THREE
The world snaps back into existence so abruptly that my stomach immediately files a formal complaint.
I stumble forwards, only avoiding a collision with the ground because the arm around my waist tightens.
For one disorienting second, the pressure of him is all I register.
Solid muscle. Warmth. The impossible size of him.
Then the shadows dissolve, unravelling into wisps of smoke that drift away on the wind until only the creature remains standing beside me.
My knees wobble.
Not because of him.
Mostly.
Probably.
Swallowing hard, I take a careful step away and focus on not throwing up. “Right,” I mutter. “I officially hate whatever that was.”
A cold gust of wind sweeps across the landscape and immediately steals every ounce of warmth from my body.
I shiver, and then I finally look around.
The forest is gone.
In its place stretches a vast valley carpeted in silver-blue vegetation that sways gently beneath the breeze.
Calling it grass feels inaccurate. The blades are thicker than anything on Earth, broad and faintly luminescent, rippling across the landscape like waves on an ocean.
Mountains surround us on every side, their peaks cutting into the green sky, and it takes me several seconds to realise why the view feels so strange.
Snow.
There’s a lot of snow.
The higher slopes are buried beneath it.
Entire mountain faces gleam white in the distance, yet somehow the valley itself remains untouched.
No frost covers the ground around us. No snowflakes drift through the air.
Just an icy wind that cuts straight through my ruined scrubs and settles deep inside my bones.
My teeth start chattering before I can stop them. “Oh, come on.”
Another gust hits, and the chattering gets worse.
The creature’s attention shifts to me immediately. I don’t miss it this time. The way his gaze moves over me. The way it lingers briefly on my torn sleeve and bruised shoulder. The way something dark flickers across his expression when another shiver runs through me.
Concern.
The realisation catches me off guard. Not because I doubt he’s capable of it. Because somehow, despite having known him for less than an hour, I’m beginning to suspect concern comes naturally to him.
Without a word, he turns and strides towards the rock face rising at the edge of the valley. My gaze follows him.
A cave entrance is tucked into the stone.
Of course. The terrifying shadow monster lives in a cave. Honestly, if he produces a collection of skulls next, I might start winning bingo.
The creature disappears inside.
A few moments later, he returns carrying a thick silver pelt draped over one arm. I stare, and he stares back. The wind chooses that exact moment to whip through the valley again.
When my teeth chatter loudly, the creature looks at me expectantly.
I sigh. “Fine.”
Normally, I’m firmly opposed to wearing unidentified animal remains. Today, however, survival is winning the argument by a considerable margin.
The moment I drape the fur around my shoulders, warmth envelops me. Not gradual warmth. Not the slow process of thawing out after standing in the cold too long. Immediate warmth. Deep warmth. The kind that sinks beneath skin and settles into muscle.
A soft sound escapes before I can stop it. The shadow monster’s gaze sharpens, and I pretend the sound never happened.
It absolutely happened.
The fur settles around me comfortably, impossibly soft despite its rugged appearance, and I stop feeling one step away from hypothermia.
“Thank you.” The words come out quieter than I’d intended.
His head dips slightly. The simple gesture does something embarrassing to my insides.
Bloody hell. I’m apparently attracted to the terrifying cave-dwelling shadow monster. The revelation should probably concern me more than it does. Instead, I find myself studying him while pretending not to.
The antlers.
The broad shoulders.
The dark skin that seems almost carved from stone.
The shadows still curling lazily around him despite the sunlight.
And his voice. Sweet baby Jesus, his voice.
Every word emerges rough and deep, carrying a rasp that settles somewhere low in my stomach and absolutely does not belong there. Given my current circumstances, finding his voice attractive feels deeply inappropriate.
Unfortunately, my hormones were clearly not consulted.
I clear my throat. “So. If we’re doing this whole mysterious protector thing, I should probably know your name.”
His gaze settles on me immediately. “The Hendroy.”
I blink, then blink again. “The Hendroy?”
“Yes.”
I wait. Nothing else follows. “That’s your name?”
“The Hendroy.”
I stare at him for several seconds before rubbing a hand over my face. Maybe it’s a title. Maybe it’s a species. Maybe everyone in this world has collectively agreed to make communication as difficult as possible.
At this point, who am I to judge?
“Well, the Hendroy,” I say, emphasising the words because they’re ridiculous, “I’m Iris.”
His gaze doesn’t leave mine. “Iris.”
The sound of my name in that deep, rough voice sends an entirely unnecessary shiver down my spine. Not from the cold. Definitely not from the cold.
“Iris.”
Something warm unfurls inside me as he says it again, slower this time, as though committing it to memory.
The thread between us stirs. The strange connection I’ve been trying very hard not to think about pulls gently beneath my ribs. Warm. Familiar. Comforting in a way that makes absolutely no sense.
For one impossible moment, I could swear he feels it too. His expression softens, just slightly, but enough that I suddenly understand why people write stories about dangerous creatures and the idiots who fall in love with them.
That feels like important information.
Terrifying information but important.
“So where exactly am I?” I ask, mostly because staring at him feels increasingly dangerous.
His gaze sweeps across the valley. “Terrafeara.”
The unfamiliar word settles heavily between us.
Not Earth.
Not Australia.
Not anywhere I’ve ever heard of.
The reality lands harder than I’d expected, because some stubborn part of me had apparently been hoping for a reasonable explanation. There isn’t one. I’m somewhere else entirely.
The fear tries to rise. Questions shove it back down.
“Okay,” I say carefully. “And you’re from Terrafeara?”
Something shifts in his expression. “No.”
That catches my attention immediately. “What do you mean, no?”
His gaze drifts towards the mountains. “Different world.”
I stare, then laugh. Not because anything is funny, but because apparently alternate dimensions have become a normal topic of conversation. “Of course.”
His attention returns to me. “Of course?”
“Why stop at one impossible thing when we can have several?”
For a heartbeat, he simply looks at me. Then the corner of his mouth twitches. It’s not quite a smile but close enough to make my pulse stumble. And suddenly, more than the shadows or the power or the terrifying reputation he undoubtedly deserves, that’s what I see.
A male who noticed I was cold.
A male who carried me somewhere safe.
A male who keeps looking at me as though I’ve become the centre of his universe.
The thought should send me running. Instead, it settles somewhere warm and dangerous beneath my ribs.
The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, which feels suspicious.
I’ve spent enough time around people to know silence usually means one of two things.
Either someone is angry, or they’re desperately searching for the right thing to say.
Yet standing here in the middle of an impossible valley on an impossible world with a terrifying shadow monster who apparently travelled here from an entirely different dimension, the quiet feels... easy.
The realisation should probably concern me.
Before I can examine that thought too closely, shadows spill from around the Hendroy’s feet.
I immediately straighten.
The dark tendrils slide across the ground like living smoke, curling through the silver-blue grass before gathering several feet away.
I watch, fascinated despite myself, as they begin pulling debris together.
Dry branches. Twigs. Dead vegetation. The shadows collect everything into a neat pile before retreating.
A second later, flames burst to life.
I blink.
The fire crackles cheerfully while the Hendroy looks entirely unbothered.
I look from the flames to him and back again. “You can make fire?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
“I can.”
“With shadows.”
“Yes.”
I stare at him.
He stares back.
The fire continues crackling.
“That feels backwards.”
A faint crease appears between his brows.
I gesture vaguely. “Shadows. Fire. Opposites.”
“They are useful.”
I can’t actually argue with that logic.
Before I can continue questioning the physics of magical shadow fire, the darkness stirs again. This time the shadows curl towards a flat section of stone near the cave entrance. Smoke swirls around it briefly, obscuring my view before dissipating.
When it clears, something resembling a chair remains. Well, chair-adjacent. It’s made from smooth dark stone and curved in ways no Earth furniture designer would ever approve of, but the intention is obvious.
The Hendroy gestures towards it. For a second, I simply stare, then something unexpectedly soft settles in my chest because nobody asked him to do that. Nobody told him I was tired and my muscles feel one shake away from collapsing. He simply noticed.
The awareness catches me off guard. “Thank you.”
His gaze lingers on me for a moment before he lowers himself onto a large stone opposite the fire. The movement draws my attention immediately. Partly because he’s still injured, but mostly because watching him move should not be as distracting as it is.
I blame the trauma.
And the dimensional travel.
And absolutely not the broad shoulders currently illuminated by firelight.
Wrapping the silver fur more tightly around myself, I settle onto my strange alien chair. It’s surprisingly comfortable, and the warmth from both the pelt and the fire begins easing some of the tension from my body.
Finally, I don’t feel as though I’m moments away from complete collapse. The feeling is dangerously nice.
“So,” I say after a moment. “How long have you been here?”
The Hendroy watches the flames. “Several sun cycles.”
When I groan, his gaze shifts towards me. “That tells me absolutely nothing.”
“It tells you several.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. The corner of his mouth twitches again.
Bloody hell, that almost-smile is becoming a problem.
I point at him. “You’re doing that on purpose.”
“I am not.”
“Liar.”
The amusement vanishes immediately.
Interesting.
Apparently teasing the terrifying shadow monster is safe.
Who knew?
The fire crackles between us as silence settles once more. Beyond the cave, the mountains glow beneath the fading light. The wind has eased, leaving only the occasional whisper through the strange silver vegetation surrounding us.
For the first time all day, I allow myself to think about it.
Everything.
The hospital.
The rift.
The forest.
The monsters.
The impossible world.
The fact that my entire life appears to have exploded without warning.
A hollow ache opens inside my chest, and I swallow hard. “Honestly, I think I’ve only been here...” I trail off, trying to estimate. “A few hours, maybe?”
The Hendroy goes very still. Not physically but something deeper. The shadows surrounding him pause as his gaze settles on mine. “No.”
I frown. “No?”
“You arrived today.”
“Yes. That’s what I just said.”
The look he gives me suggests I’m missing something obvious.
Then he says, “I felt you.”
The words steal the air from my lungs. “What?”
His expression remains completely serious. “I felt you arrive.”
For a moment, I simply stare. Then I laugh because it’s absurd. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
“It is.”
The certainty in his voice sends a strange ripple through me. The thread I’ve been trying very hard to ignore stirs beneath my ribs.
Warm.
Familiar.
Waiting.
“I was in the northern forests when you entered Terrafeara,” he continues. “I felt the moment you crossed.”
My pulse stumbles.
The way he says it makes my skin prickle in awareness. The same awareness that hit me when he touched me. The same awareness that keeps drawing my attention back to him. Back to the impossible certainty in those red eyes. Back to the way he keeps looking at me.
Not like a stranger. Not even like someone he rescued, but like someone important. The thought settles heavily between us.
A sudden memory surfaces.
The moment his hand closed around mine. The impossible connection. The possessiveness. His use of the word “mine.”
My stomach drops. “Oh no.”
The male’s gaze sharpens immediately. “Oh no?”
I open my mouth, then close it again. Because honestly, where do I even begin?
Hi, terrifying shadow monster. Why does touching you feel like being struck by emotional lightning?
Why does every instinct I possess keep insisting you’re safe?
Why do I suddenly feel less alone sitting beside you than I have in years?
None of those seem like questions I’m emotionally prepared to hear answers to.
The thread beneath my ribs pulls tighter. The fire crackles softly between us while his gaze remains fixed on mine, patient and unwavering. Waiting. As though he already knows exactly where my thoughts have gone, which somehow makes everything worse.
“You felt me arrive,” I say carefully.
“Yes.”
“And you’ve been looking for me since then.”
It’s not really a question. The silence that follows tells me enough.
Something shifts in his expression. Not guilt or embarrassment but certainty. The kind of certainty that makes my pulse do deeply concerning things. The kind that says this conversation means far more to him than he’s currently explaining.
I stare into the fire, which stubbornly refuses to provide answers.
When I glance back at him, he’s still watching me, still focused entirely on me. The terrifying part isn’t the attention itself. It’s how natural it feels, as though some part of me expected it.
Recognises it.
The warmth, the impossible pull, the connection that keeps humming quietly beneath my skin.
The way touching him felt.
The way being near him feels.
The way my body seems determined to relax whenever he’s close.
None of it makes sense.
Yet somehow, sitting here wrapped in a strange fur while an impossibly powerful male watches me from across the fire, it feels more real than anything else that’s happened since arriving in this world. Hell, probably long before that. Maybe ever.
And that should probably terrify me.
Instead, I find myself asking the question that’s been circling my thoughts for the past hour. “What aren’t you telling me?”