It’s just us.
In our perfect little bubble.
Chapter Thirty-six
Aksel
“How does it feel to be so close to winning that million-dollar prize?”
Aksel’s smile falters. “It stings,” he admits. “Mostly because I know exactly where I went wrong. A few hours in, I realized I’d taken on more than I could realistically finish, but my client trusted me with his body. I wasn’t willing to rush or cut corners just for a shot at the money. No prize is worth sending someone home with a tattoo I’m not proud of.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
Hale
Two weeks after the finale, life feels unreal in the best way. Once the check clears (after an unbelievably rude amount of taxes), we waste no time hunting for a space of our own. It takes exactly two days to find it: a two-story warehouse just off the Strip, all strong bones and potential. We sign the papers before anyone can change their mind. I’m pretty sure the sellers are relieved to be ridof it.
For now, Aksel and I carve out a small apartment on the second floor. Our parents rent a condo outside the city.Close, they say, for when we have kids. Someday. Far, far in the future.
After weeks of chaos, decisions, and renovation plans, we escape to a quiet cabin on a Utah lake to get some privacy, fresh air, and room to breathe. To shift.
It’s finally time for Aksel to pay up on our bet.
“Come on, big guy,” I tease, nudging him toward the endofthedock.Hepretendstogrumble,buthiseyeskeep drifting to the water, dark and eager. He’s been waiting for this.
I stop at the end, motioning for him to continue. He strips with exaggerated annoyance, dimple flashing, fully aware of the effect he’s having on me. By the time he’s bare, my pulse is racing, and his smirk tells me he knows exactly why.
“You gonna join me, Fylgja?” His voice is low, rough with want.
Ifumbleoutofmyclothesinahurry,makinghim laugh.
“Areyouevergoingtotellmewhatthatmeans?”I ask breathlessly.
He studies me, then pulls me close, one finger lifting my chin. “Soulmate.”
The word hits hard.I search his face, heart pounding. “Not… fated, though?”
He shakes his head without hesitation. “Chosen.”
Relief crashes through me. My parents' terrible marriage is a distant memory, but still vivid in my mind. Fated mates mean nothing to me. I chose him, and he chose me.That’sallI’veevertrulycaredabout.Ikisshimhard, laughing as we tumble together into the lake, cool water closing over us.
Our mouths part as we partially shift, gills unfurling so wecan breathe beneath the clear blue lake. Mine are small, subtle against my neck, while Aksel’s bloom wide along his sides, dark and unmistakable beneath his ribs. I trace them with my webbed fingers, slow and curious, and feel the shudder that rolls through him in response. His lashes flutter, his pupils darkening as he leans into my touch instead of away from it.
At first glance, he looksalmost human.
Broad shoulders. Strong arms. Skin still warm-toned and familiar from the waist up. blond hair darkened from the water against his forehead, jaw tight like he’s holding himself together by sheer will.
And then your eyes drop.
The transformation softens into something fluid and seamless. His hips narrow and melt into smooth, luminous flesh, the tone shifting gradually into a vivid, living pink. Not garish. Not bright like coral. Deeper. Rich. Almost opalescent where the light hits.
Tentacles unfurl in slow, deliberate movements.
They’re thick at the base, tapering as they extend, the undersides lined with rows of pale blush suckers that flex and release in subtle rhythms. The color makes them strangely mesmerizing, not monstrous, but exotic. Fluid in the way only deep-sea creatures are, startlingly elegant instead of grotesque.
They coil with quiet control around his body, lifting and adjusting him with effortless strength. When one curls, the muscles ripple visibly beneath that smooth pink surface. When another stretches out, it does so with lazy confidence, like a cat stretching in a patch of sun.
There’s something disarming about the color. Pink suggests softness. Warmth. Vulnerability.
