Page 23 of Hallowed & Haunted
“Bossy,” Sander says, but drinks obediently.
“You like it.”
The words slip out before Niillas can think better of them, and Sander’s cheeks flush pink in the firelight. But instead of pulling away and putting some distance between them, Sander makes himself comfortable against Niillas’ shoulder again.
“Maybe,” he admits so quietly that Niillas almost doesn’t catch it.
The wild and protective part of Niillas’ soul jumps on this one word, hoarding it like a precious jewel. Sander fits so perfectly in his arms, warm and pliant and trusting. It would be easy to tilt his chin up, to kiss him until he makes those soft sounds Niillas has imagined him making so many times. But not here. Not now, with a vengeful ghost and a stállu both out for Sander’s blood. Not while Sander is still unaware of Niillas’ own dual nature and unable to consent to binding himself to such an entity.
Unsuspecting of Niillas’ inner struggle, Sander finishes the granola bar and most of the juice before his eyelids start drooping. The warmth from the fire and Niillas’ body heat are doing their work, lulling him toward sleep.
“I should stay awake,” Sander mumbles, even as he curls up in Niillas’ lap. “We need to keep watch.”
“No. Rest. I’ll watch.”
“But—”
“Sleep, Captain.”
It’s a testament to how exhausted Sander is that he doesn’t argue further. Within minutes, his breathing evens out, and his full weight settles against Niillas’ chest. He marvels at the trust Sander places in him, and the fact that he’s able to sleep at all under these circumstances.
They are granted maybe fifteen minutes of rest before the nightmare begins anew.
It begins with a roar like storm winds in barren branches, and then the dog starts barking again. Sander stirs in his arms but doesn’t wake. Small mercies.
But he can sense Marta’s presence drawing closer. The temperature in the living room plummets, and Sander whimpers in his sleep as he senses it too. Every protective instinct Niillas possesses surges to the surface. Let her come. If she gets anywhere near Sander for a second time, Niillas won’t spare her again.
And outside, heavy footsteps circle the house. The stállu is growing bolder, drawn maybe by the dog’s barking or by the sweet scent of fear that still clings to Sander. The front door rattles as something huge brushes against it. Damn, the stállu must be hungry if it’s willing to come this close to human settlement, even if the house is as rundown as the farm.
If both creatures decide to attack them, Niillas isn’t sure if he can defeat them. At least not in his current form.
Fuck.
Carefully, he eases Sander onto the sleeping bag, making sure he’s positioned close to the fire and as far away from the door as possible. Then he stands, muscles already expanding with the beginning of change.
“Please don’t fear me,” Niillas whispers, looking down at Sander’s prone form.
The shift comes easier than usual, perhaps because the veil between the worlds is thin tonight, or maybe the change is helped along by the intensity of his need to protect. His human form dissolves, muscles expanding, bones lengthening and thickening. Thick fur sprouts from his skin as he grows into the form of an enormous bear. Not a brown bear native to Northern Scandinavia, but a polar bear by form. Only larger. And pitch black. The kind of bear Niillas’ insecure thirteen-year-old self thought was incredibly cool when he first changed. The irony isn’t lost on him. A simple brown bear would be so much more practical. And probably less terrifying. But also probably less suitable to fight a stállu, so Niillas isn’t going to complain.
He sniffs the air, and his enhanced senses immediately catalog every threat. Somewhere in the rafters above them, Marta’s icy presence hovers, the troll’s foul smell is growing stronger, and Sander’s breathing has grown shallow in the dropping temperature.
Moving on silent paws, Niillas walks over to Sander’s sleeping form. His spicy-sweet scent fills Niillas’ nostrils. Cinnamon and blood orange, the human part of his dual spirit supplies. Fate, the bear says. Niillas settles around Sander oh so carefully, his massive body creating a living barrier against the cold. Sander stirs briefly as warm fur envelops him, but doesn’t wake, instead burrowing deeper into the protective cocoon with a contented sigh.
The front door rattles again, more violently this time. Through the windows, Niillas catches glimpses of something tall and wrong-shaped prowling outside, and the stupid ghost dog keeps barking.
But if the stállu gets bold enough to come inside looking for Sander, it will have to go through Niillas first.
He curls tighter around his sleeping captain, his head coming to rest protectively right over Sander’s heart. Let the stállu come. Let the ghost try her tricks. They’ll find that Sander Eriksen has the protection of something far more dangerous than either of them. Something that will tear them apart with teeth and claws before it lets harm come to the man resting trustingly in its embrace.
A content purr rumbles from deep in Niillas’ chest.
His ears perk up.
The black polar bear waits.
Chapter 7
Sander