Boreal and John Grey Season 1 (41 page)

 “Been better.” She tried to smile. Mike’s face was drawn and worried, and she tried to see past him. “How’s Finn?”

“Stubborn bastard won’t let me look at his injuries — what are you doing?”

Ella sat up and bent over, waiting for the black splotches to fade from her vision. Ignoring the hot stabs of pain in her arm, she swung her legs off the bed. Fully dressed, clothes wrinkled and covered in dried blood.
Ugh
. 

The light from the windows entered slanted. Early afternoon. The rays caught Finn’s hair, turning them into silver flame, as he struggled to get up from the chair he’d apparently occupied since dawn. Alarm darkened his eyes when she stumbled before regaining her balance — damn, just how much blood had she lost? — and he took a step toward her, arms outstretched as if to catch her.

She walked right up to him, caught his face in her hands. “Where are you hurt?”

“I’m not...” Eyes wide, lips parted — god, she wanted to kiss him so badly.

Instead, she tore her eyes from his face and checked him over. Found the deep cuts on his forearms by the stickiness of blood.

“You should be resting—”

She put a hand over his mouth, and his eyes widened more. “Shut up, Finn.” She glanced back at Mike. “Medic-kit.”

Mike scurried off and returned with the green box. “I was trying to convince him to move out—”

“I know, I heard. It won’t help, he’s right.”

Mike sighed. “Damn.”

“Yeah.” Distractedly, Ella wrestled Finn back into the chair. It was like pushing against a wall until he relented and sank down. “It doesn’t look so bad.”

“And your arm?” Mike asked.

“Fine.” Burning pain flared every time she moved it, but a glance at the bandage told her the steri-strips had held. She knelt at Finn’s feet. “Finn took care of it this morning.”

“You’re okay?” Finn whispered as if he still wasn’t sure. He lifted a bloody hand to her chin, gripped it gently.

Now why did it make her eyes sting so?

“Hey, I called your boss,” Mike said. “He’s sending his people over to take care of the dead animals in Finn’s room.”

The wolves. A shiver wracked her. “Thanks.”

“I’ll leave you two then to patch yourselves up,” Mike said briskly. “I don’t think I’m of any help here.”

Ella turned to apologize for ignoring him, but Mike flashed her a thumbs-up and a quick smile before ducking out of the room.

She bent back to Finn’s arms where the wolf had clawed him. “These could fester. You should have cleaned them.”

He grunted as she sprayed antiseptic, following her movements with hooded eyes as she turned his arms over to see if any of the wounds needed more than just a bandage. She fished into the medic-kit, pulling out more. She really had to go bandage shopping soon, dammit.

Letting Finn’s hands fall in his lap, she wound the bandages around his arms. Glancing up, she noted a cut on his throat that had bled but was now scabbed over. Probably didn’t need any attention.

Done with his arms, she lifted the hem of his bloodied shirt to check on the bandage there, hoping those gashes hadn’t torn open again. The gauze looked clean.

Finn made a small noise in the back of his throat and reached for his shirt, catching her hands. Color was rising to his cheeks.

Had she hurt him somehow?

With a deep breath, he shot to his feet, and she scrambled backward. “You need to talk to your mother,” he said, and she stared at him, mouth hanging open.

Talk about payback
. “What? What for?”

“About your family,” Finn said, bandaged arms crossed over his chest. He turned his back to her, his spine stiff, and walked out of the room.

“What about my family?”

But Finn didn’t reply.

***

In an age of prosthetics that moved with the power of thought and the recording of images in dreams, you’d think they’d manage to make serums that were palatable, or at least that didn’t taste like shredded plastic with added sugar.

Wrong
.

Remembering the taste, Ella made a face as she walked into the warmth of the dimly-lit restaurant, a chill evening breeze chasing at her heels. At least after two serum bottles she felt better; less shaky, though the wound still burned like fire with her movements.

The restaurant was full of sussurating whispers and her hand inched toward her gun. She let out a shuddering breath. These last encounters with the Shades and wolves had shaken her badly. Open spaces, noise, crowds — they made her heart race.

Finn reached her side and her pulse stuttered, caught between relief and yearning. The kiss they’d shared seemed like a million years ago.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He’d cleaned up nicely —
whoa
, her inner voice moaned,
nicely? That’s all you got to say?
— okay, he looked jaw-dropping gorgeous in his new pair of black pants and blue jacket, his white shirt stretched tight across his chest and wide shoulders.

There, I admit it. Happy?
she snarled inwardly and the little voice cringed and went into hiding.

Her mother waved from a table at the far end, and Ella sucked in a deep breath before setting her feet in that direction. Candles flickered on the white tablecloths, and red roses in small glass containers gave off their heavy scent. Didn’t manage to mask Finn’s smell, though, and it teased her senses as she strode between round tables where customers in tailored suits and haute couture dresses sat primly, sipping white wine from shining crystal.

Feeling underdressed in her button-down blouse and dark pants, she took a seat across from her mother who was dressed up in black satin and pearls. Finn sat stiffly next to her, adjusting his shoulder holster discreetly beneath his jacket, his gun bulging at his side.

Oblivious, her mother gave him a wide smile and her undivided attention. “Finn, right?” she cooed. “How are you, darling?” Her eyes slid to the bandages visible at his wrists and drew back, mouth pursing. “What happened?”

“Work, you know.” Ella decided not to care her mother hadn’t noticed the stiff way she held her left arm.

“Told you a thousand times that line of work isn’t for you,” her mother said, rearranging the silverware by her plate, looking annoyed.

Ella swallowed the automatic retort —
you think you know what’s best for me, huh?
— and placed her hands on the table, fingers splayed, so they wouldn’t form fists. “Mom, we don’t have much time.”
Shades and wolves waiting for us at every corner, whad’ya know?
“Finn was telling me he’s interested in our family tree.”

Finn arched a brow at her. She shrugged.

“You insisted on seeing me tonight,” her mother drawled, “to ask me about our family tree?”

“Uh, Finn was looking at the photos you brought and thought...” Ella swallowed.

“I thought you look Norwegian,” Finn supplied, deadpan.

Strained silence followed in the wake of his words.

“You did?” Ella said, unable to stop the question from leaving her mouth. Her mother was a dyed blond, the roots showing, and her eyes were dark chocolate, like Ella’s. Raven-black brows framed her gaze.

To all appearances unperturbed, Finn leaned back in his chair and fixed his million-watt stare on her mother.

Who froze like a deer in headlights. She recovered with remarkable speed, though, raising a hand to her mouth and laughing lightly.

“Goodness,” she said breathlessly. “Very clever.”

Finn and Ella exchanged a glance.

“Clever?” Ella repeated.

“If you wanted to see me, you just had to ask, darling boy,” Ella’s mother told Finn warmly and waved a hand at the waiter who scuttled toward them. “More wine. What are you having?”

Ella swallowed a sigh. “I’d like some wine, too. Finn as well.”

Finn didn’t dispute her comment, only settled deeper in his chair — as much as one could in those damn high-backed, hard things.

He hadn’t told her what his theory was and she itched to know, but he seemed content to bide his time in this high-class restaurant with her flirty and inebriated mother.

The wine arrived in tall crystal glasses. Ella sipped hers. Finn swallowed his down in one long gulp. Christ, she’d have to carry him home and wasn’t sure he’d let her.

Her mother giggled and raised her glass. “To our family.”

Finn nodded solemnly, while Ella almost crushed the stem of the glass in her twitching fingers.

Patience
. She’d have to look the word up in a dictionary.

“Despite my blond locks,” her mother said coquettishly, “I’m not of northern origin. I have French roots, from the southern part. I still have family there. Descendants of knights, I’ll have you know.”

Southern France. That explained Ella’s dark hair and eyes. She’d heard her mother talk of her aunts, living near Marseille, on the Mediterranean. They’d always seemed as fantastical as the elves in the tales.

Now both were real.

Finn glanced at his empty glass and her mother waved again at the waiter. “More wine for this young man.”

Whoa
. “Finn...”

He merely glanced her way, accepted the refill of his glass, and swallowed that down in one go — again.

Holy shit
.

“And your husband?” he inquired, his voice polite and even, his hand steady as he placed the empty glass back on the table.

“Ah, Robert, well, he...” Her mother sipped her wine, her gaze going distant. “He does have family from the north of Europe. Can’t tell you exactly where, but he often said his grandfather was a Viking.” She snorted. “The valor and bravery was too diluted to hold, I’d guess.”

Ella realized she was again about to break her glass, and decided to drink the wine instead. Maybe Finn was wise to down two glasses before entering this conversation.

“He is of Scandinavian origin,” Finn said, his voice less steady than before. “Are you sure?”

“Oh yeah, it’s all coming back to me now.” Ella’s mother played with the condensation on her glass. “The Bensons. Came from Denmark, if I recall. Some Jewish blood in there, too, which is why Robert doesn’t look like a Viking, though he’s tall and...” Her mouth turned down at the corners. “I do think he mentioned a family name, some famous ancestor of his or other.”

Ella leaned forward, wine forgotten. “What name?”

“A very odd one. Wait, what was it?” Her mother snapped her fingers. “Srour. Srourson.”

It was as if a fist hit Ella in the chest, robbing her of air. “No,” she said.

Finn gave an encouraging nod. “Any other—”

“You’re wrong,” Ella nearly shouted and stood, her chair screeching across the polished floor. “This can’t be.”

The whispers from the nearby tables ceased, and an expectant hush fell over the restaurant. A waiter was hurrying toward them.

“Ella, sit down,” her mother hissed, “you’re making a spectacle—”

“Sirurdsson?” Ella asked, barely able to breathe. “Is that the name?”

“Ah yes, that’s right! Always thought it a weird one. Now will you sit?”

Ella turned on her heel and walked out of the restaurant, her blood rushing in her ears.