Boreal and John Grey Season 2 (26 page)

“I thought I remembered something. But now I don’t,” he whispered. “
Faen
.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’ll come to you sooner or later.” She started unlacing his boots and he straightened, his frown easing, watching her from heavy-lidded eyes. “And sorry about the rant. It’s just that I’d been hoping...”
For what? Finn to remember it all? Dave to have a good solution?
Pressing her lips together, she tugged the boots off, let them drop on the carpet and laid her arms on the couch, propped her chin on them. “Always hoping.”

“I hoped... for so long.” His accent lilted, something that rarely happened anymore — a sure sign of fatigue. “For something good. But the gods forgot me.” His hands clenched on his thighs. “Then I came here and found you and thought the gods remembered. And now I can’t fight the nightmares, I can’t remember, I’m not getting stronger and can’t control the Gates.”

“Shh.” She climbed onto the sofa and drew him into a hug. His outburst scared her worse than ever. He was at the end of his tether, she thought as he held onto her, his face buried in her neck, his heart thumping hard. Or maybe he’d been for a while, only now free to express himself, with no other listening. “Not your fault.” She sighed. “It’s apparently mine.”

He made a soft noise in the back of his throat, but she didn’t know if he was denying it or groaning, so she held him tighter, crushing him to her chest. “Cut yourself a little slack. The dreams and memories are out of your control, so you can’t blame yourself. You’re doing all you can, you hear me? You’re fighting it all — the Veil, the Shades, the Gates, Dave, your bond to the dragon, the lies everyone is telling us — and you’re still sane and alive. That’s a victory in my book.”

His scent curled around her, caramel and cinnamon, a hint of apples from his shampoo, blood and musk. He shook, his panting breaths warm against her skin. Not weeping. Just trembling in the circle of her arms.

“Do you think...” He drew a sharp breath and his arms tightened, threatening to crush her ribs, his hands splayed on her back. His voice slurred when he asked, “There’s a reason I can’t remember?”

Oh baby. Many awful reasons, I’ll bet.
She closed her eyes, because that had been on her mind from the beginning, and what she’d seen only made it more plausible. That his mind was protecting him from something terrible that had happened. “You’ve been through a lot. Your mind needs time to sort it all out.”

Yeah, like she knew what she was talking about. Finn’s hold relaxed a fraction, though, and he let out a long breath. She felt bad for pretending it was all okay, but he knew it wasn’t, and letting him fall into the dark pit of depression wouldn’t help.

But what would? Her anger had helped before; she hadn’t managed that emotion at all in his recent dreams — mostly because both he and she were too confused with the alternating dreamscapes and unanswered questions in Finn’s memories; or were shell-shocked with the pain Finn suffered in the cave.

She petted the soft silk of his hair at the back of his neck, stroked circles on his back and his hold slackened, his back relaxing.

Yeah, maybe she needed to gather whatever scrap of memory Finn had and use it to whip up her fury for those who hurt him. It might work, and they had no other clues.

She tried to ease back to ask him when she realized he was dead weight against her. His breathing was slow and regular.
Wow.
He’d fallen asleep.
Out like a light.

Talk about being exhausted. No wonder he’d almost broken down — almost. That was Finn, after all, stubborn as all hell.

“Finn.” She shook him gently and he stirred enough to lift his head. He frowned, his gaze confused, and she smoothed her thumb over a sharp cheekbone. “Lie down. You’ll be more comfortable.”

She pushed him on the sofa and he tugged on her arms, pulling her down with him. She fit perfectly against him, her head cradled on his shoulder, and he gave her a sleepy smile. She placed her hand on his chest, on top of his heart.

“Sleep,” she whispered. “I’ll take first watch.”

***

Pain. It lanced through Ella’s body with each breath, cascading down her bag to her legs, rising up to the base of her skull like a venomous snake, sinking a thousand fangs on the way.

But it wasn’t her pain.

She retreated and her back met the wet, cold rock of the cave.

Right.
She was in Finn’s memory.

He hung over the stone table, and he’d managed to raise his head, although his expression was blank. His eyes were half-open, his lips white, his jaw clenched so tight she thought she heard it creak.

“Is it you?” asked the glittering creature standing in front of Finn — the Aesir commander with his shiny breastplate. The red eyes burned like coals. “Are you the one?”

Finn jerked in the restraints that held him spread-eagled and blood dripped down his sides, splashing below. His head drooped and he drew a hitching breath.

Ella pushed off the rock wall and took a step toward him, then another.

“Finn?” she whispered, but his head didn’t lift. “Can you hear me?”

“He’s not the one,” a new voice said, harsh like broken glass, and Ella looked up to see another shining Aesir approach. “We’d know by now.”

She reached out to Finn, tried to touch his face, but the invisible barrier was there, telling her Finn wasn’t aware of her in the dream. Couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel her.

“Give him more,” the second Aesir said. “Maybe that wasn’t enough.”

Enough what?
Damn, her heart was hammering, her chest was tight. Her fingers scrabbled against the barrier that kept her from touching Finn.

Something whirred behind him, but he couldn’t see it, so she couldn’t, either. A machine? A different creature?

More pain. She gasped, fire digging into her back.

Finn groaned and his back arched. His breathing came faster and faster and his eyes rolled back in their sockets.

Blackness. Disoriented she turned, trying to see something — anything — to regain her sense of space.

A pinprick of light to her left. She focused on it, took a step toward it.

And spun in an eddy, swirling round and round, sparkles flashing in her vision. Space opened, expanding rapidly like an unrolling highway, blinding white with streaks of grey. She stumbled, flailing to keep her balance.

The pain was gone, and that was dizzying on its own. She straightened, shading her eyes against the glare of weak sunlight hitting the snow-covered ground and mountain slopes.

She knew this place. Frowning, she turned in a circle.
There.

The tower carved in the shape of a figure.

Finn standing on the plain, the shiny weapon in his hand.

The corpses.

But something was off. Okay, more than usual.

The landscape seemed to breathe and sway. The mountains wavered and blurred, as if the camera was going out of focus, then solidified again.

The corpses moved.

Bile rose in Ella’s throat. She watched, horrified, as the mutilated bodies slithered on the ground, changing position, arranging themselves into rows.

She fell to her knees, nausea making her stomach ache. She pressed a hand to her middle.

Finn staggered sideways, the gun falling from his hand. Without a word, he crumpled to the ground.

***

The living room came into focus. Ella lay on the sofa, staring at the heavy-draped windows and a sliver of darkness outside, a weight on her waist and leg, cutting off her circulation.

Or was she lying in the snow, on the plain of another world?

No, she was warm and comfy, apart from the weight pressing down on her. She’d fallen asleep, too. So much for taking first watch.

Evening had fallen. How long had they slept?

She blinked furiously, trying to tear herself out of the dream, to separate the images, the emotions — to tell what was real. Finn. With a gun in his hand.

She half-expected to see the tower carved in the likeness of an impassive face staring down at her, the corpses lining the floor.

Thought she saw them move.

The weight against her side shuddered, shaking her. She twisted her head to see, and yeah, the weight pressing on her waist was Finn’s arm, and his leg was tangled with hers. Now she noticed, his breath ruffled the fine hairs on the back of her neck, tickling puffs of warmth.

A quick scan of the living room revealed nothing out of place — no threads, no Shades, no Gate.

Finn muttered something she couldn’t make out and tensed. Trying to extricate herself from Finn’s full-body hold, she clasped his hand and lifted it off her waist. She paused, staring at his bandaged knuckles, her chest inexplicably tight, then she turned his hand over and brushed her lips over his palm. “Finn...”

He drew his hand back. “The web,” he whispered, his voice thick, the word barely audible. “The spider.”

But there had been no web or spider in the memory, and it wasn’t the first time he’d said something like this after a dream.

Finn muttered something under his breath and twisted, thumping his arm on the backrest.

“Hey.” She turned around and touched his cheek, traced the lines of pain around his mouth. “What are you seeing?”

His body strained upward. She expected him to try and punch or shove her, but he seemed caught in the web of the nightmare so deeply that he could barely move. Yet every muscle was tense and trembling, and his hair stuck to his temples in sweaty strands. He wheezed, his breathing shallow, his eyes moving rapidly behind his lids.

“Goddammit, Finn, wake up.” She pushed the soaked hair out of his face, fingers trailing on the line of his jaw. “Come on. Open your eyes.”

Finn jerked awake, his eyes wide. He gripped her hand. “I remember.”

A shudder slithered down her spine. “What do you remember?”

“Corpses,” he panted. “The plain. The Commander.”

“What else?”

He shook his head — but his hand in hers began to burn so hot she had to let go. He lifted it and light sprang from his palm, rising and falling like a wave.

Ella squirmed backward. Magic was spilling out of him. It was as if remembering something, even just part of the lost memory, was making him stronger.

His eyes were somber as he raised himself on an elbow to look down at her. Light played on his skin, on his tousled hair, a glowing nimbus, and he was so beautiful she had to catch her breath.

Dave had been right.

She placed her hand on his chest, over the ratty sweater that was splashed with blood, and considered this with reluctance.

Hurting his back, hanging between her and Dave — that had slammed Finn back into a flashback. And now he remembered more.

But she didn’t want to believe it. Because then she’d also have to believe that recreating the memory would help Finn remember everything, allow her access back into his dreams and turn him into the tool Dave wanted.

The glow was diminishing and she looked up into his face. “What does this mean? How strong are you now? Can you... open Gates on purpose, or...?”

He shook his head.

Right. Of course not.
It was a first tiny breakthrough. She shouldn’t expect miracles.

She didn’t know if to be glad or sorry.

Finn licked his lips and it was damn distracting. Then he pushed a hand through his chin-length hair and a grimace drew his features tight.

Why?

Oh, shit.
“Let me see your back.”

Finn gave a sheepish look. “I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are.” She sat up. “Turn around.”

He shifted, giving her his broad back, and she lifted the stained fabric. She pushed the hem of the sweater and t-shirt up, revealing the old, silvery scars he had there. She couldn’t reach the bandages, although she could tell some had come off.

She tugged on the sweater. “Off.” She helped him remove it and threw it to the floor. It was going straight to the trash. Man, she had to get Finn some new clothes.

He lay back down, on his side, and she stared at the padded shoulders and strong arms, the wide flare of his ribs narrowing down to his slim hips. Straining muscles covered in satin skin that still glowed faintly.

Resisted the urge to fan herself.
Woo.
Looking at Finn’s body never got old.

She brushed the soft pale hair off his nape and it slid like water through her fingers. The bandage on his shoulder where he’d dug out the transmitter looked clean. He smelled of sweetness and male musk, laced with the metallic tang of blood.

The wounds from the
Kyr
’s crest were a spattering of cuts on his shoulder blades and upper back. Half the bandages had been ripped off and she checked the wounded flesh underneath. It looked healthy, on its way to mending. Her fingertips ghosted over the remaining bandages. She should take them off, replace them with fresh ones.