High in the Sierra Nevada mountains, Lake Tahoe was a world unto itself. Frigid, crystal clear waters spanned one hundred and ninety-one square miles, and every one of them was claimed by an unbroken chain of merfolk.
Rarely seen by the scattered resort towns and ski lodges that clung to their home’s edge, the merfolk had little interest in the outside world. They showed themselves for three reasons and three reasons only: to trade, to mate, and to worship.
On the darkest night of the year, when the snow fell and the edges of the lake became shattered glass, their dark bodies rose from the darkest depths to greet the sky.
Those that dared live in the towns during the winter gathered on docks and along the shoreline to exchange offerings. Handmade gifts, food, and trinkets left and entered webbed hands with murmured well-wishes. Children, merfolk and land-dweller, chattered as adults caught up.
Many of them had done the ritual with the same groups all their lives, creating a tapestry of connections that spanned generations. The darkest night was lit with bonfires, flashlights, and the joy of reuniting with friends.
The differences that separated them fell away, and if one was lucky, a new connection might be made under the cover of darkness — a gift all its own.
The Orclind’s Biggest Party
It was supposedto be the party of a lifetime. That’s what he’d been told. That’s what everyone said.
Go to Boulder,people told him.The Moonset festival is the biggest party in the UTA!
But no one fucking told him that you could get altitude sickness by just being in the damn place.
Crash groaned. The cool tile of the hotel bathroom helped soothe a little bit of his discomfort, but not much. The nausea was like a wet blanket draped over his whole body, pressing him down into the floor and leaving him kinda damp all over.
Outside, the sounds of fireworks and pounding music heralded the festivities he couldn’t attend. Thousands of people from all over the world were gathered in the streets, drinking, eating, and hunting for someone or someonesto spend the night with. He’d had so many grand plans to be among them.
Every single one was shot straight to Grim’s riverbank when he woke up that morning in a cold sweat, unable to catch his breath and about two seconds from chucking his guts into the toilet.
“Seemed like such a good idea,” he whimpered to no one. “Why did this seem like a good idea?”
Because Cece talked about it.
Crash pressed his face into a rough hotel towel, half-hoping he could smother himself into passing out and forgetting all about his ex.
It didn’t work. Not much did, besides getting absolutely obliterated or finding someone to bash him over the head with a pipe.
Cece was just one of those girls a man didn’t forget.
He wasn’t surprised when she broke it off with him. He’d known from the moment they met that she was too damn good for a piece of shit like him. Smart, funny as shit, more confident than a vampire at midnight, and so beautiful it hurt to look at her, Cecilia Warren was a taste of the good life he didn’t deserve.
They’d had fun together, sure. He’d tried to treat her right, in all the ways a rough-edged orc who didn’t always fall on the right side of the law knew how, but in the end, they both knew it wouldn’t last.
She wasn’t his mate. He wasn’t a good fit for a ray of sunshine with a good life ahead of her.
But he was still fucking sad, and he fucking hated being fucking sad, so he bought a stupidly expensive last-minute ticket on an m-jet to Boulder, grabbed his bag, and set off to lose himself in alcohol for at least twenty-four hours. Cecilia had mentioned to him once that she wanted to go to the legendary festival, so he supposed it’d been lodged in his head and came up again as some pathetic way to reconnect with her — kinda like a parasite or one of those tumors with teeth.
It figured that it was a disaster.
The universe didn’t want them together. It didn’t even want him thinking about her, apparently, because it’d struck him down with the most pathetic sickness he could imagine.
“I’m anorc,”he whined into the towel. “We’re built for mountains, for fuck’s sake!”
As if on cue, the universe responded with its ownfuck youin the form of a disrespectfully loud pop and shatter of fireworks over the hotel.
A shudder wracked him as another wave of nausea crested. Pushing himself onto his hands, he pulled himself across the tile like a sweaty green seal. Crash slung his muscular body over the bowl of the toilet and hung his head, waiting for the inevitable.
When the deed was done, he thought,Well, I guess this could’ve been worse. If Cece was here, I’d be humiliated. What woman wants an orc who can’t handle a little altitude?
A hoarse laugh escaped his scorched throat as yet another round of fireworks seemed to indicate the universe agreed with him. Heartbreak sucked, but at least he had his pride. Or what was left of it, anyway.
“Aw, fuck.” He staggered upright to rinse his mouth. Stumbling back into the main room, he collapsed into bed.
