Boreal and John Grey Season 1 (45 page)

Finn glanced up, scowling, stepping out of the ruined cloth.

A breathless snort bubbled from her lips. He was so cute, glaring as if the pants had insulted him. His pulse throbbed at his jaw. He looked nervous, and that made her smile.

Finn stepped forward, gaze zeroing on her mouth, and placed those strong hands on her waist. Aware of his strength, keeping the grip easy and loose, nudging her back under the water, following her. She tangled her hands in his hair, drawing him closer, wanting to feel his slick skin rubbing against her. He pushed her back against the tiled wall, hands sliding over her, touching her everywhere, causing ripples of pleasure, drawing moans from her throat. His breath washed on her arched throat, and she shivered when he placed open-mouthed kisses on her shoulder.

“Please...” she whispered, wondering dimly how it was possible to want him so much she burned with it, even more than before, her body leaping under his touch.

Grunting softly, he pulled back, his eyes glazed. God, he was so heart-wrenchingly handsome, and she reached up to stroke the dark tips of his ears.  The fine, shining lines played again on his skin, so that he practically glowed as he stood under the spray, like a sculpture made of crystal.

So different. So perfect
.

He dipped his face, seeking again her mouth, his hands brushing down her thighs and lifting her legs. She wrapped them around his hips, and he raised his hooded gaze, asking, requesting...

She shifted and he gasped, jerking a little. Rational thought tried to surface through the pleasure. “Can’t,” she whispered. “No protection.” But she wanted him, wanted to feel him.

“Only touching,” he murmured.

He demonstrated and, oh dear god, he really had... talented...fingers. They stroked and teased, rough and slick, strong and then gentle, robbing her of coherent thought.

Blindly she reached down. She wrapped her fingers around him, and he faltered, groaning. Hot and hard, silk and steel sliding in her hold. He rocked in her hand, eyes closing, and she moved against him. The shower stall broke into a giant wave of pleasure, engulfing her, pulling her under. She was falling into darkness.

Dipping his mouth to her shoulder, Finn bit lightly into her flesh, his whole body convulsing. His heart boomed against her. She pressed her leg around his thigh, tightened her hold on him, and Finn jerked, head falling back, and slammed a hand into the wall.

Pleasure rolled up her body like a hot current. The world crashed, exploding without a sound, dissolving into colorful sparkles.

Dimly she was aware of her stunned cry bouncing off the walls, and Finn’s strangled moan.

“Oh shit.” Her knees buckled and she slid down the tiled wall, pulling him down with her, the warm water beating down on their bodies, sluicing into her open mouth. He knelt opposite her, head bowed, panting.

“Ella...” He touched two fingers to his chest.

“What does that mean?” She covered his hand with hers, feeling his rapid heartbeat through his fingers.

“Together,” he whispered. “As one.”

As one
. She put hers arms around him, pressed their foreheads together, and didn’t think she could let go if she tried.

Chapter Nine

Starburst

“We managed to bring the flying snake down,” Dave said, his voice a low growl that raised the fine hairs on her arms. “We posted snipers, and the army had troops with Stinger missiles lining the beast’s path.” He clucked his tongue. “Goddamned elves won’t take us so easily.”

She sure hoped so. “Good news, then.”

“I’m compiling a list of the places where Gates opened, fully or half formed, and where the Veil is being torn. Maybe this will give us a clue.”

“Do that,” she said distractedly. Finn was doing sit-ups in the living room, dressed only in sweatpants and miles of satiny skin wrapped over hard muscles and sinewy limbs. He’d actually tied his pale hair back and he looked ridiculously cute with his ears poking out like that... And ridiculously hot.

“So what do you say?” Dave barked into the phone, startling her.

“Yeah, fine, I guess,” she muttered and hung up, not a clue what Dave was talking about.

Dazed, she leaned on the doorjamb, watching as Finn fell back, panting, sunlight pouring from the window, drenching him in liquid gold and silver. He flicked her a smile as he sat up, turning her heart into mush, then his face hardened again into focus and he started a series of push-ups. Muscles strained and bulged in his bare arms, carving the planes of his chest in sharp relief, cording the tendons in his neck and shoulders.

Ella dropped onto the couch, almost missing it, and pulled her backpack toward her. She fished out the book and curled against the cushions, flipping pages without looking. Finn was now doing something complicated which involved going down on one knee, then stretching, turning at the waist and punching the air, then starting again.

Ella looked down at the text. She wasn’t a fangirl with a crush — she could ignore Finn and read, dammit. The whole world was going down in flames, and there had to be a clue she was missing. Dave said there was a trail of Gates...

Movement caught her eye, and helplessly she glanced up again. Finn stood balanced on one leg, lifting the other, a look of intense concentration on his face, brows drawn and mouth pressed thin.

She tugged at her neckline, too warm, and his eyes flicked her way — one tiny moment of distraction — and Finn wobbled and staggered.

Alarmed, she shot up to catch him.

Finn lifted a hand and chuckled softly, straightening. “I’m okay,” he said, his deep voice sending thrills through her, bringing back images from the shower and filling her veins with molten lava.

Man, so this was what a volcano felt like.

Wiping an arm over his face, he wandered to the sofa, his bare feet silent on the floor. “Is that the book?”

She nodded, putting it down. Who cared about the damn book when Finn was sliding next to her on the couch, his gaze caressing her face like sunlight?

“You’re sweaty,” she heard herself say even as she reached for him and touched his cheek. “You need another shower.”

“With you?” he whispered and desire coiled, heavy, in her belly. It was tempting. God, so very tempting. She couldn’t stop stroking him, his hair, his neck, his back.

“I should read this book. I’m looking for clues.”

He leaned closer. “Clues?”

Hm?
She realized she’d been staring at his mouth and blinked. She looked down. “There are some passages about John Grey, and I need to reread them. I mean, all this,” she shook the book at him, “it’s all elvish propaganda, isn’t it? All this talk of the Dark elves, so evil and good for nothing. Damn useless saga. It’s supposed to be about John Grey—”

He covered her mouth with his fingers, stopping the words. “Quiet,” he whispered, and replaced his fingers with his lips. Sweet god, every kiss tasted better, felt better than the last one.

Finn pulled back, lips curving in a smile, and regarded her with a smug expression. “Now you can talk again.”

“...What?”
Talk?
Who needed talking? Or breathing, for that matter?

Grinning, he lifted the book that had fallen to the floor and placed it back in her hands. “I haven’t finished my exercises.” He winked as he stood up. “And then shower.”

Laughing outright, she opened the damn book again. “Tease.”

This relaxed, joking Finn was a revelation.
Together. As one
. Was that just teasing, too?

Turning her back to Finn, because no reading would be forthcoming otherwise, she bent over the book, a smile tugging at her lips. The text rambled on about the danger from the Dark elves and the Guardians, who hunted for John Grey.

“If John Grey was a young fellow in the Middle ages, he must be an old man by now,” she said, flipping the page.

Finn grunted something, small thumps telling her he was in the middle of another exercise.

“Beware of John Grey,” she muttered. “Yeah, and how? How is it possible that the elves don’t know who John Grey is?”

“Our records were lost in the war,” Finn said.

Right
. When the Dark elves chucked their Lighter siblings to the frozen surface of the world with a sayonara and a wink.

“That sucks,” she said and read on.

Aha
. Another mention of John Grey. The elves explained he needed a steady presence at his side, and went on to exhort the beauty and wisdom of Sirurd’s daughter who was to be his bride. Beauty and wisdom. Going out on a limb, those hadn’t been the criteria for her selection. Asa was her name. A skilled seamstress.

Ella stroked a fingertip over the word. If Asa was her ancestor, she certainly hadn’t passed any of that wisdom and sewing skills to her.

But what else have you passed on?

The elves mentioned Asa’s mother, cryptically saying they were sure she’d be pleased to know of her daughter’s fortune. And why wasn’t the mother with them at the banquet? Women weren’t given much of a vote in anything, but the queen at least would be present at such an event, wouldn’t she?

Well, Sirurd didn’t seem inclined to explain. He thanked the elves and said his wife would receive the tidings in her high tower.

What the hell was she doing locked up in a tower?

The elves inquired about the health of Sirurd’s spouse, and he responded she was the same as when they had returned her all those years back. ‘Living in a dream,’ Sirurd said and commanded everyone to eat and drink and have a good time.

Returned her. From where? If the elves had her... Sirurd’s daughter was no changeling. But it sounded like her mother maybe was.

“Finn, I think your theory about Sirurd’s daughter was right.” She turned to face him. He was stretching his legs and froze in the middle it.

“Changeling?”

“Her mother.” Ella rubbed a fingertip over her lower lip. “Any idea what kind of abilities the elves hoped to get with their experiments?”

Finn shook his head. An ash-blond strand escaped its tie and stuck to his face. “Magic.”

“Right, right. But what sorts of magic are there? Anything about stabilizing abilities?”

He straightened, tucked the stray strand behind one black-tipped ear. “Magic is about affecting forces. Pushing, pulling, or meshing them in different ways.” His eyes went distant and a furrow formed between his brows. “In some it’s stronger than in others; in some it’s more of a physical force, in others it has to do with the mind.”

Vague. All encompassing
. “Maybe magic works differently on humans.”

Finn shrugged, shoulders slumping. “Perhaps.” His lack of magic had made him an outcast, had almost cost him his life. Damned elves and their damn magic.

And no progress yet in her search for clues. Somewhere, somehow, she’d missed a vital piece of information.

That, or the Gates, the Shades, the little bits and pieces of knowledge she had — her family origins, Finn’s dreams, Simon’s book, Dave’s mysterious nature, none of it made sense, and that was the most frightening thing of all. The total lack of a pattern.

Except everything seemed centered on her city, her neighborhood. Was it her? Was she doing something without knowing?

She returned to the book, chewing on her lip, skimming down the pages. Not much about John Grey, but it did sound like he’d had a difficult childhood. Many deaths in his family, and recurring nightmares at night.

Poor guy
. She could totally sympathize.

The elves said his only remaining family accompanied him. A sister, apparently, and a couple of young cousins. Also his pets and his favorite servants. How considerate and how very suspicious. Ella decided she didn’t trust the blasted creatures at all.

Dancing followed, with some of the songs transcribed in the text.
Joy
. Heh, it looked like John Grey couldn’t dance. She could relate. Not much for rhythm. Oh wait. He had a problem with his leg. Apparently it had been broken once and hadn’t healed well.

In other news, his magic thrived on pain, the elves cheerfully explained, and they’d make sure his magic stayed strong.

How was that for a veiled way of saying they’d hurt him?

Ella shivered. He sounded like a very sad fellow, this John Grey. Was he a Dark elf? No mention of wings anywhere, but that didn’t mean anything.

Though, if he was, it meant she might have winged children one day.

Shit
.

Now Sirurd was asking about John Grey’s peculiar name. Right, because Sirurd was such a common Norse name and all... Interested in spite of the worry nibbling at her concentration, she skimmed the elves’ evasions and supposedly wise sayings, hoping they’d answer the damn question.

They did. John Grey — or it’s Norse equivalent — wasn’t really the guy’s name.
Huh, go figure
. All this hubbub and infamousness when it wasn’t what he was called in real life. It was simply a designation of his peculiar magic, the elves explained in their usual high-brow and damn annoying manner, a magic which had to do with the Grey. His real name was based on the birthmark which designated his nature.

“Finn...” He had a birthmark his shoulder. In fact, she could see it now as he straightened from a floor exercise.

He looked up.

“I didn’t know your birthmarks represented your type of magic. Is it common for Light elves to name yourselves that way?” She frowned. “And why do you have one if you don’t have magic?”

He glanced at his shoulder, where the dark starburst stained his pale skin, and swallowed. “This mark wasn’t in the priests’ books.”

“Then what does your name mean?” She remembered the elven lady in the Gate calling him. “Isthelfinn.”

He winced. So that really was his name.

“What does it stand for?” she whispered, watching as pain, then anger rolled over his face. “Nothing good, I’m guessing.”

“It means ‘not real’,” he muttered through gritting teeth.

Ella gaped at him, rage rising inside her like a hot tide, until her hands curled into fists and her heart boomed.
Bastard elves. Heartless motherfuckers
.

If she got her hands on them, she’d kill them.

Very painfully
.

***