Chapter 1

Never underestimate a sister's power to irritate. No matter how logical or well-intentioned the advice, it's probably going to start an argument. Even though we're all well into adulthood now and should know better.

"I'm just saying you should hydrate."

"You're so bossy," Ali retorts.

I roll my eyes, though I can't quite keep from smiling. Ali's nose wrinkles in frustration, and the little crease between her eyebrows tells me it's from my constant reminders to hydrate. Lana's a mess, half-asleep already after crying her eyes out. Neither one of my sisters seems overly thrilled with anything right now, and smiling while they're upset feels shitty but… we're safe. Lana's safe and finally away from her prick of an ex. She sighs in her sleep, and I rub my hand against her upper arm, like I used to when she was a tiny toddler, when our mom left and our dad was too busy to really be there.

We're all together. For the first time in way too freaking long, we're all within arm's reach, and it makes me so happy I could cry. My baby sisters, the loves of my life, the two people I think about and worry over more than anything in the world, all together on our annual camping trip to New Mexico, though it's the first one we've been on in ages.

I frown as Ali winces, the dry desert air turning crisp as evening rolls on around us.

"I'm telling you, it's not just dehydration. Just because you're a nurse and work with people and I work with animals doesn't mean I don't know what dehydration feels like," Ali grouses, rubbing her stomach. "This feels weird. Like food poisoning… but without the stomach pains."

I raise a hand, brushing my palm against Ali's forehead before she ducks away, scowling.

"Stop it, I don't have a fever." Her eyes narrow. "You can't tell me you don't feel that… Lana said she did, too."

I twist my lips, raising my hand to my own face instead.

Because I did feel it.

A tug, near the bottom of my ribs. Too high to be the sharp stomach pain that precedes acute food poisoning, too low to be lung related, too widespread across my torso to account for a number of other issues. I frown.

"I knew you felt it," Ali says through a massive yawn. "I can tell by where you're smooshing your hand against your stomach, and that look on your face."

"I may have felt something," I say slowly. "Do you think the food was off?" It didn't hurt exactly; there were no violent contractions that might indicate a serious food-borne issue. Still, I didn't like that we both had the same strange symptoms.

The world lurched, the stars blurring in the sky.

"Tell me you saw that." Ali's hand braces against the ground, fingers splayed and nails digging into the earth like she's trying to hang on. Lana stirs in her sleep, and I blink rapidly, fighting through a sudden wave of exhaustion.

Ali slumps, her light blonde head lolling as she leans into me.

I look up, trying to stand, the stars blurring in the dark expanse of New Mexican sky once more. The red dirt swims under me, and my breathing turns ragged.

I need to call 911. I need to call the park rangers and tell them we're sick, hallucinating. Maybe there's some kind of toxic gas. Even as my nursing training kicks into high gear, though, my brain slows down, my breathing evening out. I'm so tired.

Maybe I'll just take a little nap, and then call for help once I've rested, just a little.

Part of my brain screams that sleeping is a mistake, that it will turn deadly and I'm going to fail my sisters, that I'm going to get us all killed if I don't get up and call 911.

But that tug, insistent and fierce, grabs my middle, and the thought vanishes from my head. I can't fight the fog of exhaustion, and even as I close my eyes, world blurring around me, I wonder if this is the last time I'll ever see it.

Sun streams through my lids, and I try raising a hand against my eyes to block it. It's hotter than it seems like I should be, and I swallow against the sleep clogging my throat.

"Lana?" It comes out a whisper. "Allie?"

My awareness of my body comes back next, a massive headache splitting my skull. The pain, more than anything, is what brings back the memory of intense worry, of illness.

The headache must be part of it.

Panic jolts me, and I sit up, sputtering, blinking and coughing.

Arms hold me firm. I'm being held. The sun behind the figure is too bright for me to make out any details beyond the silhouette of massive shoulders and a face cast in shadow.

The size of the man alone—the muscles—makes me sag in relief because with muscles that size? He's gotta be a firefighter. They found us.

Thank. God.

"What happened?" I ask. My vision swims, and I cup a hand over my eyes. Every minute, the headache recedes a little, and I'm weak with the relief of it. "Poison gas? Food toxin?"

The man grunts, his fingers tightening on my chest, my thigh. "Portal."

I tilt my head, squinting up at him, at the strange shadow protruding from his… forehead? They look like horns, which is insane. Maybe he's a sports fan, and it's game day and he's cosplaying as his favorite mascot… or something. My nose wrinkles.

"Am I hallucinating?" I reach a hand up, a groggy, fuzzy feeling making me dizzy. I close a hand around the shadow. Nagging worry immediately resumes, because the shadows? They felt like actual horns. Not a hat, not a helmet.

He lets out a hiss, and I retract my grip immediately.

Confused, I squirm and place a palm against the man's bare chest

Bare.

What kind of fucking emergency responder would be bare-chested? What kind would be wearing legit horns on his head, like some goddamned Halloween costume?

"What the fuck is going on?" The words slam out of me, and I writhe in his grip.

"Easy, easy there," he murmurs, his voice deeper than any I've ever heard before. "I'm not going to hurt you, little one. You have traveled far. You need rest." Despite the firm hold he has on me, his hands are gentle.

None of his explanation makes any sense, least of all him calling me little one. I'm a tall girl, just shy of six feet. Also, creepy much?

I gulp, still wriggling, still trying to get free. A shadow falls over us, and I blink rapidly, sucking in great breaths as my eyes and brain struggle to adjust to what the fuck ever is going on. Without the sun in my eyes, I can finally make out the face of the man holding me.

Except, I'm not entirely sure man is the correct descriptor.

The horns aren't a costume, or if they are, they're better than any costume I've ever seen. They jut from his forehead, the flesh slightly raised where they've broken through. A wave of dizziness rushes through me.

My jaw drops, and I stop writhing, completely in shock. I blink again, like that will somehow change what I'm seeing.

It doesn't.

My gaze dips to his steel blue eyes, which, despite the furrow between them and the stern set of his mouth, are soft, and curious. A rugged beard covers his jaw, a thick brown just a shade redder than the long hair tied back on his head. His nose is too broad, his lips too full to be conventionally handsome.

Still—there's something attractive about him. Something magnetic.

The thought tumbles through my head, immediately chased off by the realization I'm not in New Mexico anymore. That, or this is some kind of coma dream. I'm ninety-nine percent sure I remember reading a medical journal article that discussed something like that.

Okay, maybe seventy percent sure.

My eyes grow round as I soak in my surroundings. Rustic two- and three-story buildings line a cobblestone street. The ground floors are mostly made of stone, too, the second and third stories some combination of stucco and crossed timbers. Diamond pane glass windows glitter as the sunlight strikes them, and I catch curious faces staring out of a few.

"What in the Game of Thrones is going on here?" Pain wracks my head, and I wince, rubbing my temple.

"Do you come from a world where there are many thrones, coruscant?" the horned man asks. He has a lilting accent, not like any I've ever heard before. I swallow, because this coma dream is all-too-fucking-real.

The scent of woodsmoke permeates the medieval-looking village, and clouds of it puff from stone chimneys jauntily peeking out from thatched roofs. We pass a wide-eyed vendor, dried herbs hanging from a canopy overhead. Another sells skewers of meat, the spiced smell so strong it makes my eyes water.

I swing my attention back up to the man holding me, completely and utterly overwhelmed.

"Tell me what's going on," I croak.

It doesn't take my nursing degree and years practicing to know I'm staring down extreme shock. My physical and mental state tell me this isn't a dream. That and the way his hands feel on my body.

It's too much.

It's too real.

He frowns down at me, the creases in his forehead deepening. "You realm-walked, little coruscant. Was it not intentional?"

His deep voice rumbles from his chest into my body, his odd accent sending shivers down my spine. I cock my head, wondering at his archaic phrasing. The horns. The village straight out of a history book.

"Realm-walked?" My voice is steady, despite the torrent of my thoughts. Nothing like working emergency medicine for a decade to sand off any nervous tells.

"You did not know." It's not a question, and he snorts a bit, shaking his head from side to side.

I watch his horns warily. They look pointy. They look fucking dangerous.

My sisters could be in danger.

"Put me down," I tell him, my voice finally cracking.

He arches an eyebrow, his feet coming to a stop. He doesn't utter a word, simply deposits me on my feet in the middle of the quaint little street. If I weren't on the verge of a complete mental breakdown, I might want to poke into some of the adorable shops. Maybe it's a sign I am on the verge. Shopping, in a time like this?

A woman watches from one such doorway, her eyes darting from the glass she's polishing to where we stand.

"My sisters." My heart's beating too fast. I lick my lips, and his gaze slides to my mouth. "I have to get back. I have to get back to New Mexico. My sisters need me. I don't know where the fuck I am, but I can't stay here."

"You have a filthy mouth." He stares at me for a moment.

"Get over it," I tell him. My gaze dips to his bare chest, with packed on muscle, the kind that speaks to years and years of hard work. "At least I have a shirt on."

Of all the things to comment on. Ugh. I sway a little, exhausted for no reason.

"Aye, that you do." His gaze travels down my body, and I swallow.

"My sisters are going to wonder where I am. I need to take care of them… you don't understand."

"Your sisters… they are grown women, yes?" Steel blue eyes narrow.

"It doesn't matter." I clutch at my head, the headache blooming furious now. "They need me." God, poor Lana. What if she wakes up and I'm not there? I'm the oldest. I've taken care of them ever since our mom left us and our dad was too obsessed with work to see what they needed.

They still need me.

A choked sob makes its way out of my throat, and I'm shocked to find tears coursing down my cheeks.

I don't remember the last time I cried.

"You need rest," he says, and when he picks me up again, I lace my arms around his neck, crying openly. "It is not an easy thing to travel between the realms, is it now, coruscant?"

"Between realms," I repeat, my wet cheek pressed against his shoulder. A memory unearths itself, of my father lecturing us on the stars, on astrophysics, on theories about parallel dimensions, while I tried to make sure my sisters ate enough between bites of my own.

I thought it was stories. I thought at most it was science fantasy theory. A chill rolls down my spine, and it has nothing to do with the balmy temperature.

"I'm not on Earth anymore," I finally manage.

"Aye, that you're not, coruscant. Welcome to Vraya."

"Is that this town?" I look around, seriously faint.

"No. This is Westshear. This is my territory."

"Right." I peel away from him slightly, hiccupping. "Westshear. Got it." His territory… which makes him in charge here? The mayor? The king? Who fucking knows?

"Aye." He grins a little. It's the first time I've seen him smile, and it softens the brutality of his features. "The world, the realm, is Vraya. And you're in the thick of it now, coruscant." His accent reminds me slightly of a brogue, but not quite. Just like this village is almost medieval, but not quite.

Just like I'm not losing my mind, not quite.

"Breathe, coruscant."

"Great," I say, reeling. There's too much happening in my brain to even worry about whatever the hell he's calling me. I've somehow traveled realms, dimensions, whatever.

Leaving Earth and my job and my life and my sisters behind.

Great.

I mean, what the fuck else am I supposed to say to that?