Page 2 of Kael (Monsters & Mates #2)

Molsi shakes their head. “No details. But it must be important if Shanae took them all out there herself.”

Interesting. Shanae is no fool. If she’s personally escorting them, something about this situation is worth investigating. Saying that, the lightning storm seemed to last longer than usual.

“So, what you’re saying is, I should be prepared for some fresh chaos?” I muse.

Decca grins, all teeth and mischief. “Aren’t you always?”

Fair point.

I grab a wooden bowl as Molsi ladles some of the questionable stew into it. As I take my first hesitant bite, my mind is already turning over the possibilities. New rift, new creatures, and two more humans added to our ranks. One of them, at least, definitely not mine.

But what about the other?

And why do I get the feeling that everything is about to change?

A sudden commotion outside makes me pause, spoon halfway to my mouth. Heavy footsteps thunder through the hall, voices rising in an urgent, tangled mix of Glowranthian and English.

“Sonny!” A tall Trefite bursts into the mess hall, breathless. Their dark scales shimmer under the glow of the cave’s veins. “A human has been taken to headquarters.”

My stomach clenches. Headquarters isn’t here—it’s a short trek away, hidden but more exposed than our rebel accommodation.

“Taken?” I ask, standing. “By who?”

“They were found unconscious. Strange clothing—no pants, like many humans seem to favour. Shanae’s party found them. She went ahead with the majority of her crew. Sent two back with the unconscious human.” The Trefite pauses. Up close I recognise him as Dreink. “Varek sent for you.”

A sharp thrill rushes through me. I’ve been waiting—practically begging—for a real job here.

Something with purpose, not just the usual errands or menial tasks that keep me from going insane.

Back in Sydney, I worked as a nightclub promoter, which, let’s be honest, was mostly talking my way into free drinks and making sure drunken idiots didn’t vomit in VIP lounges.

Not exactly a skill set that translates well to surviving a rebellion in a monster-filled dimension.

It’s why I’ve thrown myself into training, pushing my body, learning to fight.

If war ever comes—hell, it’s already on the horizon—I want to be ready.

Because as a human, a Riftborn, I’m a target.

The ruling realm’s queen sees us as property, assets to be used however she damn well pleases. Captured, enslaved, experimented on.

No fucking thank you.

I slam my bowl down, appetite forgotten. “Let’s go.”

Decca and Molsi exchange a glance, but they don’t stop me or even ask me to clear up after myself. They know better. And yes, that means I’d sulk pretty phenomenally if I’m delayed.

“Thank you,” I throw over my shoulder as I follow Dreink out into the tunnels, my pulse thrumming.

A new human. Found unconscious. Taken to headquarters.

Something tells me this is exactly the kind of excitement I’ve been waiting for.

The tunnels twist and shift, damp air curling against my skin as we move.

Bioluminescent veins pulse gently along the rocky walls, casting eerie blue-green shadows that flicker with each step we take.

The path is familiar—I’ve made the trip to headquarters a handful of times—but there’s always a sense of unease travelling this far from the heart of our makeshift town.

Once we’re out of the tunnels, we’re exposed. Not just to the creatures that lurk beyond the cavern walls but to the ruling queen’s spies.

“You got any details?” I ask, my voice hushed despite the steady crunch of my boots against the stone floor.

Dreink glances at me, their overlong tongue flicking out briefly, tasting the air before we leave the confines of the covered tunnels and step into the daylight. “Only what I told you. The human was found unconscious. No obvious injuries, but their arrival is… odd.”

“Odd how?”

They hesitate. “Fredole, who brought them back to base, mentioned their body temperature was lower than normal. Plus, there was a dead Dlanwik nearby.”

I frown. “Strange.” Sure, there’s a lot of heat in this part of Terrafeara, but there are snowcapped mountains in the distance.

I’ve never got close to them myself, but Shanae told me the snow is almost identical to that on Earth.

The main difference is the flakes are more like tiny shimmering crystals, almost translucent in the sunlight, rather than the soft, fluffy flakes we know.

A dead Dlanwik close is also bizarre. They’re venomous creatures, and if one had bitten the human, they would definitely be dead rather than just unconscious.

Does that mean the human managed to kill it? Impressive as hell if they did.

But hold on. Did Dreink say they weren’t wearing trousers?

I roll my shoulders, anticipation tightening my muscles.

The human’s unconsciousness could mean anything.

Not everyone coming through the rift handles it well.

Some freak out, others attack whatever they see, and a few just go into some kind of stupor, completely zoned out.

Me? I wasn’t exactly graceful. Those first five days of trying to survive were a mess.

I’m pretty sure I spent half that time hiding in a bush, shaking like a leaf, and trying not to get eaten by whatever local wildlife thought I looked tasty.

But hey, at least I eventually figured out the whole “don’t die” thing.

This poor bastard? Seems like they didn’t get the chance to figure it out.

As we break through into the open field leading to headquarters, my eyes land on the structure in the middle of it all, and as always, I have to suppress a laugh.

The fucking bowling alley.

Of all the places that could’ve been ripped from Earth and spat out into Terrafeara, it had to be this.

A dated, neon-lit, old-school bowling alley straight out of an American suburban fever dream.

The first time I’d seen it, I thought someone was screwing with me.

A piece of Earth wedged into a monster dimension.

But now? It’s headquarters. A beacon in the underground.

A joke and a safe house all wrapped into one.

We step inside, past the dusty reception counter and the ancient vending machines filled with nothing but dust balls and rust. The place is dimly lit, the blacklight glow catching on the scratched-up walls where neon lights still flicker.

The lanes have long been repurposed, except for one—most are now training spaces, while other areas have been turned into war rooms and makeshift quarters for those being assessed.

At the far end, past the gutted snack bar, a small group is gathered outside the door to the small healing quarters.

Varek stands at the centre, his imposing frame making the others look small in comparison.

His vibrant purple skin shifts slightly under the glow, his silver eyes sharp as he turns to face me.

“Sonny,” he greets me, voice a deep rumble. “Good. We need to talk.”

My attention snaps to the cot inside the room.

A man.

He’s stretched out, unconscious, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. His dark hair is damp, clinging to his forehead, and his skin is pale—too pale. His lips are also chapped. But the thing that catches me most?

No trousers.

Not in the fun, sexy way. More in the “I got yanked through a rift mid-something” kind of way. He’s wearing a thin vest and boxers. I squint. Are those snow-boots?

I step closer, my curiosity outweighing caution. “They’ve been unconscious this whole time?”

Varek nods. “We checked for injuries. There are none. No bruising, no marks. But something isn’t right.”

I glance at the others in the room—a scout; Aeroth, our medic; and Reat, one of Varek’s trusted advisers. All watching. All waiting.

Something about this feels… different.

I swallow hard, pushing away the strange sense of familiarity crawling up my spine. “What do you need from me?”

Varek exhales, crossing his arms. “Shanae isn’t here. You understand humans better than anyone. We need you to talk to them when they wake.”

Excitement flares in my chest. It doesn’t matter that I’m the second choice. This is a real job. A real purpose. Something more than running messages or helping cook whatever the hell I just abandoned in the mess hall.

“I can do that,” I say, my voice steady.

Varek studies me a beat before he nods. “Find out what you can and keep them calm. I want to know who or what killed the Dlanwik.”

I bob my head. “I can do that.”

Without another word, he retreats, and I’m left with Aeroth, whose language—a bunch of clicks and hums—I can’t decipher. She can speak English, as well as Glowranthian, but I understand why she doesn’t like to if hand gestures can do just as well.

Time crawls as I sit by the unconscious man, watching for any sign of movement beyond the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. Nothing. Not even a twitch of fingers or a flutter of eyelids.

The only thing that shifts is my patience.

I risk a test, pressing the back of my hand against his forehead. An icy chill clings to him. His skin is so much cooler than mine, but his lips aren’t blue. That has to be a good sign, right?

With a sigh, I push to my feet. No point in hovering. Aeroth will let me know if something changes.

I step out, leaving the dimly lit room behind, and wander towards the back of the bowling alley, where the seating is actually comfortable. If I’m going to wait, I might as well do it with a book.

I barely have time to settle into a battered old chair, cracking open the latest novel I scavenged from one of the storage rooms, when a commotion stirs in the main area. Raised voices. Heavy footfalls. The unmistakable tension of something important arriving.

Peering around a small partition, I take in the newcomers.

A man. A kid—maybe ten, maybe fourteen? I’ve never been great at guessing ages. They’re accompanied by a Pyronox, the glow of their ember-like skin unmistakable, and a creature I’ve never seen before.

But what really grabs my attention are the two Glowranthian figures.

I suck in a sharp breath, my gaze falling on the shorter one first. Light blue skin, almost pearlescent under the dim lights, intricate symbols marking his uniform—royalty. Likely one of the princes.

Holy fuck. What the fuck is a prince doing here?

My heart kicks up a notch, but I don’t have time to dwell on it before my attention shifts to the Glowranthian beside him. This one is huge—towering and broad. His glowing bioluminescent markings are subtler than the prince’s, nearly hidden in the shadow of his massive frame.

A bodyguard.

Everything about him screams danger, from the way his nostrils flare as he scans the room to the way his muscles tense beneath his dark armour. The effect is both hypnotic and infuriating.

Before I can dwell on that thought, the human man turns and starts walking towards the room where the unconscious one is being kept.

That’s when it happens.

The Glowranthian bodyguard’s gaze snaps to mine, luminous eyes locking onto me with an intensity that pins me in place.

What the fuck?

Something sharp flickers across the prince’s expression, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Then the bodyguard’s eyes flare slightly before his entire posture shifts, his muscles tightening as his expression darkens.

He turns to the prince, murmuring something low in their native tongue, and then—just as quickly as he met my gaze—he looks away.

Pointedly.

My stomach twists.

Well, fuck you too.

But the interaction stirs a deeper unease in me, a reminder that since arriving in this world, royalty—the realm itself—has been my enemy. Our enemy. And yet here they are. Here, in our supposedly hidden headquarters.

What the hell is Varek doing letting them in here?