Free Boreal and John Grey Season 1 by Chrystalla Thoma Page A

again.

    ***

    For the first time she could recall, she spotted an empty parking space right outside her building. A miracle . She fished her dead mobile phone from the back seat, shoved it in her pocket, and went around to help Finn. He accepted her aid with his usual grace, glaring and stiffening under her touch. They really ought to have a little talk about manners.
    Then again this was the man who’d saved her ass twice. Maybe she could be a bit lenient.
    So she stood back and waited, counting under her breath. Mulishly, he stepped outside the car on his own.
    A look of surprise crossed his face, followed by a grimace of pain. She made a grab for him and he leaned against her, shaking, lips pressed together tight. She winced in sympathy. Yeah, baby, didn’t you know? When the adrenaline faded, you felt every bruise and cut.
    His lean body was heavier than she’d expected. Skinny but wiry, packed with hard muscle. It was a good thing she hit the gym regularly, although her back and ribs protested. His bad leg folded under him twice, and she practically had to haul him all the way up to her apartment. By the time they reached her door, she was sure she’d wrenched both her shoulders, and her knee ached.
    Damn man, refusing to go to the hospital. Why had she listened to him? Using every swearword she knew, she fumbled with the key one-handed, managed to unlock the door, and shoved Finn inside. He made no sound as he stumbled inside, fetching up against the wall.
    Standing by the door, she kept an ear out in case anything had followed them, but no clicks sounded and no eldritch breeze blew. Good enough . She kicked the door closed and dragged Finn into her living room. He staggered to her battered sofa and sank against the cushions with a grunt. He really looked like crap.
    She considered his clothes, probably worn for days and weeks, and now steeped in blood and ichor. His dirty feet were still bare, dirty and reddened, the soles black with grime. Asking him to hop into the shower didn’t seem like a good idea right then, not when he seemed to cling to consciousness tooth and nail.
    Ah well, she’d clean up the sofa later, and disinfect the throw rug. Burn it, in fact.
    “Stay here,” she said and he shot her a dirty look. What? It wasn’t like he was going anywhere in that state, was it? “I’ll be right back.”
    He still glared daggers. Jeez . She was only trying to make him comfortable. Missy hissed from the doorway to her bedroom, back arched and ears flat against her head.
    Oh great, two pissy persons in her apartment. “Missy, come with me.”
    The kitten glowered at Finn who seemed unaffected, or perhaps too tired to scowl back. Ella pulled two blankets from her bedroom closet, and after a moment’s thought, she grabbed Simon’s sweatpants and a t-shirt. She’d wash them afterward; Simon would never know.
     She returned to find Missy still hissing at Finn. What the hell, kitten? “Sorry. She usually doesn’t mind visitors.”
    Finn stared at her, as if not understanding the words.
    “Here.” She offered the sweatpants and t-shirt. “Take off your clothes, they’re wet and bloody. Put these on. I’ll be back in two minutes.”
    She went to the kitchenette, opened her fridge, closed it again. Right, there was no food in the house, and she hadn’t had the time to go shopping. Great hospitality, Ella. Way to go . 
    She returned to the living room to find Finn drawing on the strings of the sweatpants with his good hand. It trembled. He looked up through his pale hair at her. His filthy clothes lay in a heap on her carpet. She picked them up and went to throw them in the kitchen trash. Ichor had eaten holes in them anyway.
    “Hey.” She returned to the living room. “Would you like some water? Or tea?”
    He shook his head, fumbling with the t-shirt. His chest and shoulders were very strong and his skin pale and smooth, without stains or moles, as if cut from white stone — apart from the dark