Page 11 of Kael (Monsters & Mates #2)

CHAPTER

FIVE

I have an hour.

One fucking hour to get my shit together before I’m expected to haul arse with Kael, the Glowranth who can’t decide if he wants to murder me or tolerate my existence. My stomach is in knots, but no way in hell am I making that obvious. I wanted adventure, right? I practically begged for it.

Well, here it is, and I’m one deep breath away from shitting myself.

As I make my way to my room, I leave the logistics of getting to Iris and her mate to Varek.

The Hendroy are isolated for a reason—especially Iris’s mate.

If anyone else tried to get near him, they’d be dead before they even had the chance to wave a white flag.

Lucky me, I’m the only one he might hesitate to rip apart.

Maybe.

Possibly.

Fuck.

It’s a four-day walk at least. That’s assuming we don’t run into anything that wants to eat us, stab us, or generally make life miserable. And Dawson? He’s barely hanging on. Will he even survive that long? I have no idea, and it’s not a question I want to dwell on right now.

I need to focus. Packing. Right. What the hell do I even take? Everything I own is salvaged or traded for, and none of it is exactly ideal for trekking across God-knows-what kind of terrain while dodging certain death. Food? Water? Weapons? How many weapons is too many?

I’m nearly at my room when I run into the new guy who I haven’t yet spoken to. Human. Tall. Broad shoulders. Wide grin. His eyes light up when he sees me, like he’s actually relieved. It puts me at ease.

“You must be Sonny,” he says, accent unmistakably Australian.

I blink, taking in the Akubra perched on his head. Shit, that makes me a little homesick.

“G’day,” I say, reaching out to shake his hand. “And you’re a tall drink of—” I stop mid-sentence as a massive red dude steps into view behind him. My brain short-circuits.

Pyronox.

I’ve never seen one in the flesh up close and personal, but there’s no mistaking the sheer size of him—all six-foot-plus, decked out in a leather kilt and strapped with more weapons than should be legally allowed.

I brace myself, half expecting him to snarl or growl or do something vaguely threatening. Instead, he beams at me.

“Humans are great,” he says, voice deep as hell. “You could be Jack’s friend.”

Alrighty then.

Jack—the Aussie—shakes my hand, still grinning. “Jack,” he confirms. “And you’re Aussie too? Bloody hell.”

“Small universe,” I quip.

He laughs, but I don’t have time to stand around and bond over meat pies and Vegemite.

“Listen, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve gotta move. The human you brought in—Dawson? He’s not doing great. I’m heading out to find a doctor.”

Jack nods, expression sobering. “You’re going with Kael, then?”

I pull a face, not even surprised that he knows that. News travels fast here in Dathanor. “Unfortunately.”

He looks surprised. “The Glowranth seems reasonable to me. Don’t get me wrong, the prince is a prick, but his guard seemed like he was at least rational.”

I snort. “Yeah, sure, if you like your reasonable with a side of broody and unpredictable.”

Jack chuckles, and then his expression turns thoughtful. “How are you travelling?”

I shrug. “On foot.” That’s really the only way to go. There are other modes, but most require energy use that we don’t have spare supply of here.

He whistles. “That’s rough. You want my horse? Geralt’s a good boy.”

Geralt? Great name. But hell no.

“Appreciate it, but I’ll pass,” I say, grimacing. “Last time I dealt with a horse, I was seven. Bastard bit my fingers. Haven’t trusted them since.”

Jack shakes his head, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “From one Aussie to another—can we trust the rebels?”

I don’t hesitate. “Yeah. There’s some arsehats, and the politics are a mess, but Varek saved my life. I owe him everything.”

He nods, mulling that over. “Good to know.”

I grin. “Keep your room locked, though. Fringt—little grey dickhead, Dreting species—steals anything he can tie in knots.”

Jack laughs, but if he knew what a nightmare it was trying to get by without a belt for a week while wearing pants two sizes too big because Fringt decided the leather strap was his new favourite toy, he wouldn’t find it so funny.

Time’s ticking. I clap Jack on the shoulder. “All right, mate. Gotta move.”

“Wait,” Jack says, and for the first time, his easy-going demeanour wavers. He hesitates, then glances at the Pyronox—his mate, I’m guessing—before looking back at me. “I—Solan and I—were hoping to talk to you before you left.”

I frown. “About?”

“How you got here. And the rifts.”

My stomach flips. Oh. I get it. He’s new here. It’s all overwhelming. But there’s something about the way he asks that throws me. Something too intense. His mate shifts closer, his easy, fanged smile dimming.

Jack exhales. “I want to know how to get back.”

My heart pangs. “There’s no way to get home.” My voice is quiet but firm. “Believe me. If there was, I wouldn’t still be here.”

Jack runs a hand down his face, looking frustrated. “It’s not for me,” he says finally. “It’s for my nephew, Jamie. He’s only twelve.”

My chest aches.

I glanced at the kid who’s stuck here yesterday, but twelve…. Fuck, that sucks. But thank Christ he has his uncle. At least he’s not alone.

Jack watches me closely. “Do you know how the rifts are caused? If they’re natural?”

I pause. “Natural? As in?”

He exhales sharply. “Could someone be causing them?”

Solan tenses, shooting Jack a wary look. “Careful,” he warns.

Jack doesn’t back down. Instead, he looks me dead in the eye and says, “Sonny is Aussie. If there’s anyone I can trust, beyond you, Jamie, and Calythra, it’ll be him.”

My brain spirals. Jack thinks someone is responsible for the rifts? For bringing us here? My heart kicks up in my chest.

Who ? Why ? How ?

It’s too much to process. Not when I’m about to head out. Not when Dawson is possibly dying. Not when I’m already running on fumes.

Solan must sense it because he reaches for Jack’s arm, gently pulling him back.

Jack exhales, giving me a reluctant nod. “We’ll talk when you get back.”

Well… at least he thinks I’m coming back. That’s more faith than most folks will have in me, I suspect.

He nods, and I head off, mentally running through what else I need to grab before I’m stuck with Kael for four days of trekking through hell. Focussing on that at least helps me push what else he said to me away.

I shake off my unease and continue further into the heart of Dathanor.

The cavern walls are rough beneath my fingertips as I trail my hand along them, the luminescent veins pulsing faintly in response to my touch.

They hum with warmth, casting a soft glow that lights the narrow passageway leading to my room.

Before this place was in Terrafeara, it had been underground in another world.

A hidden refuge ripped straight from one reality and stitched into another.

Sometimes I wonder what it must have been like before, when underground, when surrounded by a floating lake or river.

Amongst all the terror here, I can’t help but wonder how life would have been if I’d ended up in a different dimension from this one.

But I don’t have time to get philosophical about the cool, otherworldly badarsery of my surroundings. I have less than one hour before I’m expected to leave with a Glowranth who might very well kill me before the trip is even over.

Or worse—make me embarrass myself to death first. Because let’s be honest, the big blue dude affects me, so of course my go-to is finding new and wonderful ways to humiliate myself.

I reach my room and start sorting through the mess I call belongings. Not that I own much. Everything I have, I either salvaged, stole, or traded for. And very little of it screams “appropriate for trekking through God-knows-what terrain while fighting off nightmares and trying not to get eaten.”

Still, I do my best.

Clean undies. Because I may die, but I will die with dignity. Thick socks. Because blisters are a bitch. Sturdy walking boots I’d traded for something ridiculous (was it a broken radio? A spoon? Who even knows anymore). My weapons—because I’m not an idiot.

The dagger is my favourite. Small, deadly, and fits perfectly in the sheath at my waist. Close combat isn’t ideal, but I’m short and wiry, which makes me fast. If I’m going to go down, at least I’ll make it interesting.

With my pack mostly sorted, there’s only one thing left to grab—food.

The mess hall is buzzing when I step in, and for the first time in my life, I seem to be the main attraction. Conversations lull, heads turn, and I hear my name whispered in the usual mix of concern, amusement, and barely concealed bets about whether or not I’ll survive.

“Good luck,” someone says.

“Try not to die,” another chimes in helpfully.

Wow. So much faith in me. Really warms the heart.

Molsi and Decca are waiting for me near the food prep area, and the second they see me, I can tell they’re anxious.

Molsi, their greyish skin shifting in patches of nervous agitation, clicks something in their native tongue before shaking their head. “You are going to get yourself killed.”

Decca’s fingers curl into fists as she exhales sharply. “You don’t have to do this.”

I wave them off. “Pfft. I’ll be fine.” Then, because I hate the lump forming in my throat, I add, “Besides, someone has to go save Dawson’s cute butt. He’s a sweetheart. Just wait till you meet the guy.”

Molsi rolls their eyes but hands me a pack of food, the contents inside suspiciously lumpy and of unknown origin. I don’t ask questions.

“Eat it,” Decca orders. “Even if it looks back at you.”

I take it with a theatrical grimace but with real gratitude. “You guys are the best. Kinda, maybe love you. Probably gonna miss you. Fuck off.”

Molsi’s lips twitch. “Touching.”

But then Decca hands me a second pack, and my stomach sinks. “For Kael.”