her like an exotic animal, some sort of arctic lion, magnificent, muscles straining in each limb as he stretched—
Finn twisted and flipped her on her back, knocking the air from her lungs. He leaned over her before she caught her breath, his arms solid barriers on either side of her head, the ends of his hair teasing her skin. Closing in, he trailed his lips over her jaw, leaving a path of heat.
Then his hands unfastened her belt and pants and slid them down her legs. He knelt, looking up at her.
“Finn? What are you...?”
“Not much hook-up back home.” A wicked gleam entered his eyes as he bent forward until his lips brushed her jaw. “But I’m learning,” he whispered against her skin, making her shiver.
He was, no doubt about it, she thought as he set about to prove it.
Wow.
***
The dreamscape was deserted and silent, not even wind whistling down the gorge. Somewhere up high, against the soft clouds, a dark bird of prey was circling.
The elves stood in rows, facing them, their eyes wide, glistening with fear. They wore a uniform, white leggings and tunics, and pale grey jackets with hoods, sturdy grey boots.
The same Finn was wearing. He faced them and held the gun in both hands, sighting down the barrel.
Ella could only watch, frozen.
He wouldn’t. He didn’t.
Only this was his memory and he seemed about to.
Ella reached for Finn, her mouth opening to shout for him to stop.
A sound like hail rang in the quiet, and the gun in Finn’s hands flashed with a rainbow of colors, like a prism.
Blood spattered on the snow. The bodies fell, one after the other, folding down in the snow like puppets whose strings had been cut.
The gun clattered to the ground and a moment later Finn dropped to his knees. A choked sound left his lips.
He reached out and touched a young elven man’s shoulder, an elven woman’s cheek.
“Daudr ok blod,” Finn whispered. “Systkin.”
Death and blood. Friends.
She knelt next to him, a different cold emanating from deep inside her. “Why?”
“Done,” Finn whispered simply and let the gun fall to the frozen ground.
***
Ella lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her heart thundering. Finn had his back to her. He wore a sleeveless tee that left his shoulders bare. His starburst mark seemed to glimmer.
Goddammit, Finn. Why?
Had he gone mad for a while back there? Had the Aesir broken him in that cave and he’d gone on a rampage, killing his friends? Had his friends wronged him, betrayed him somehow?
Did it make the act of cold-blooded murder forgivable?
Jesus.
Finn muttered something and rolled over to face her. His lashes fanned on his cheekbones like silver filigree and his eyes moved behind his lids.
Still dreaming. She leaned closer, inhaling his sweet-spicy scent. His lips looked so soft.
“Shit.” She rolled away and swung her legs off the mattress. Her toes curled against the cold floor.
She just needed a moment to think; to clear her head.
Because deep inside she’d known, hadn’t she? It didn’t take a genius to connect the gun in his hand with the corpses lying on the plain — but why would he kill his comrades?
“Ella?” Finn rasped.
She glanced over her shoulder.
Finn was blinking sleepily, cheekbones flushed with sleep. His gaze found her and settled on her face. Then his eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”
“Do you remember?” The words tore from her mouth like jagged shards of glass. “What happened on the plain?”
His pale brows knitted. “I don’t...”
“You killed them.”
He sat up, a wince crossing his features. “What are you...?” He stilled so suddenly, it was as if time had stopped. The blood drained from his face.
“Why did you?”
“I can’t remember,” he said hoarsely.
“Did someone command you to? You once told me, in your dream, that you’d been sent there. Were you sent to kill them? Did they betray you?” She bit her lip. “Dammit, Finn, try to remember.”
He swallowed hard, his throat clicking. “They were my friends. I can’t...” His face greyed. “Faen.”
Suddenly he was out of bed, stumbling toward the bathroom, bare feet slapping on the tiles. She thought she should go after him, yet was frozen on the spot. She had to be in shock, she thought — but then why did she feel like a sleaze, standing there as the sounds of retching reached her?
Shit shit shit. She wanted to hurl, too. Her stomach was twisted up in knots.
He’d killed people. He’d killed his friends. What would you do in such a case? What could you say?
A dream-memory, a memory around which his mind had built a wall, blocking everything that had happened.
For a reason.
A heavy conscience.
Now what? When she’d found out he was an elf, she took it in her stride. Then she found out he was John Grey and accepted it wasn’t his fault.
But this?
She forced her feet to move. She walked to the bathroom and stopped at the door.
Finn was bent over the porcelain bowl. He wasn’t heaving anymore, though his face was pale and clammy. The old scars on his back glinted like molten metal, and the newer ones were angry cuts scattered across his shoulder blades.
She took a step inside and his eyes flicked sideways, finding her.
Ella slid down the doorjamb and leaned her head back. So tired. So confused. She looked down at her hands. They shook.
Finn wasn’t a killer.
Or was he? He’d killed the controller of the huge machine that had fallen through the Gate. He’d been a soldier back in Aelfheim. Sure he’d killed.
Not lightly, though. She recalled the guilt he’d felt over the Gates he opened, the victims caused by the Aelfheim wolves and dragons. What had happened to make him kill these people he knew and obviously liked?
You don’t really know him, she reminded herself.
Yeah, but she did know him in all the things that mattered. Which made this all the more confusing.
“Finn, I need to know...” She heaved a frustrated sigh. “Did they force you to kill your friends?” She’d believe it in a heartbeat. Please say they did.
But Finn shook his head. “I wanted to... wanted to kill them.”
Damn it all to hell. “We have to talk to Dave,” she said faintly.
Finn twisted until he leaned sideways against the toilet, closing the lid. His jaw was clenched hard.
“We need to discuss this with Dave,” she repeated. “Maybe this memory is a clue to help us untangle this mess.”
Finn grimaced. “And then?”
And then... She clo
sed her eyes as nausea rose again. It felt as if her stomach was trying to crawl up her throat. “Then we’ll see.”
That was all she could promise.
***
“He killed whom?” Dave finally decided to answer his phone, but didn’t sound too pleased.
“He killed elves. His comrades in arms.” Ella rubbed her forehead as she paced the living room, fighting the urge to start kicking at the furniture. A good thing Finn was in the bedroom.
In fact, no, it wasn’t good. Finn was sitting there, in the dark, in his own personal hell, staring at nothing. She bet she knew what he was seeing instead of the bedroom wall. Blood and bodies and unblinking eyes in the snow.
Ella gave in and kicked the sofa.
Didn’t make her feel any better.
“Killing elves? That’s what he’s been dreaming about?”
“That’s his memory, Dave. It’s a real memory.”
Dave was silent for a beat. Ella could imagine him obsessively arranging and rearranging the pens on top of his desk at the Bureau. “Tell me more,” he finally said. “What else does he dream about?”
“There’s a cave where he’s being tortured by an Aesir commander. He’s hanging over a table, and the elven queen is talking to this commander through a sort of Gate. They’re doing something to his back. He’s in a lot of pain.” She swallowed hard. “And then the dream passes into another memory — a plain with a watch tower and there are elves marching in the snow. Finn has a gun and...”
“And?”
“And kills them. Shoots them dead.” She exhaled. There, she’d said it. “They’re elves he knew in the army.”
“Okay. What else?”
“They said they have the Weaver.”
“Fucking hell.” Dave hummed. “That’s a catastrophe waiting to happen. Did they say anything else?”
“There’s someone whispering,” she said. “About the Divine Frenzy.”
“The Frenzy? They said that?”
“Yeah, they—”
“What did they say about it?”
“They said it’s his duty.” She shook her head. “His duty to obey the divine laws, to taste the Divine Frenzy.”
“Taste the Frenzy...” Dave didn’t hum as much as rattle by this point. Worrisome. “I’ll talk to someone who might have an idea and get back to you.”
“Someone? Who are you—”
“Does he dream of other stuff? Apart from being held in that cave and killing his comrades?”
“Sometimes,” Ella said. “But not consistently. These are the two recurring memories. The cave and the plain.”
“Good. I’ll call you.”
“Dave, when—?”
“Relax, agent. Stress isn’t good for the heart, or so I’m told. Now we’re done keeping secrets, we can get somewhere.”
And before she could reply, he hung up.
Damn him.
Talk to someone — from the Organization? To Sarah? To another super secret society? The Illuminati? The Hellfire Club? The PTA?
Someone was knocking on the door. She shuffled over, clutching the cell phone so hard the casing groaned. “Who is it?”
“Ella, it’s Mike. Will you please open?”
God, on top of a day gone to hell...
“Come in.” She unlatched the door, wandered to the sofa and plopped down on it, throwing her cell on the coffee table. “What’s up?”
“What’s up?” Mike scowled as he entered and sat across from her on the armchair. “Scott said he had to drive you and Finn home because of an attack. I forgot my cell at home. Are you all right?” He glanced around. “Where’s Finn?”
“He’s resting.” She dragged her hand over her face and looked at Mike through her fingers. “Scott said you were at a meeting out of town.”
“Yeah, I was.” He shifted his gaze to the heavy drapes covering the windows.
Ella’s deposits of patience were reaching a critical low. “Cut it out, Mike.”
He winced. “I really was out of town,” he said. “I told Scott—”
“Please, don’t lie. I’m tired of everyone lying. You can tell when I’m not being honest; well, I can tell you’re not, either.” Ella sighed, weary. “I don’t want to be mad at you. You may well be the only friend I’ve got left, and I owe you everything short of my life, just... please, don’t lie.”
“Okay. No lies. I meant to tell you this one day anyway.” Mike rubbed his eyes. They were bloodshot. “I wasn’t out of town on business, you’re right, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me today. I was visiting my niece.”
“Niece?” Ella blinked. “I didn’t know you had a niece.” Then again, she’d recently found out he’d had a brother — who was now dead.
“I rarely see her. Her mother moved away from here and they happened to be nearby today.” He gave a crooked smile. “You know, she has my brother’s eyes and laughter. It was great seeing her. Though she doesn’t remember me. You see, she’s...” He rubbed his eyes again and they shimmered with unshed tears. “She’s all I have left.”
Now wait a minute... “What do you mean? And your parents?”
He waved a hand, not looking at her. “My mom died when I was too young to remember. My dad left us soon after. It was just me and Josh, and now it’s just me.”
Ella shook her head slowly, cold shooting through her — hoping she hadn’t heard properly, or maybe that this was a nightmare. Wishing this day hadn’t happened.
But everything remained as it was — Finn mourning in the bedroom, Mike with wet tracks on his cheeks and the world out of whack.
Only one thing she could do.
She went and perched on the armchair, drawing Mike into a hug. “You’re a dork, you know that?” she muttered on top of his spiky head, rubbing circles on his back. “You’re not alone. What am I, chopped liver? We’re a family, you said so yourself. Deal with it.”
Mike squirmed; probably couldn’t breathe pressed against her boobs. “Ella...”
“Shush.” She hugged him tighter. Breathing was overrated anyway. “You’re stuck with me, little bro, like it or not. For the good and the bad. Okay?”
She thought again of Finn, sitting in the darkness.
For the good and the bad.
Maybe it was time to say those things to Finn as well.
Chapter Eight
Shatter
Dave called. He wanted to meet with a member of the Organization Council who might know more about Finn’s magic and dreams.
Not the Illuminati. Disappointing.
“Finn?” She squinted into the darkness of the bedroom. “I talked with Dave and he says...”
A Gate shimmered against the far wall, spanning its whole height and width. Finn sat on the bed, facing it, his back to her. As she stepped softly inside, she saw he was still shirtless. His blond head was bowed, his hair catching the faint light of the Gate.
A silhouette moved in the mirror of the Gate. A slim figure, a spiked crown, a voice Ella knew, low and melodious, speaking in the sussurating elven language. The queen of Aelfheim sat on a throne of ice or crystal, her long, pale hands resting on armrests which were carved in the shape of claws.
Finn didn’t look up, his lashes fanning on his high cheekbones. In his lap he held the second tube he’d taken from the dead dragon rider. A gun, resembling the one he’d used in this memory.
A shiver wracked Ella.
The elven queen leaned forward, her hand reaching for Finn. Bright energy shot from her fingers, curling upward, and Ella flinched back even though she was quite sure — ‘quite’ being the operative word here — that it couldn’t cross over and into their bedroom.
Still, cold sweat soaked her back. “Finn?”
His head lifted, his eyes finally focusing on her, dark with sorrow. “I killed them,” he said dully. “I don’t know why... Why should I have...?” His fingers gripped the tube tighter and to Ella’s alarm lights flashed on the shiny surface.
“P
ut the weapon down,” Ella said, trying to keep her voice steady. She waved her hand at the tube. “Please.”
Finn looked down at the flashing weapon. He put it down on the mattress, his throat working. “I still can’t believe it. But I remember doing it. I can’t...” A shudder went through him and he curled his fists on the quilt.
This was killing him. She couldn’t bear seeing him like this. She wanted to wrap herself around him, tell him everything would be okay.
To hell with doubting.
But before she could cross the room to reach his side, movement from the Gate caught her attention. Ah, she’d forgotten about that little issue.
The queen was saying something, and Ella wondered if Finn was even aware a Gate had opened. He gazed on his fisted hands, his shoulders hunched, tendons standing out in his neck.
Ella cleared her throat. “Hey, Finn. What about, you know, the Gate?”
The queen said something more, and Ella thought she recognized the Old Norse word for mother — modhir.
Finn’s face lifted. His brows drew together and he sucked a sharp breath. “Faen.” Then he flicked his fingers, sparks jumping off them, and the Gate vanished.
Ella blinked. Wait — just like that? So simple? Was he so much stronger already?
“What did she want?”
He was still staring at the wall where the Gate had stood a moment ago. He blinked at Ella’s question, brows knitting.
Then he grabbed the shiny tube and threw it against the wall. It crashed and dropped, clanking on the floor.
Throwing her arms over her face, Ella jerked back. “Jesus, Finn.”
“She said my mother’s alive.” He wiped a hand over his eyes. “But she’s dead. Everyone’s dead. Because of me. So we’re done.”
Damn.
That didn’t sound ominous in the least.
***
They were heading downtown to meet Dave and their potential helper. Finn slumped in the passenger seat, his mouth pressed thin and his gaze burning with shifting emotions — anger, sorrow, curiosity, and a ghost of fear.
Boreal and John Grey Season 2 Page 32
