Prologue
Hale
“Fuck this,” I mutter, shoving the heavy exit door open.
My foot catches on a crack in the concrete, and the world tilts before I slam hard into the ground. Pain shoots up my palms and knees. I scramble back to my feet, heart racing, and brush at my jeans as heat floods my face.
Perfect. My only pair of jeans without rips now has a jagged hole and a smear of blood.
“Why can’t I catch a fucking break?” I whisper,my voice cracking under the weight of everything I’ve been holding in.
I storm through the parking garage, footsteps echoing as I sink deeper into my own misery. Life has never exactly played fair with me, but I really thought that just this once it might ease up. Isn’t hard work supposed to count for something? Perseverance? Grit?
This apprenticeship was my last shot.
Okay. Maybe that’s dramatic.
But I’m exhausted. Tired of getting knocked down and kicked again while I’m already bleeding. I did everything right. I practiced for hours every day. I sacrificed sleep, comfort, and fun. And the way Mr. Calder talked, the position was basically mine; all I had to do was complete a workshop.
What heforgotto mention was that it wasn’t just a workshop. It was a competition.
Still, I’d felt good about my chances. Not every eighteen-year-old spends their free time tattooing melons and leather until their hands cramp. I’m good. I could be great. I just needed one thing to go my way.
The exit door slams behind me. Fast footsteps follow. I don’t need to hear his voice to know who it is.“No congratulations, Fylgja?”
Aksel fucking Winther.
God’sgifttomankind.Walkingmigraineinhuman form.
We met when he moved here in fourth grade. He had brand-new designer clothes, a perfect smile, and golden-boy charm that had everyone eating out of his hand. Everyone loved him instantly. I hated him on sight.
The asshole sat in my spot and stared at me like I was an idiot when I told him to move. I felt his stare on me when I finally chose a different seat. It’s like I could hear him judging mefor my ratty jeans and too-small sneakers. His look screamed money, while mine screamed for help.
People love comparing sirens and krakens. We both live in the water, so that must mean we are the same. Right. Because proximity equals similarity. I live near a rusted-out trailer. That doesn’t mean I am one. Fucking idiots.
And of course, he presented as an alpha freshman year. Because why wouldn’t he? Who even presents that early? Show-off.
Everything has always come so easily to overconfident kraken. While I clawed and scraped for every scrap, doors just… opened for Aksel. Like this apprenticeship.
They say life isn’t fair, but does it really have to fuck me without even the courtesy of lube? Black eyes and broken limbs were part of my everyday existence and fighting to live in a life I don’t even want is… exhausting.
Krakens and sirens may have been enemies centuries ago,butthatisn’ttheworldweliveinnow.No.Myhatred of Aksel runs deeper than his species. Blaming history would be convenient. Unfortunately, I know better.
I rush for my car, desperate to avoid whatever smug victory lap he’s about to take, but his hand lands on my door before I can open it.
I sigh, slow and heavy, then turn around and cross my arms over my too-thin chest. I tilt my head up to meet his dark teal eyes.
He’s smirking.
That infuriating, self-satisfied smirk I’ve wanted to punch off his face for years.
He towers over me in a black T-shirt and jeans that probably cost more than my shitty Ford Escort. His blond hair isperfectly tousled, falling into his eyes in that effortless,I-woke-up-like-thisway. I’d bet money he uses some overpriced gel to make it look accidental.
“I’ve told you a million times not to call me that, dick,” I snap, meeting his amused gaze with a glare. “And do you really think I owe you congratulations when you stole my fucking spot?”
I shove him away, my heart pounding hard enough to rattle my ribs.
He lifts his hands in mock surrender, rolling his infuriatingly sparkly eyes. “Is it stealing if I earned it fair and square, Fylgja?”
