Chapter 8
Niillas
The first day of November breaks with pale sunlight over the lake that transforms patches of early frost into sparkling diamonds.
Niillas wakes to find himself in his human form again, the sleeping bag wrapped around himself and Sander both.
The fire has burned down to embers, but Sander is warm against his chest, breathing deeply in exhausted sleep.
And most importantly, Sander is alive and unharmed.
The terrors of the night are gone for good.
Karo lifts his copper head from where he’s curled by the dying fire, tail wagging tentatively.
“Good morning,” Niillas whispers to the dog, who responds with a yawn and soft yip.
Sander stirs, making a small noise of protest and burrowing closer against Niillas before his eyes flutter open.
For a moment, he looks confused, taking in the abandoned farmhouse in the watery morning light.
Then his gaze finds Niillas, and his expression transforms into something soft and wondering.
“You turned back,” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep.
“Disappointed?”
Niillas tries for humor, but deep down, he’s scared. Will Sander be appalled by his bear spirit in daylight? Deny what happened? Or was there something about the power of the bear that drew Sander in, and now that Niillas is a mere human again, he’ll lose interest?
“Absolutely not.” Sander’s hands come up to frame Niillas’ face, fingers tracing along his jaw with a gentleness that makes his breath hitch. “You’re magnificent. Both versions of you.”
A pleasant warmth envelops Niillas as Sander’s hands trail down his neck, across his collarbone, mapping the lines of his chest like he’s trying to commit every detail to memory.
“You’re very tactile this morning.”
Sander’s cheeks flush pink, but he doesn’t pull away.
“I like it,” Niillas adds, in case that wasn’t plenty obvious.
“Sorry. I just—I need to make sure you’re real. That last night actually happened. That I’m not losing my mind.”
“I’m very much real.” He catches Sander’s wrists, pressing the flat of Sander’s palms flush against his chest. “Last night was real. And you’re not losing your mind.”
Sander lets his head drop against Niillas’ shoulder.
“The ghost was real,” he breathes.
“Yes.”
“And the troll.”
“That too.”
“It called you noaidi. What does it mean?”
“It’s the Sámi word for shaman. An intermediary between the worlds, communicating with spirits, performing healing rituals. Someone who serves as a bridge between the human realm and the realm of spirits and gods.”
“Is that what you are? A shaman?”
“No,” Niillas says, overcome by sudden sadness.
“There are no noaidi left in the old sense; Christianity and colonialism wiped them out. There are people who try to revive and preserve the traditions, and I suspect that there are some who are actually able to wield the ancient power, but I’m not one of them.
I’m just a guy who can turn into a bear. ”
“You say that as if it were a minor feat.”
“It’s actually quite funny. My grandma almost fell over laughing when I first showed her.”
“Huh? Why’s that?”
There is humor now in Sander’s voice, a reaction to Niillas’ fond memory, and he marvels at how attuned Sander is to his mood.
“Well, the bear is sacred, but the idea of shifting isn’t a Sámi concept.”
“No berserkers?”
Niillas chuckles.
“Not exactly. The noaidi can transform into a bear, but it’s a spirit journey, not an actual transformation of flesh. But thirteen-year-old Niillas didn’t know that.”
“Did thirteen-year-old Niillas also think black polar bears were cooler than plain old brown bears?” Sander asks, but his voice sounds cautious, as if he’s ready to backtrack in case his joke might offend Niillas.
“Absolutely, yes. I used to love watching the polar bears at Ranua Zoo as a child. I was fascinated by their power.”
“How did you cope with your first change? It must’ve been terrifying.”
Niillas chuckles, elated to have the chance to talk openly about his bear with someone who isn’t his grandma.
“It was wild. One moment, I was a normal kid getting into a fight with some boys who were making fun of me, and the next I was a bear.” Niillas smiles against Sander’s hair. “When I found out my bear was a black polar bear later, I felt like the coolest person in the world.”
Sander laughs.
“Of course you did. It suits your aesthetic.”
“Shut up,” Niillas grumbles, but there’s no real heat behind the words.
“I can relate, though,” Sander says. “Your bear is beautiful.”
And something unclenches in Niillas’ chest, a coil wound tight for so long he can’t even remember when he felt relaxed in this way for the last time. Sander isn’t afraid of him; he isn’t going to run.
“I can’t believe how well you’re taking this.”
Sander keeps touching him, rubbing gentle circles against Niillas’ shoulder.
“I always hoped that maybe there was a little more to the world, maybe a dash of magic. And I always knew you were special.”
“Huh?”
Looking up from where his head is resting against Niillas’ shoulder, Sander regards him with a look that can be only described as smoldering. Obviously, it’s a good look on Sander.
“Come on, have you seen yourself on the ice? You’re a force of nature.”
“Were you scared of me?”
He knows that probably wasn’t what Sander was implying, but he needs to hear it anyway, and Sander’s breath hitches as he blushes some more.
“Never. At least not in the way you think.”
“In which way then?”
“Umm, I was kind of scared you wouldn’t like me? You’re not particularly easy to charm.”
He cups Sander’s face gently, giving him every opportunity to pull away, but Sander leans into the touch. He really isn’t afraid. Not of Niillas. Not of the bear. How can he be so perfectly brave?
“You tried to charm me, Captain?”
“Not very successfully. That’s why I might have been a little bit snarky.”
“You call that behavior snarky?”
Sander blinks up at him with an expression of pure innocence.
“You like it.”
“Yes,” Niillas rumbles, mesmerized by Sander’s lips.
“Can I kiss you?” Sander’s question is barely audible.
“Yes.”
Sander closes the distance between them slowly, as if savoring the anticipation.
When his lips finally brush against Niillas’, it’s tender and sensual, in the way Sander can be soft and yielding sometimes.
When he likes to be. But the kiss turns heated then, Sander nibbling at his bottom lip, and Niillas tilting his head.
They push and pull for a moment, both seeking to dominate the kiss, and it’s absolutely thrilling how Sander doesn’t give him an inch until he does, sighing deeply and letting Niillas take him over.
Threading his fingers through Sander’s soft hair, Niillas angles his head to deepen the kiss, and Sander whines low in his throat.
When they break apart, Sander looks disheveled and dazed, and Niillas has never seen anything more beautiful.
“We should probably get going,” Sander says, though he doesn’t pull away. “Jonas and Emma are probably sick with worry.”
“Shit. We promised to text.”
“There’s no reception anyway. I tried a few times last night… before…before Marta and the troll.”
Niillas presses a swift kiss to the top of Sander’s head.
“As soon as we leave the mountain road, we’ll have reception again. Then you can call your friends.”
“Our friends,” Sander says with emphasis, wrapping his arms around Niillas’ waist.
Neither of them moves for several long moments before Sander sits up properly, wincing as he stretches.
“You okay?”
“Just a few scratches from the floorboards.”
“Let me have a look.”
The scratches are shallow, already beginning to scab over, but Niillas inspects them carefully anyway. He covers them with a healing salve he carries along with his sparse first-aid supplies, before readjusting Sander’s trousers again.
Sander watches him work with soft eyes, and when Niillas looks up, he finds himself caught in his gaze.
“It’s sexy having you fuss over me.”
“Is that so?”
Niillas can’t help the predatory edge that tinges his voice.
“Yeah.” Sander’s smile is small and vulnerable. “I like it. Everyone else always assumes I can manage.”
Niillas presses a kiss to Sander’s temple.
“I get it. And I like you when you are strong and competent, but I like you weak, too. And scared. And crying. And everything in between.”
Sander’s eyes glaze over as if he’s one moment away from crying, but he blinks rapidly, composing himself.
“I’m starting to understand.” He kisses Niillas on the lips again, chaste this time. “And I want to be that person for you, too.”
Niillas smiles.
“Deal.”
He stands, pulling Sander up with him, who’s obviously reluctant to stop touching him. Sander’s still scared, Niillas realizes as they gather their scattered belongings, never straying more than a few steps away from Niillas.
Karo watches them work with warm brown eyes, staying close to them, too.
“What should we do about him?” Sander asks, nodding toward the dog.
“We take him with us. He’s real now, flesh and blood. Unless he makes you uncomfortable?”
Sander looks at the dog thoughtfully before kneeling down and holding out his hand for Karo to sniff. With their matching coloring, they look like something from the cover of a chic outdoor magazine.
“My apartment doesn’t allow pets, but you wanted to get a hunting dog, if I remember correctly, right? I’ll help you to exercise him.”
“How do you know? We haven’t talked about this.”
Running a hand through his already disheveled hair, Sander looks adorably flustered.
“I might have overheard you talking about it to Lars?”
A pleasant warmth expands in Niillas’ chest. He vaguely remembers the conversation with their goalie, months ago, when he’d just transferred from Rovaniemi.
“Interesting. What else did you hear?”
Sander pets Karo’s fur, flustered enough that he needs to keep his hands busy.
“That you live in a blockhouse on your grandma’s land. That you helped her build it during the summer when you were sixteen.”
“You were being nosy.”
He offers Sander a hand up, and Sander takes it gratefully.
Karo whines pitifully, brushing against their legs.
“I was pathetically interested from the first day you came to practice. But you seemed so disinterested in me that I didn’t know how to help myself.”
“That’s why you’ve been acting all bratty?” He pulls Sander in by his hips, elated and so relieved that Sander likes him, has liked him from day one, and feels safe enough to admit it. “Were you trying to get my attention, Captain?”
Sander shudders.
“Did it work?”
Niillas answers by pulling him into another kiss, reveling in the way Sander melts against him, and for a second Niillas is tempted to drag him to the car and have his way with him there and then.
But Sander’s skin is still cool to the touch, and they’re both too tall for that car sex shit, anyway.
Better to get Sander home. Reluctantly, Niillas pulls away.
“Let’s get home. We’ve stayed long enough, and you’re getting cold again.”
As if on cue, Sander’s stomach rumbles.
“Would you—would you like to come to my place? We could get breakfast from that place in Strandgata?”
“Sounds good,” Niillas says. “Great, actually.”
Niillas shoulders his backpack, and Sander takes the sleeping bag. He whistles for Karo and wraps his free arm around Sander’s shoulder as they step through the hallway. Sander presses closer without a word, eyeing the stairs leading to the upper floor warily.
“Nobody’s there,” Niillas whispers against his hair. “Only dust and damp timber.”
“But it’s good to get out of here,” Sander says as soon as they step out into the open and leave the oppressive atmosphere of the house behind.
He clings to Niillas all the way to the Defender, and even Karo seems keen to leave this dreary place, jumping into the back seat without hesitation.
Niillas starts the engine and pulls backward onto the forest road leading away from the farm when Sander flinches.
“What is it?”
Face gray with shock, Sander’s fingers are digging almost painfully into Niillas’ thigh.
“There. I thought—I thought there was some movement by the door.”
Niillas turns around, taking in the farmhouse bathed in the pale light of the November morning. Everything is perfectly still now. But Sander is surprisingly attuned to the spiritual world. He might’ve spotted something Niillas has missed.
“Oh god, I’m such a mess.” Sander’s voice is shaky. “It was probably nothing.”
Pulling Sander’s hand to his lips, Niillas kisses his knuckles.
“More likely an aftershock from last night. The veil between the worlds is still thinner than usual. Maybe you saw it ripple.”
“Am I going to see ghosts at every corner from now on?”
Niillas considers his answer carefully. He doesn’t want to scare Sander, but he also doesn’t want to lie.
“Don’t worry, you won’t. But I guess you’re sensitive. You might spot the other worlds from time to time, especially when you’re out in the wilderness, crossing places with a power of their own.”
“Still sounds scary.”
“You can learn to block it out, I guess. We can find a noaidi or maybe a Norse witch willing to teach you.”
“No. If I know something’s there, it feels less scary to see it coming.”
“That’s my brave captain,” Niillas praises. The words are out before he can overthink that he might sound ridiculous, but Sander seems reassured. “We can research your assignments for connections to the hidden world. If you don’t feel safe, I’ll accompany you.”
“Niillas, come on, I can’t ask you to babysit me every time I go on an excursion.”
But Niillas quickly warms up to the idea.
“Why not? I could bring Karo, maybe even earn some credit points for my own studies. And I’d be spending time with you. Sounds like a good time to me.”
Sander’s smile is like spring sunshine over melting ice.
“I’d like that,” he says, leaning toward Niillas and letting his hand rest on his thigh.
Karo snores softly in his little nest on the backseat, and Niillas knows that the terrors of the night are finally over when the farmhouse disappears from view. Slowly, they drive down the forest road toward the outskirts of Troms?.