Page 1 of Entranced By the Nakken (Freedom, Love, Monsters #4)

Casey

Kastle Kaos Karaoke King read the little gold trophy, the last item in the last box.

Casey placed the golden microphone on the shelf above the twin-size bed with midnight blue sheets covered in Death Stars and lightsabers.

Casey never dreamed he would complete college at age twenty-nine just to wind up back in the small town of Lindahl, the sound of his dad arguing with the television mingling with the scent of mom’s cooking drifting up to his childhood room like a sensory buffet of nostalgia.

Logically, there’s nothing wrong with moving back home.

Many people do it at least once in their lives, but Casey had big dreams, big plans, and a big pile of student debt for a degree that didn’t fit into any of those fantasies.

Not that rock stars don’t need a business plan.

Casey wasn’t a rock star, though; he was a burnt-out college grad and the Karaoke King of Kastle Kaos, an intimate bar with the best cocktails in Seminole County.

With the unpacking done, he should get started on the laundry.

His parents hadn’t touched his room this whole time, which was thoughtful of them but also made him wonder if they’d expected this to happen.

Guess it was obvious he wasn’t that interested in business school.

It was a safe bet. A versatile degree, useful no matter the venture.

No one was actually passionate about it, though, right?

His business analytics professor would disagree.

Casey exhaled. He stared at the bed and considered flopping down for a nap. Fast forward a bit.

Deciding not to risk whatever dreamland his stress would cook up, Casey collected the empty boxes and headed downstairs. The moment his toes touched the shag carpet of the bottom floor, his senses collided against a wall of roasted meat. Basil, onions, beef. Fuck, even some homemade bread.

“Smells delicious, Mom,” Casey said as he crossed the kitchen to the garage door.

Mom yelped in surprise, her curls bouncing in their messy bun.

Casey barely resembled his mom, other than the thin, pointed nose, and thick eyebrows.

Where her eyes were emerald, Casey’s were hazel, though they looked unremarkable in typical indoor lighting.

She pressed a hand to her chest and scowled at him from her menacing five-foot frame.

Casey winced and bit back a smile. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Casey! I forgot—oh, let me give you a hand!”

“I can handle a few boxes, Mom.” Casey pushed open the garage door with his shoulder with a tad too much force. His foot stumbled off the steep step, but he caught himself. The boxes weren’t as lucky. They tumbled onto the concrete in a heap. “Fuck.”

His mom snorted. She’d resumed stirring the pot and watched him with a quirked brow, that look she gave him that was somehow both told you so and you poor dear at the same time.

“You’ve gotta learn to let people help you, dear,” she cooed. Real subtle, mom. As if his mere presence wasn’t enough proof that he could accept help.

“All right, then,” he challenged. “Once I’m done here, let me help you with dinner.”

“Psh!” Her head snapped back toward what she was doing. Casey smirked. Point to Casey.

“Oh, give your mom a break,” Casey’s dad’s voice boomed, deep and raspy from his one-sided argument with the news anchors.

As usual, he had no clue what was going on and automatically took his wife’s side.

Kind of cute, Casey supposed. “She’s excited to finally have one of her chickens in the coop to cook for. ”

“Yes. I’ve heard all your father’s compliments a thousand times. I need some new music for my ears.”

Casey folded the last box and shoved it in the blue bin. Mom was goading him into singing for her, and she would get exactly what she wished for. “Oh Mama, your cooking is the finest my buds have ever tasted, won’t you make me a bowl, and yes I do want a roll! Two rolls, actually!”

Mom snickered at his antics but waved a fresh roll his way and matched his pitch. “Like I didn’t know that already!” She arranged three bowls on the counter and spoke in her regular voice next. “You’ve been gone a while, but I know my son.”

“How do you know I haven’t changed? Nine years is a long time.”

“Sure, but unlike your sister, you at least visited. Besides,” she brought two bowls full of roast to the table where Casey and his father were getting comfortable.

“You can change all you want, and I’ll be thrilled to watch.

Like a caterpillar.” She beamed and kissed the top of his head. “My beautiful butterfly baby!”

“Missing Natasha right about now?” Dad joked, but Casey shook his head. Despite current matters bruising his ego, he was eternally grateful for his parents. Even if he was ready to move out. Again. Already.

“Nah, she’d eat all the rolls,” Casey said lightheartedly.

“Which is why I made a whole sheet!” Mom beamed so bright that nobody reminded her of the obvious fact Natasha wasn’t here.

Dinner was pleasant, and Casey appreciated that his parents didn’t push for information about his life, or worse, his feelings. They would let him bring stuff up on his own time, although he knew they itched for it worse than poison ivy.

“Thanks for dinner, Mom.” Casey kissed her cheek and cleared the table.

“Of course, dear. Leave the dishes in the sink, or I’ll have nothing to do tonight.”

Casey smiled at her one more time before heading to the hallway, where he snagged his heather gray hoodie and keys from the wall. “I’m going out. Need me to run any errands?”

“No, sweetheart.” His mom sounded closer than he expected and he turned to find her in the doorway, holding out his composition notebook and pen. He’d almost left without them. He accepted them and bent down to obey when she tapped her cheek for another kiss. “We love you, Casey.”

“I know. Love you too.”

Casey strolled out the door, between the house and his beat-up sedan, through the backyard, and past the tree line.

Lost in thought, it didn’t take long to reach his secret haven. His feet inherently knew the path, carrying him through the thick woods to the babbling brook, which he followed for a time until the stream was joined by another, and cascaded down a low-stepped incline of stones.

It was pretty, like a photo straight from a calendar of Florida’s infamously weird St. John’s River, and somehow, it was all his.

The only time Casey ran into another kid here, they weren’t human.

Covered in sparkling blue scales with a voice like heaven’s fucking harp, the creature was ethereal.

Casey could still hear their song like it was yesterday.

After testing the dryness of a rock a few feet from the edge, he set down his notebook.

Being back here was surreal, and a wave of heartburn or some shit fluttered through his chest as he stared into the shallow stream.

Lindahl boasted legends of an evil entity living in the water.

Being an old Scandinavian town that kept many traditions and folklore alive, the resident of the lake’s existence was woven into the town’s very fabric.

His senior year of high school, spirit week had an Underwater Day theme, and many variations of the malevolent water spirit showed up.

Others thought the silly story was a tall tale used to force caution in adventurous kids. Casey knew otherwise. Something lived in these waters, but it wouldn’t harm him. An evil spirit wouldn’t have saved his life.

Casey’s love for music dated back to the womb.

Probably. At six years old, Casey was obsessed with music.

That day, he was exploring the brook, taking unsteady steps on slippery rocks, using his young imagination to the fullest, when an enchanting sound distracted him.

The song captivated him so thoroughly that he didn’t notice the hungry bear fishing for dinner a few yards downstream.

The mysterious singer let out an ear-piercing wail.

Clasping his hands over his ears, young Casey’s attention had jerked up, catching sight of the charging bear at last. In the next unexplainable moment, the bear was drowning.

Young Casey looked everywhere for his songbird savior. He found them peering around a boulder but didn’t get the chance to shout his thanks before they took to the water, their scales glinting like crystals as two fins instead of feet propelled them deeper and deeper.

Nobody believed him. A helpful mer-person? A drowning bear? Clearly it was the overactive imagination of a child. Only his sweet mother believed him, always encouraging his fantasies. Being Polish as opposed to Swedish like her husband, Mom claimed it was a drowner or a wodnik. Best to leave it be.

That wasn’t what bothered Casey. That day, a hole burrowed deep into Casey’s soul. Maybe he craved closure. If he could say one thing to them, he would tell them how inspiring they were. Whatever tragedy gave birth to such a lament, Casey admired how they’d rendered it into something so divine.

Presently, Casey rolled up his jean cuffs and kicked off his tennis shoes, wading into the water. He was under no delusion that the creature would show up today, after all these years, but his inner child couldn’t resist an adventure.

The rocks were slick and covered in moss. Using low-hanging branches, he carefully ventured to the middle of the cascade and relished the way his presence disturbed the continuous tumbling of water over rocks, altering the course of nature.

The woods teemed with music. Nature’s song lodged in his chest, a spark of inspiration that had him humming along. He mumbled a few words, which progressed into lyrics, until he grinned at his genius and hurried back toward dry land to write it down before he forgot.

Almost to safety, Casey slipped. He grasped for a branch and felt a sharp sting as something sliced his finger.

“Fuck!” Steadying himself, a few drops of blood ran along his palm to paint the river. He took the last leap more carefully, then dusted his hands on his jeans.

He jotted down the words, not disheartened when they weren’t quite right. At least the idea was down, and he could build on it, which he did. For hours. He hummed, sang, wrote, and scratched through words in his notebook until he realized he was squinting in twilight’s waning light.

A hauntingly beautiful sound teased at his awareness, just out of reach.

Soulful. Seductive. Evocative. Fuck, it was everything, and everything he would never capture in his own music, but where was it coming from?

Every time he tried to latch onto it, the melody eluded him, like the water caressing his ankles…

Casey blinked, then blinked again. Oh, mother fuck. He’d fallen asleep! “Fucking fuck.”

For a moment, he felt the blinding fear that his parents would be angry with him for staying out too late. Then he remembered he was a grown-ass adult and sighed.

He gathered his things but couldn’t resist casting another wistful glance at the burbling stream, as though the frothy water held the key to whatever was missing inside him.