Sunlight belts down from the clear sky above us, and we are boxed in by enormous bronzed trees, their branches coated in large, deep green leaves, their trunks spattered in moss. The forest blends into the distance and if I closed my eyes, the crisp song of spring birds dancing in the air around us would almost be peaceful. But my eyes are wide open and on the hulking great male beneath my crimson-coated hands, seeping blood into my favourite work shirt and smelling like sunshine and my front lawn.

"Shit," mutters a woman to my right. She hesitates slightly as she reaches for the man, noticing me for the first time. She looks thunderstruck before she takes a step back, eyes widening. "Oh gods, you're here," she whispers, looking to Angry Eyes as she speaks.

I peel the blood-soaked shirt away from his skin. The fabric is heavy and tacky, clinging to his rippling bicep with a sickening suction. Gross. I expect to see a mangled mess of muscle and bone. Instead, a gasp escapes me. Despite the sheer volume of red staining the cotton of my work blouse, the tanned skin beneath is flawless—unmarked and smooth, as if the wound had never existed. I fling the shirt to the ground beside me and stand up quickly. What is going on? I must have fallen asleep on the porch. Dreams be dreaming tonight. I shake my head and take a moment to assess the group before me.

Angry Eyes is tall, like weirdly tall, and fucking devastatingly beautiful. His mussed dark hair falls across his brow and his piercing eyes seem to be looking into my very soul. I stare back into them and notice they are the darkest hunter green with specks of silver lightning sparkling across them. His broad shoulders and cut physique are barely masked by his loose tunic and leather pants. Twin swords are strapped to his back along with daggers tucked into sheathes on his powerful thighs. A picture of deadly perfection. A weapon honed over centuries. I study his face. Freckles are sparsely sprinkled across his strong nose and a muscle feathers in his jaw as he glares back at me, exhaling slowly through his nose, his whole body trembling. I rip my eyes from the devastating warrior and assess Thunderstruck.

She is a different kind of perfection. Smaller than Angry Eyes, she emanates a sense of wellbeing masked in danger. Her red tresses fall in waves across her shoulders and down her slender back. Flushed cheeks and a small scar along her jawline are the only marks on an otherwise flawless face. She looks as though she has walked off the cover of a fitness magazine, her sleeveless tunic and leather pants hugging every curve of her lithe body. She stares at me with bright slate blue eyes darting between mine, a mix of wonder and disbelief coating her delicate features.

Mr Fix-Himself is ripped. The arm that soaked my shirt, apparently less so. His skin is tanned a deep golden bronze, stretched over a jaw that could cut glass and shoulders that have absolutely no business being that broad on a man bleeding on the ground. His golden hair is a thick tantalising mess and even unconscious, he looks like his smile would make your toes curl.

Of course I have been kidnapped by characters from a fantasy novel. Honestly, I am disappointed my imagination wasn't more creative.

"Well this has been fun,” I declare as I move to walk away.

A low laugh cuts through the clearing "Yeh, that isn't happening".

My anger swells as I whip around to glare at Angry Eyes. "Look, I dunno what the fuck this is," I use my hands to indicate the distance between us, "but I have lunchboxes to pack, so …" I turn to walk away but a groan draws my attention to the male on the ground.

I gawk as eyes of swirling turquoise widen once again as they look at me and I am suddenly made fully aware that I am standing before these people in nothing more than my bra and work pants. Awesome, all my stretch marks and love of cake on display for a menacing and well-toned man and his band of whatever the fuck these people are. I roll my eyes and look to the sky. Standing in front of strangers in my underwear? Seriously? My imagination is more exhausted than I am. I rake a hand down my face and sigh as his eyes rake over my body. He takes in the soft curves of my stomach and hips, marred with lightning scars courtesy of carrying two beautiful wild little boys, and if I am honest, of thoroughly hating cardio. I thank the fashion gods that my high-waisted work pants cover the slash across my lower abdomen where my boys made their way into the world — it's a scar I am proud of but not one for anyone's eyes but mine. His eyes continue their journey across my ample chest, one of the perks of loving cake really, before they settle on my eyes. He stares deep into them as though hoping to see into my soul. A sense of unease tingles in my body and I hold my arms wide, narrow my eyes and flick my head at him. Daring him to say something. A flash of devastation glimmers in his eyes before he furrows his brows, clears his throat and tears his gaze away.

"We made it then?" he asks Angry Eyes, jumping to his feet. As he waits for his response he pulls his mustard yellow tunic from his back and hands it to me. Brilliant, even in my dreams I'm the laundry lady, figures.

"What the fuck were you thinking, Aldric?" He shoves the not-so-wounded male, "We barely got you before anyone noticed. How could you be so fucking reckless?"

Aldric? Why does that name sound so familiar? Wait, how did I understand them? On my lawn he spoke in a language I did not know that felt familiar, which is disorientating enough but now? Did I know another language? How? Shit this dream is actually something else. Bravo, imagination. I shake myself and release a breath, turning my attention to the people in front of me, secretly questioning whether they are actually people at all. 

"Well this has been fun, but I am ready to wake up now." I back away from the trio, putting as much distance between us as I can. I pinch my arm, certain I will awaken in my bed, next to Deakin listening to Blake and Elliot argue over which cartoon they should watch this morning. My foot catches on an exposed tree root and I hurtle toward the ground. In a breath, Aldric is beside me, cradling me before I hit the ground. The warmth of his body and the scent of citrus and sunshine overwhelm me. I blink up at him. He didn't just step; he was simply there. No sound of boots on dry leaves, no heavy breathing. Just a sudden wall of heat and that infuriating citrus smell that makes my skin tingle with a recognition I can't place and don't want to admit to. I gasp and stare up at him as he settles me onto my feet.

My mind whirls, trying to piece together, how we got to this forest, how he got there so quickly and how that pinch, which would probably leave a lovely bruise, didn’t wake me up. As I open my mouth to speak, I am silenced by rustling in the forest behind us. Aldric pulls me behind him as he slides a sword from the scabbard on his hip and faces the trees. Angry Eyes whips a sword from the twin blades strapped to his back and Thunderstruck swings a bow and arrow into place,  taking up a protective stance beside him.  It’s wild how fast and how practised the whole motion looked. Tension coils in the air around us as they prepare to face down the apparent threat in the trees and I am filled once again with unease. I roll my shoulders to stifle a shudder. I HATE scary, stabby dreams. And I’ve had enough blood for tonight, thank you very much. 

I roll my eyes and push through the warrior wall in front of me. "Ok, Ok this is cute and all but I really do need to wake up now!” I shout to the sky, holding my arms wide. As I turn in a circle hoping the dream weavers snap me out of this strange, strange spectacle, a snarl rips through the trees and teeth sink into my arm. I try to reconcile the truth with the pain in my arm. A battle of what I see and what I feel, with what I know. Fucking fuck. This is not a dream. THIS IS NOT A DREAM! 

I scream and fall to the ground. The creature is the size of a small dog with impressive white fangs the length of my thumbs lodged in my upper arm. I try to wrench the nasty little thing from my arm but as I pull it only sinks its fangs deeper. Holy shit balls this hurts. I look to the warriors for help and watch in awe as Angry Eyes whirls into motion, pulling a dagger from his boot and flinging it towards the creature. Its forest-green eyes widen as the dagger hits its mark and the creature falls to the ground with a squeal. I watch as life seeps quickly from its body, the obsidian blade lodged firmly in its tiny chest, pinning it to the ground. I take in its form. It has the body of a fox but the wings of a crow. Silky orange fur fades to deep black wings along its back and tail and those long white fangs, currently drenched in my blood, protrude from a soft white snout. Small pointed, fluffy white ears adorn its small head. It is equal parts terrifying and cute, all things considered.

"Fucking Vexx," mutters Vaughn as he pulls his dagger from its body and wipes it clean on his leather pants.

My breathing shallows as I take in my mangled arm, ripped open and slick with blood. I let Mr Fix-Himself sit himself behind me and pull me to rest on his warm, hard, chest as Thunderstruck takes it in her delicate hands. Pain lances through me as she takes in the damage. Definitely not imaginary. Definitely not a dream.

"Try not to freak out," she tells me as she raises one hand above my gaping wound. A tendril of white light snakes between her fingers and my arm, smoke curling from where her light touches my skin. Holy fucking shit.

I gasp, but remain still as a tingling spreads beneath the smoke. I watch in fascinated horror as the gash on my arm stitches itself together. A faint white scar in the shape of a crux is all that remains when she steps back, sweat coating her brow. It wasn't like my other scars. Those had been earned in a hospital room with beeping monitors and the smell of antiseptic. This one was bright, shimmering and tingling faintly. This one was caused by the cute foxcrow thing and a light and smoke show that defied every law of physics I'd ever been taught.

"What are you?" I whisper, looking from each of them to the next.

"Your saviours. You're welcome," snaps Angry Eyes through gritted teeth.

"My savio— MY SAVIOURS?" I leap from the ground to face him with as much dexterity as a woman who used to drop it like it was hot twenty years ago and was just ripped open by a tiny fanged gremlin could muster. "YOU KIDNAPPED ME FROM MY HOME YOU FUCKING LUNATIC," I scream as I shove him as hard as I can. He doesn't even budge and scoffs as he grips my shoulders and bends to glare into my face, rage contorting his beautiful features into something utterly terrifying. My heart thrums in my chest as I stare daggers back at him, wishing all my anger into his taut body.

"Not. By. Choice."

With a roar, Aldric rips the male away from me and pins him to the nearest tree trunk, forearm pressed into his throat restricting his airway. The still shirtless male, who smells like citrus and sunshine, ripples with danger. His well-toned back muscles writhe with tension, his violent gaze unflinching as he stares down his thunder-eyed captive. Both toned bodies are coiled in anticipation and primed for a fight.

"ENOUGH," I yell, marching over and attempting to pry them apart. A tingle surges in my fingertips as I reach for them and attempt to leverage the hulking males apart. I channel a twenty-year-old me who had to break up bar fights while working a double shift in a dive bar to pay my tuition fees. Fun times.

Aldric pushes off the male quickly and moves away, breathing heavily and crossing his arms across his broad, and still very bare, chest. My gaze dips to his tight abdominal muscles and the deep V either side of them leading to — nope. Absolutely nope. No way this is turning into one of those dreams. I turn my gaze to his face. His beautiful, almost smirking face which definitely caught my gawking. Oh, double fuck. 

I swallow and turn to Angry Eyes who is almost shaking with anger. Good. That's easier.

"I don't know what the fuck that was, but that is NOT how we treat our friends!” I blink. I may have broken up bar fights twenty years ago, but I break up very different fights now and clearly I am out of practise with the hulking dude dynamic, ”or warrior buddies or whatever". I steel my voice and nod between them, slamming my hands to my hips. My heart aches as I realise I may not be separating one of Blake and Elliot's many brotherly squabbles any time soon. My breath hitches and I sink to the ground, tears pooling in my eyes.

I stare at the grass beneath me and try to breathe. The smell of the forest is too clean, the silence too empty. I want the smell of burnt toast and laundry detergent. I want the sound of the TV in the other room and boys squabbling over whose turn it is to empty the dishwasher. I sniff. "I don't want to be here any more than you want me here." I raise my gaze to Angry Eyes as I wipe the traitorous tears from my cheeks, "please just take me home to my boys."

His anger dissipates as he sees me broken on the ground. “I can’t.” His eyes soften as he takes in the hurt in mine. His hands clench at his sides and something shifts in his expression. "N—"

"Never before have we been able to break through to the human realm," Thunderstruck cuts in, glaring daggers at her companion. She crouches beside me and takes my hands in hers, her melodic voice soothing me as she looks at me and continues, "but we can try to figure it out and get you home, Rachel." She enunciates every syllable of my name in a cadence that has Angry Eyes withering beneath her stare and dropping his gaze to the grass beneath him.

How does she know my name? I shudder and wipe my tears, determined to figure out what on Earth was going on here. "For the love of god, call me Rae. Only my father calls me Rachel, and the fuck if I want to spend another second thinking about that deadbeat bastard."

The memory of my father — the smell of stale beer, the way he'd look through me like I was a piece of furniture he'd forgotten to sell, the sharp, cruel words that had defined my childhood after my mother's death — flashes through my mind. I look pointedly at each of them, daring them to defy me.

Angry Eyes stays rooted to the spot, his face wiped clean of that earlier aggression. Now, he just looks at me with a heavy, suffocating kind of concern, the kind of pity usually reserved for a three-legged dog or a kid who'd just dropped their ice cream. It makes my skin crawl. I don't need his sympathy; I need a way out of this fucking forest. Mr Fix-Himself flinches. A small movement, almost imperceptible, but his eyes darkened with a flash of something that looked a lot like grief. He nods once, a sharp, jerky movement.

"Rae," he repeats, clearing his throat. The name sounded like a prayer and a bruise all at once in his mouth. He turns his gaze to the ground and I turn back to the woman in front of me. I release a deep breath. 

"Just tell me what is going on. Who are you? How do you know my name? Where are we? Why am I here? And WHAT the fuck do you want me to do with this?" I glare at Aldric, waving the shirt he handed me, which I realise is still clutched in my hand, in his face.

She takes the shirt from my hands. "You are safe, we will not hurt you.” Her voice, a quiet harmony, settles me. "You are welcome to continue wearing nothing but your underclothes," she gestures to my exposed body and a growl comes from the males behind her, "but if you like," she shoots the males another death stare, "you are welcome to wear this." Oh. So, not laundry lady duties. Good. I look at the mustard yellow tunic, the left sleeve covered in blood.

"Not gonna lie, underclothes seems like a pretty good option,” I say, holding it between my thumb and forefinger.

Aldric grabs the shirt and tears the stained sleeve in one quick tug before thrusting it back at me, eyes wild. Well. I slip the shirt over my head.

"My name is Lyra. This is Vaughn and this is Aldric.” She gestures to the two men behind us. “We are currently in Starling Forest on the edge of the Chaos Kingdom of Aisling.”

I raise an eyebrow. Aisling. Definitely not a real place — I was very much a Geography kid and knew this was bullshit. Right?! I'd memorised every country on Earth and could point to the tiniest island in the Pacific, but there was no Aisling. Was it some obscure principality? A state? A cult? Was my brain finally misfiring after forty years of suburban monotony? With a laugh, I look to Vaughn and Aldric, both of whom stand with a look of utter seriousness plastered on their faces. A sense of dread envelopes me. "Wait, what?"

“We aren’t sure how the star portal opened to you in the human realm, but it did, and now we are all standing in the Starling Forest in Aisling.” My eyebrows shoot past my hairline. I snap my hands away and look around for clues about where I really am. The air is crisp and clear and the sounds of birds joyful and peaceful. It could be literally any forest. Except the sun is high in the sky and it was night time on my porch. I could have passed out and they moved me over night. Except it felt like we moved in a blink. And the colours here are too vibrant. And the plants and trees are too textured. And the smells, too vivid. The humming in my veins steadies as I take a breath and look at her. “Ok, so I know your names,”  I say as I  run my finger in the air between them. “And where we are.” This time I spin my finger in a circle. ”But the real question is, how do you know my name and what, on apparently not-Earth, do you want from me?” I ask with a confidence I absolutely do not possess, glaring into her unsettling slate blue eyes and placing my hands on my hips. She glances at her companions and swallows, “We have spent a very long time trying to find a way to get you here.” She speaks as though she is calming a cornered animal. “Because we need your help.”

"You need MY help? Mine? What do you need me for?" I gesture wildly at the clearing, my voice cracking in a way that humiliates me. "You have witchy-woo magical light coming out of your fingertips, old mate over here can heal himself and who knows what Agro Ranger can do!" Vaughn rolls his eyes at his new moniker and throws his hands in the air. "What possible help can I give? That tiny little fox-crow nearly ripped my arm off, for gods' sake."

I look at Aldric, expecting another almost smirk, another display of deadly perfection that made me want to either scream or jump his bones. Anything to distract me from the sheer terror currently gripping my heart.  But the smirk was nowhere to be seen. 

He was watching me with an intensity that made the air in my lungs feel thick; his eyes shimmering with a thousand things he wasn't saying, and a look of total, devastating recognition. It was as if he knew the exact shape of the hole in my heart, the war of my emotions as if it were his own pulse. Before I can dwell on what it took for him to recognise the immense loss I was feeling, I rub the heels of my palms into my eyes and settle myself on a fallen log, trying to erase that weird tingle that had settled beneath my skin since we got here. It was a steady vibrating bass of static in my very soul, a humming reminder that since I'd landed in this oversized terrarium, my nerves were firing all wrong. Maybe it was the light Lyra used. Maybe I was having a stroke. Maybe I need a glass of rosé and a little lie down. Either way, his pain is not my pain. I do not know this man. I rub the sparkling new scar on my upper arm as I exhale shakily and Lyra speaks again. 

"The Vexx didn't attack you because you were weak, Rachel," Lyra says softly. She sits on her heels in front of me, her slate blue eyes searching mine. "It attacked you because of who you are."

"Because of who I am?” I bark a laugh and stand, pointing an accusing finger in her face. “Honestly, this vague bullshit is doing my head in. Who am I to you? You do not even know me!” I turn to face Vaughn. "What, did you stalk me when you found me? Before you ABDUCTED me?" I swivel my gaze to Aldric "Did you watch me drop my kids at school, go to work, do the grocery shopping?" I throw my hands up in the air "And what, did you think that showed you WHO I AM?" I stomp across the length of the clearing, taking in the vivid green trees surrounding us. I let my fingers fall to my sides and brush the velvet ferns dotted across the small clearing. I look back at the trio, hugging Aldric's oversized, one-sleeved shirt closer to my body. The fabric is rough and comforting as I try to outrun my own heart rate, willing my anger to quell. 

Vaughn and Lyra remain still, watching me with a heavy, suffocating kind of concern that sits somewhere between clinical interest and outright pity. It was the pity that set my teeth on edge. I am not some broken thing for them to fix or a stray they'd dragged in from the rain. I am a complication they created, and I'd be damned if I let them feel sorry for me when my kids are going to wake up in a house without their mother.

"I am a mother," I say, stalking back to them and pointing a finger at my own chest. "The person who knows where everything is and gets blamed when it is not there. I am the one people call when shit goes wrong and they need help. I buy home-brand shampoo, cry during children's movies and even though my kids have a brand new wardrobe each season, I still wear underwear held together by a hope and a prayer. I have a boss who is always on my back, a mortgage that doesn’t seem to be shrinking and an inbox full of emails I really need to reply to. I’m a chaotic mess of a person, filled with hormones and caffeine and unbridled rage for a world that just takes and takes. That is who I am,” I grip my hair in my hands at my temples and force a deep breath from my shaking body. “I am someone's whole world. Two someones.” I hold up two fingers to emphasise my point before letting my hands fall deflated to my sides, “And right now they don't know where I am.” I look up to the trio in front of me, scanning each of their faces for any clue of what they want from me, “So please, tell me how the fuck I am meant to help you."

Aldric watches me with a terrifying, pained, soul-deep patience.

"You're right, Rae," he says, his voice dropping an octave. "We don't know the woman who buys home-brand shampoo. But we have seen enough to know that when the map is on fire, you find a path through anyway. And THAT is what we need.”

I look at him, the word Rae still tasting like a bruise in the air between us.

"And that path leads me home?" I ask, my voice embarrassingly small.

"It's the only one that does.”

My eyes flick to the shimmering scar on my arm, my reminder that I am definitively not dreaming, as I whisper, “fine.” The word feels like a wholehearted betrayal of my laundry piles, my mortgage, and my common sense. I take a shaky breath and wrap my arms around myself, my fingers tracing the length of the scar as I sit on a fallen log. "What do I need to help you with to get back to my kids?" 

Vaughn doesn't scoff this time. He just watches me, his eyes tracking the way my hands shake despite the bravado in my voice. He looks at Aldric, a silent conversation passing between them that I don't have the energy to decode.

"We need to move," Vaughn says, his voice lower now, almost respectful. "The Vexx are never alone."

"Oh goody," I snicker as I follow the trio through the forest.