CHAPTER ONE

LARAMIE

The ferry lurched, and my stomach followed suit. I stumbled against the railing, clutching my carry-on like a life preserver while tourists bumped and shoved past to get their first glimpse of the island.

Fuck this entire trip.

Twenty-four hours of travel hell had left me a wreck. After holiday crowds packed like sardines, a freak snowstorm delaying my first flight, and mechanical issues on my connection, I half-expected locusts to descend the moment my feet met solid ground again.

I squinted against the bright Mediterranean sun and grimaced as tinny holiday music assaulted my ears. Clearly, someone thought blasting “Jingle Bells” at ear-splitting volume was the perfect welcome to this godforsaken island.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Ithara!” The captain’s voice crackled over the intercom, far too chipper for my liking. “Home of the world-renowned Sunrise at Elysia resort!”

I grunted something vaguely resembling “thanks” and shuffled off the ferry, joining the throngs mobbing for the lobby. The wheels of my suitcase caught on every cobblestone, each jolt sending fresh waves of nausea through my body.

I trudged through the revolving door, the sudden blast of air conditioning raising goosebumps on my arms. Gaudy decorations screamed cheer from every surface—twinkling lights spiraled up columns, shimmering tinsel dangled from counters and picture frames, and enough fake snow piled in the corners to bury a small village. It was like Santa’s workshop had vomited all over a Greek postcard.

And the line at check-in stretched to infinity. Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

Humans and monsters alike milled about, their excited chatter creating a dull roar that did nothing to soothe my pounding headache. I joined the queue, fishing my phone from my pocket to review the partnership proposal one last time.

“...but have you tried MythMatch?” A middle-aged woman’s voice cut through my concentration. I glanced up, spotting two ladies a few places ahead in line.

Her friend nodded eagerly. “Oh yes, but I always double-check my matches against the Monster Registry. You can never be too careful.”

I snorted. If they only knew the headaches that stupid registry caused our legal team. But hey, that’s what happens when you try to catalog and control an entire population of magical beings. Humans never learn.

“Smart,” the first woman agreed. “Though I hear that minotaur who founded MythMatch is quite the catch. What was his name again?”

“Kotos Mavridis,” I muttered under my breath, unable to help myself. My boss’s name had been splashed across every tech blog and gossip rag for years now. And why not? The last minotaur alive was a media darling even before developing a dating app to help myths and legends bump uglies.

The friend’s eyes lit up. “That’s it! I heard he might be here this week. Can you imagine?”

I could, all too easily. He was the whole reason why I was in this holiday hellscape instead of nursing a bottle of wine in my pajamas back home. Andreas Vasilakis, Elysia’s owner, was getting cold feet about the partnership between the resort and MythMatch.

Kotos demanded someone from his marketing department make the trip to schmooze at his side. The head of the department decided that someone should be me.

Only because everyone else had their holly jolly holidays stuffed more than Mrs. Claus, while I remained spitefully single and unwilling to mingle. Especially with department heads.

“Next, please!”

I shuffled forward, plastering on my best approximation of a smile. The concierge beamed at me, either oblivious to or politely ignoring my disheveled state.

“Welcome to Sunrise at Elysia! Name, please?”

“Laramie Scanlon,” I croaked, my voice rough from lack of sleep and too much recycled airplane air.

“Ah yes, Ms. Scanlon. We’ve been expecting you.” Her smile somehow brightened further. “Mr. Vasilakis asked that you be given one of our premium suites.”

Great. No pressure or anything.

The concierge handed me a key card, a small sprig of mistletoe dangling from the end. I stared at it, wondering if I could get away with “accidentally” dropping it in a toilet.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” she asked.

I attempted another smile. It felt more like a grimace. “Thanks. Is there a coffee shop nearby?”

“Of course! The Siren’s Song Cafe is just down that hallway.” She pointed to my left. “They brew the best espresso this side of the Aegean.”