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.”
