Chapter 1 - Fates, Fins, and Fangs

I dreamed of a prince.

He stood above me, tall and broad-shouldered. Messy black hair fell in disarray around the edges of a silver half-mask in the shape of an eagle's face, the sharp bill curling over the lower half of his face. Dark eyes glinted at me from behind the mask, and a chiseled pair of lips turned up at the corners, the smile filled with love, relief—as if he'd traveled forever to see me again. I felt the same way, despite the big black horns curling from the nest of his hair and the glint of red in his eyes. He was dear to me. Precious.

Then the light shifted. It glinted off his silver armor, and the bright, cherry-red of fresh blood, which dripped from my shining prince in rivers.

His expression hardened, the lips that once smiled thinning to an angry line as my screams shattered me. My fists beat against hard metal armor. My nails tore lines across his exposed cheek and neck. Everything in me burned with betrayal. Loss. Pain. Lies.

I sat up, staring at the psychology book that lay open on my lap. Tears streamed down my face, and I reached for the box of tissues that lived on my nightstand these days. The haunting, aching sadness and rage slowly receded, leaving me spent and shaky. I blew my nose and flung the tissue into a nearby trashcan with more force than necessary.

Another dream. Of course another damned dream. And when I was supposed to be studying for my stupid psych exam. I ran a hand through my hair and glanced at the clock. Great. Midnight. I'd fallen asleep halfway through reviewing my notes. And I had to be at the hospital in six hours for my clinical rotation. I shoved the textbook off the bed, where it landed on the hardwood with a thump.

Fuck my life.

I only had six months left and I'd complete my nursing degree. So, of course the weird shit chose this moment to get weirder.

Stretching, I stood, pulled my t -shirt back down over my belly, and twisted side to side, cracking my back. Falling asleep sitting up was not a good idea. I glanced at the clock again, debating whether I should sleep or try to cram more material into my head.

"Fuck it," I muttered, kicking the book under my bed. If I didn't know it by now, trying to force shit into my head wasn't going to do me any good. I'd just have to pray for the best. If anyone was even listening anymore.

I shied away from the thoughts that always wanted to rise up and strangle me when I was feeling sorry for myself. Whatever gods existed, they didn't seem to care about insignificant things like me losing my parents, or Aunt Alva's battle with cancer.

Nope. I was on my own.

It was ironic, given how obsessed I'd been with Greek and Norse mythology, deities, and mysticism as a teenager.

I sighed and glanced at the anxiety meds on my bedside table. As much as I didn't want to go back to sleep after that stupid dream, I really needed to be alert for my clinical rotation tomorrow. My supervising RN at the hospital was a bitch on wheels. I couldn't afford to show any weakness. The meds would help, but I tried to take them only when I was having a full-on panic attack. I had other tricks up my sleeve.

I smiled as I went down the hall to the overly elaborate kitchen and got out a canister of homemade herbal tea. I had the strangest assortment of friends. One of my best friends was dating a guy who loved to cook and make strange herbal remedies. Con was a gem of a guy. Even though he fussed over me like he was my dad, I had to admit, his concoctions and home remedies were like magic. One cup of the aromatic tea he'd made me for stress, and I was out like a light.

I slept through what was left of the night without any more nightmares or weird dreams, and made it to my clinical rotation with some actual pep in my step.

In a few months, I'd be a nurse. Not bad for a dorky orphan. I spared a longing thought for my bookshelves full of history and occult stuff. I guess every kid has to give up on their weird fantasies eventually, right? Oracles and mythology might be fascinating to a four-eyed teenager with no friends. But that stuff wasn't ever going to pay the bills.

And...with Aunt Alva's medical expenses, we definitely had bills.

After eight hours of alternately being dressed down for being stupid or for being a know-it-all, I finally left the hospital and my harpy of a clinical instructor and hurried to the local college to take my exam.

Exhausted, and not entirely sure if I was failing at life and school or winning, I drove home and peeled off my scrubs.

I was standing in the shared bathroom of my apartment, staring at the big tub, when the floor fell out from under me. I found myself standing on the surface of a rainbow, looking out at a mass of black clouds that swarmed and writhed on the horizon, boiling toward me, bringing with them a rising terror that sank claws into my chest, making it hard to breathe. Fire covered the world below.

Monsters. Death. War was coming.

I snapped back to reality so fast it made me dizzy. Pressing a hand to my forehead, I sank to the floor, taking comfort in the feel of the cold river stone tiles under me. I was on solid ground. No rainbows. No ominous death clouds.

Just one fucked up RN student in a giant bathroom having a mental breakdown.

I opted for the shower, scrubbing off and trying to let the hot water and steam wash away my impending insanity. But it was going to take more than a shower to fix what was wrong with me.

I dried off and scurried to my room in my robe before any of my house mates could see me. I pulled on my best bra, my favorite stretchy jeans, and a low-cut t-shirt that showed off the right bits of my plump frame. Then I dragged a brush through my shoulder-length brown curls and made my way up to the third floor of our shared apartment. I needed help. And I was praying my savior would be home, not off working at the art gallery or the marine sanctuary. I pounded on the door and waited impatiently.

"Coming!" a soft, melodic voice called from within. "For the love of the gods, don't beat the fucking door down!"

The door was yanked open and I stared at Chike in relief. He didn't look like he was headed off to work or anything. His pale lavender hair was pulled up in a high, messy ponytail that reached his waist, and yoga pants and a loose t-shirt hung off his androgynous frame. Fuck, even looking like a hot mess, he was a hot mess.

"I need help," I said, pushing past him, ignoring his scowl. Chike was always scowling. It was his thing.

"Oh, right. Come on in, Troy," he said to the empty hallway. "Lovely to see you. Me? Nope, not busy or anything. Feel free to barge right in."

He closed the door and followed me into his room. I plopped on his bed and laid back to look at the amazing ocean mural he had painted on the ceiling. I'd seen it a million times, but I always found some new detail to marvel at. "We need to go out," I said, stuffing a pillow under my head as I noticed there was a shadow of a pretty, almost child-like face that I hadn't noticed before, peering at the dolphin from behind a rock. "Ooh...that's kind of creepy," I said, pointing.

Chike sighed and flopped down next to me. "Why are we going out?" he said, pointing to another face hidden behind a fan of sea kelp. "I just added them. I think they're...playful."

I grinned at him. "I love it. And we're going drinking because I'm stressed out and I'm probably losing my mind. I hallucinated rainbows today."

He turned his head to study me and I tried to look completely unaffected by the fact that his perfect face was inches from mine. "Rainbows? Sounds terrible. Let's get shitfaced."

I laughed as he kissed me on the forehead before he bounced off the bed. "Bar? Club? What am I wearing? Am I into women or men tonight?"

I sat up and watched him open his closet doors. Chike was...confusing. And annoying. And I loved him so much it hurt sometimes. Like when I let myself forget he was gay and that love with us needed to be the sister-best-friend sort of love. I was such a loser.

"Whatever you want," I said with a shrug. "I was thinking bar. But that means pulling out the fake ID."

He glanced over his shoulder at me. "This country is so weird about their drinking laws." Sometimes I forgot he wasn't from here. Apparently, he'd lived on some island in the middle of the Indian ocean until he was fostered with his family in Michigan.

"Won't matter much longer," I said with a grin. Chike had turned twenty-one last month, and I'd be twenty-one in another month. My fake ID was nothing to laugh at. When my shadier friends came through for me, they really came through.

"I guess I'll tone it down, if we're doing the bar," he muttered, yanking out his ponytail and pulling out a pair of jeans and a fresh t-shirt. "Give me a minute."

I watched him leave to get changed and wished he'd let go of that chip on his shoulder. Sure, Ontonagon started out as a podunk redneck town in nowheresville Michigan. But it had grown a lot in the last decade. Even in the four years since I'd moved here, I had noticed a lot of change. And not all of it was physical. Sure, there were new buildings and businesses and all, but the whole culture and outlook seemed to be changing too. I didn't really think the manly-man crowd at the bar would care if Chike didn't make an effort to fit in. I think he brought that baggage with him from wherever he'd lived before.

He returned wearing his "normal guy" outfit of a black t-shirt and jeans, and tossed his lounge clothes into the hamper. I smirked at him. He might be trying to tone it down, but really, it was a lost cause. Chike was going to stand out wherever he went, even if he didn't insist on lavender hair. He was just too damned pretty. "Ready, cupcake?" he said, slipping his wallet into his back pocket.

I nodded and got to my feet. I was so ready. Ready to forget the rest of my life even existed. No crazy hallucinations. No bitchy clinical supervisors or weird, irrelevant tests. Just me, Chike, and booze.