Emberlight

16. What's Mine is Yours

Finn

Finn stalked towards the forest, his mind a cavern for his brother's every thought. He'd had enough of their so-called 'gift' years and years ago, and now the torture was a constant shard of glass nestled in his skull.

There's Kelsey. Can I pull off ''sup'?

The words rang in his head as clear as if he had thought them himself. But he hadn't, and it was getting harder and harder to untangle his thoughts from his brother's. He hardly knew who he was anymore, other than angry, frustrated, and confused, and it was noisy, always so noisy...

She doesn't look pleased to see me... yet. She'll warm up. My charm's a slow burner.

"Shut up," Finn hissed through his teeth at his brother's thoughts, but his brother couldn't hear him. His brother wasn't as strong as him in many ways, but Finn was weaker by heart. He had always felt it, but the moment the terrible decision struck him, he knew it for certain.

He rested his fingers around the vial in his pocket knowing there was no going back. It was catch 22 from the moment the idea struck him, and it pinned him into a corner.

Isadora had invited him over to her dorm after weeks of flirting, sneaking around, and kisses on the pool table. The only time his mind felt free was when they were so lost in each other that the rest of the world didn't matter. After their first night together, she fell asleep next to him, but it didn't feel as magical as he had hoped. None of it had, and he knew why, although he wasn't ready to admit it to himself. Instead, he stroked her hair and watched her sleep, until his brother's dream snuck into his head like always.

It was the one too close to the truth. The one where Odin was too slow to get to their ma—a nightmare in which Finn always knew what would happen next.

The witch plunged his hand into her chest. Skin ripped, blood splattered. Odin rushed forwards, his gift working in reverse, slowing him to a hopeless pace. The witch lathered his hands. He drew a pentagram, one with a sigil that opened a portal, one that he would step into and disappear forever.

That's not quite how it happened, but Odin's frantic mind distorted the memory a little more each time. Even the witch was unrecognisable. He'd been handsome in real life, stirring things inside Finn he didn't want to think about, things Odin already knew. If only Finn could use blood of another to block their connection or sever it entirely.

It wasn't the first time he had thoughts of taking another's blood, but it was the first time he'd done so while looking at Isadora's bare throat.

Bloodletting. Painless, quick, no scar—she would never know. Her blood was powerful, and as long as they were together he could keep sustaining the spell, little by little, not enough to turn darkside but enough to keep Odin out.

It would never be a permanent fix. He knew that little bits of darkness here and there would rise and fade inside of him, but if he timed it right, it could be enough to gain some control over his own head without losing himself entirely.

It was wrong. Risky. Unforgiveable. He knew that, but the more he thought about it, the less he could shake it off. It latched on to his every thought until he knew he had no choice. If he did nothing, Odin would eventually pick up on his brother's dark musings, and in turn, so would Isadora. She'd think him weak and useless—or someone to pity, another soul to save. She'd want to help him, but she wouldn't see him in the same light.

But he could steal her help without her ever knowing. She would want to help him, anyway. She had said so before...

He fought with himself through the night until he was too tired to fight anymore, the thought invasive, demanding to be heard. There would be no hiding it from his brother, not unless he became stronger.