Page 3 of Kael (Monsters & Mates #2)

CHAPTER

TWO

He’s warmed up, at least, his skin no longer cool to the touch. The poor guy has the worst case of chapped lips, though. A blanket is tucked up to his chest, covering his bare legs, and his snow-boots, which Aeroth and I removed, are on the floor near the closed door.

Aeroth is out of the room, which is probably a good thing.

We have no idea who this man is, when he arrived, or what he’s been through.

Though based on the gossip I’ve heard while waiting, I think he came through at the same time as the guy wearing an Akubra (so I assume he’s Aussie) and the kid who’s with him, which means he’s not from this morning’s rift. But that’s not even the big gossip.

Apparently, this guy is the prince’s mate.

Like, what the fuck? For one, poor guy.

The prince and his family—the queen in particular—are the reason why we’re at risk, are hiding, and this whole rebellion was formed in the first place.

And two? He’s found his fated mate, or at least, his fated mate’s found him. Not to sound like a jealous bitch, but how the fuck is that fair?

Okay, so maybe I’m feeling a little hard done by. Not that it’s his fault, so I’ll keep my self-pity locked away tightly.

But back to the guy who’s slowly waking up. Trying to keep him calm while promising him he’s safe and building his trust so I can get answers is my job… my mission. And I intend to impress the hell out of Varek.

Doing so might actually get me away from being a general dogsbody. Not that I’m not willing to support the settlement however is needed, but still, being pulled in so many directions is frustrating.

Another groan and his eyeballs move rapidly behind his eyes before his lids flicker.

“Hey,” I say quietly, wanting to forewarn him that he’s not alone. “You’re safe. Just take your time opening your eyes, but know that you’re in our compound and you’re safe here.”

He stiffens. Completely. Like a deer caught in the headlights, or more accurately, like a bloke waking up in an unknown place, surrounded by God knows what, and realising he might be royally screwed.

Yeah, that tracks.

I hold up my hands in what I hope is a universal I-come-in-peace gesture. “Hey, mate, you’re safe. Just breathe, yeah? No one’s gonna hurt you.”

His breathing is shallow, chest barely moving beneath the blanket, his wide eyes darting around the dimly lit room. When he spots the boots by the door, his whole body tenses further, like he’s bracing for something.

Right. Reassurance time.

“Look, I get it. This place is weird as hell. Trust me, I had a full-blown existential crisis when I landed here. Thought I’d actually carked it and was in some kind of purgatory for all the times I skipped paying my club bar tab.

But, nah, turns out, it’s just another world.

Lucky us, right?” I give a dry chuckle, hoping humour might break through whatever terrified spiral he’s in.

His gaze finally flicks to me, wary but slightly less frozen. I take that as a win.

“So, uh, I’m Sonny. Aussie. Club promoter from Sydney. Got sucked into this joint thanks to a lightning storm that nearly made me crap my undies.” I gesture vaguely to the ceiling. “Long story. But the point is, I know what it’s like to wake up here and have no bloody clue what’s going on.”

His throat bobs as he swallows. He’s still tense, but some of the sheer panic is fading from his face. That’s good. He’s listening.

“How about you? You okay?” I ask. “Or, well, as okay as someone can be when they’ve just been yeeted through dimensions?”

His lips part, and for a second, I think he might stay silent. Then, finally, he speaks. “I’m okay. Achy, but I’ll live.” The sound of his voice makes me jolt.

Australian. No mistaking it.

Well, bloody hell. He definitely must have come through with the other Aussies.

“Where in Aus you from?” I ask, leaning forwards slightly. “Sydney? Melbourne? Please don’t say Brisbane, or I’ll have to start treating you with mild suspicion.”

He hesitates, then rubs a hand over his face, fingers lingering at his temples like he’s nursing a headache. “Western Australia,” he finally says, voice hoarse. “Yallingup.”

I blink. “Never heard of it. Sounds made up.” I keep my voice light and teasing.

His lips twitch—like, the tiniest fraction of a smirk. If I weren’t paying attention, I might’ve missed it.

“It’s real,” he mutters. “South of Perth. Small town.”

I nod like that means anything to me. “All right, so what were you doing when you got rifted?”

His brow furrows. “Rifted?”

“Yeah. That’s what we call it when the big flashy alternate-dimension storm tears through the land and effectively hoicks it out and swaps it for a piece of Terrafeara. Makes it sound less horrifying.”

He exhales sharply, then shifts under the blanket. “Terrafeara?” His skin pales. “What the hell kind of name is that?”

A snort of a laugh bursts from me. Okay, I think this guy and I are going to get along just fine. “Stuff of nightmares, right? As far as dimensions go, its name pretty much sums up the kinda monsters out here. The good news is, they’re all out there and can’t get into this place.”

He nods, looking mildly less horrified. “I wasn’t in WA when it happened,” he says. “I was in Portugal. Serra da Estrela. Heading out to snowboard.”

I stare at him. Then at his snow-boots. Then back at him.

“You’re telling me you were in Portugal? Like, actual Europe? On a mountain? About to have a bougie little ski trip? And then—poof—you wound up here?”

He nods slowly, like he’s piecing it together in real time. “Yeah. One second, I was putting my gear on. Next, there was a storm, and I was… here. But still there? Like a piece of the mountain came with me and was planted in a forest that was humid as gloopy soup.”

I let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s new.” I focussed on his location rather than the burning question about his cool temperature when he arrived.

He frowns. “New?”

“Yeah. As far as we know, the rift’s only pulled people from the same general area back home. Usually a couple of kilometres. But Portugal, another continent? That’s a first.” I pause. “Also, you snowboard?”

His frown deepens. “Yeah?”

I shake my head, mildly offended. “What is it with WA guys and extreme sports? You blokes just come out of the womb ready to climb cliffs and throw yourselves down mountains?”

His shoulders relax—just a little, but enough for me to notice. “We like adventure.”

“Mate, there’s adventure, and then there’s getting sucked into an alternate universe where monsters roam and some prince bloke apparently wants to claim you as his soul mate.”

His entire body locks up again. Oops. Maybe I shouldn’t have dropped that last part just yet.

“Right. That’s another thing we need to talk about,” I mutter. “But first, what’s your name?”

He hesitates, then finally says, “Dawson.”

I nod. “All right, Dawson. Let’s figure out what the hell’s going on with you.”

I study Dawson as he shifts slightly under the blanket, his face screwing up like he’s only just realising how sore he is. “You hurting anywhere in particular?” I ask. “Or is it an all-over kind of ache?”

His brow furrows, and for the first time, his eyes—deep brown and currently suspicious as hell—land on me properly. “Bruised, I think. But… not dying.”

I snort. “That’s a pretty low bar, mate. Hungry? Thirsty?”

At the mention of thirst, he swallows thickly. “Water. Please.”

“Coming right up,” I promise, pushing up from my seat. “You want food too? Something bland to start?”

He hesitates, like he doesn’t trust the idea of eating yet, but then nods. “Yeah. That’d be good.”

I make it halfway to the door before his voice, hoarse but steady, stops me.

“I, uh… I got attacked.”

I turn back, raising a brow. “That’s… not shocking. This world is basically a wildlife documentary where everything wants to eat you, electrocute you, or melt your face off.”

He lets out a laugh—dry, short, but it’s something. “Yeah, well. This thing nearly had me.” His gaze flickers, like he’s reliving it. “Freaky-looking bastard. Skin all grey and blotchy, arms too long, big creepy mouth but no lips.”

I stare at him. “Oh, mate. You ran into a Dlanwik?”

“A what?”

“Dlanwik. Fast, sneaky, and venomous as all hell. If one of those things bit you, you wouldn’t be having this conversation. You’d be….” I mime keeling over dead.

His face loses a bit of colour. “Oh.”

“So how the fuck did you kill it?” I ask, because now I’m really curious.

Dawson shifts awkwardly and clears his throat. “Uh. Pure luck.”

I cross my arms. “Do tell.”

He lets out a slow breath. “I was kinda backing up. Trying to keep distance, ’cause the thing was fast and all wiry, like a pissed-off spider with arms. And then I tripped on a tree root.”

I wince. “Shit.”

“Yeah. Fell flat on my arse. And the thing pounced at me. So, in pure panic, I grabbed the first thing I could find and just swung as hard as I could.” He pauses.

“Turns out, I grabbed a rock. A very large, very jagged rock. And I swung it straight up as it lunged, caught the bastard right in its creepy mouth.”

My eyes widen. “You bashed its face in?”

“Pretty much. Brain trauma, I guess? Thing made this awful gargling sound, flopped around a bit, then stopped moving.” He makes a vague motion with his hand. “I just sat there, hyperventilating, trying to figure out what the fuck I’d just done.”

I blink, then burst out laughing. “You one-hit KO’d a Dlanwik with a rock?”

He mutters, “Not my proudest moment.”

“Mate, that’s amazing. That’s like some ‘caveman defeats alien invader’ type shit. You should be proud.”

Dawson just shakes his head, mumbling something about how this world makes no sense.

“And how’d you end up unconscious?”

“Must have knocked my head when I fell. I know I walked away from where I killed that thing. Not sure how far I made it before everything went black.”

I wince. “Well, you’re here now. Sit tight. I’ll get that water and food. And hey—no more wrestling monsters, yeah?”