Page 3 of Hallowed & Haunted

Chapter 2

Niillas

The tall windows of the library glow amber in the early evening gloom as Niillas finds a parking space and cuts the engine of his battered but trusty Defender.

He’s fifteen minutes early, but that’s intentional. He wants to watch Sander emerge from the building, wants to see if his pretty captain will actually show up, or if this whole Halloween party thing was just some elaborate joke created to make Niillas look foolish. Not that it would be the first time someone had tried, and for the kind of pretty boy hockey captain like Sander, it would definitely be on brand.

Truth be told, Niillas should’ve refused to go to the party. He has better things to do than watch his fellow students getting drunk and making even bigger asses of themselves than usual. But something about the challenge in Sander’s blue eyes had hooked him, reeled him in like a fish too stupid to recognize bait.

Team-building, Sander had said, as if Niillas gave a shit about bonding with a bunch of boys for whom hockey and their inflated egos are the most important things in the world.

The library doors swing open, and Niillas straightens in his seat, expecting to see Sander’s familiar strawberry-blond head. Instead, a pair of grad students stumble out, laughing too loudly.

He checks his phone: 7:25.

Not that he expects Eriksen to be punctual. With his looks, he can probably afford to keep everyone waiting.

The doors open again, and it takes Niillas’ brain a moment to process what he’s seeing. It’s Sander, but not the usual version. Gone are the team sweats and university hoodies. Tonight, Sander wears black jeans and a fitted black Henley that shows off his athletic build. The outfit is completed by a blood-red leather jacket that looks expensive and well-worn. Small horns poke through Sander’s strawberry-blond hair, and even from this distance, Niillas can see the glint of something metallic at his throat.

A Halloween costume.

A devil.

Of course.

The worst part is that Sander is a devastatingly cute devil.

He spots Niillas behind the wheel and jogs over, his movements fluid and confident. Yanking the passenger door open, Sander slides in, bringing with him the scent of blood orange and cinnamon that makes Niillas want to bury his nose in the crook of Sander’s neck and justbreathehim in.

“Thought you might not show up,” Sander says, buckling his seatbelt. His gaze flicks over Niillas’Shamanband T-shirt, raising a judgy eyebrow. “No costume? Or are you dressed up as a Finn?”

“I’m dressed up as someone who doesn’t give a shit about Halloween.”

Sander snorts, and the sound is surprisingly genuine.

“Edgy. I like it.”

They leave the library’s parking lot and merge into the light evening traffic. The heater blows warm air between them, and as always when his team captain is concerned, Niillas’ senses prickle with awareness. He keeps stealing glances at Sander’s costume. The little plastic horns are ridiculous, but they somehow work on him.

Everything works on Sander Eriksen, actually, which is equal parts confusing and infuriating.

“So,” Sander says, making himself comfortable in the passenger’s seat. “Tell me about the reindeer.”

“What about them?”

“You’re helping your grandmother with them this weekend. I’m curious.”

Niillas glances over again and catches sight of the pendant glinting at Sander’s throat: a small silvery pentagram, held by a leather band that looks suspiciously like a collar, more suitable for a sexy witch than a devil. Together with the horns, the costume should look corny, but Sander wears it with the kind of confidence that makes it look almost sensual.

“November is the main season for gathering the herds,” Niillas says, forcing his attention back to the road. “I’m helping her prepare the winter pastures.”

“Sounds…nice.”

There’s something wistful in Sander’s voice; he’s probably romanticizing the life of a reindeer farmer. The ignorance should irk Niillas, but it’s also oddly endearing. Romanticizing or not, Sander does have a point, after all.

“It is. Nice,” Niillas says, feeling vaguely stupid, and also relieved that Sander doesn’t continue the conversation immediately.

They drive in silence for a few minutes, crossing the fjord through the tunnel and turning north. The city lights gradually give way to the less busy suburbs, looking at Tromsø’s center across the fjord.