Page 246 of Monsters in Love

“Why do you have condoms atwork?!” she exclaimed in wonder when he produced a large, gold-foiled square from his desk drawer.

“I bought them when I picked up the eye drops. I don’t know how careful you want to be before the wedding, and I just thought...” His voice trailed off as her shoulders shook with laughter, watching him unwrap the prophylactic. The condom rolled over his thick shaft swell, the reservoir at the tip resembling an empty sandwich baggie. He was right, they should be a bit careful before the wedding ... but she hated the way the huge reservoirs felt within her, and would rather take her chances. After all, they were looking forward to children ... but he had a point, she conceded, not wanting to have to run to the ladies' room for paper towels to prevent the rivers of his release from running under the door once it poured out of her.

When he turned her to lean over the desk, bracing his body over hers, Gwen was certain she knew exactly how the women in the maze must have felt. Even if they were terrified upon their arrival, which she was certain they were; and even if they were uncertain in their futures, which they certainly couldn’t have known—there was safety inthis. The familiar, comfortable weight of him atop her, the heaving breaths, the eye-crossing pleasure...Gwen was positive they felt safe when they were with their Minoan prince, for there was nowhere else in the world that felt safer than Madoc’s arms, and nowhere else she’d rather be.

When he came, the pressure of the condom filling was enough to tip her over the edge, inflating like a balloon, and she clenched, clenched around the shape of him hard enough that it was a wonder the condom did not pop within her. His deep groan seemed to rattle the desk beneath her, not as exciting as a marble plinth on the exhibit floor, but more than satisfactory for an evening tryst. She continued to clench around him as he poured into her, her own orgasm extended by the way the condom inflated with every pump of his big balls into it. She felt the moment he finished—a slight slump of his shoulders and a drop of his weight, his deep sigh warming her like a comfortable, familiar blanket. The pull-out sent a ripple up her back, the sloshing condom tied off, like a particularly threatening water balloon.

“Now what?” she whispered against his chest once her panties had been pulled back on and his softened cock tucked back into his pants, his clothing adjusted and her hair unmussed, restoring a modicum of respectability to their persons.

“Now we finish the exhibit,” he murmured, lacing her fingers with his own. “I have a feeling you’re not going to like the rest of it, but...well, perspective is necessary. You’ll see. First though, can you please sneak this into the ladies' room? I don’t want to leave an evidence trail.” She didn’t like his words, didn’t like the uncomfortable twinge she felt, so similar to the way her stomach twisted the sight of the manacles, but she wrapped her arm around his, nodding. After all, Gwen reminded herself, she’d follow him anywhere.

“Let’s get it over with then. If it makes me cry, you have to buy me ice cream on the way home.”

“There’s already a triple fudge sundae waiting for you,” he chuckled. “The tears are inevitable, and I came prepared.”

Ihave given birth to a son.

I thought his birth would kill me. Bringing him into the world was a pain I never could have imagined, but I am grateful to the others who helped, who held me up and wiped my brow as I pushed and writhed, and holding him in my arms was a balm to all of the screaming agonies that preceded his first breath. He has the features of his father, a fact which brought me immeasurable joy the first time I gazed down upon his small, squalling face. His nose is pink and the hide that covers him is the same color as the milk he drinks at my breast. For the first week after his arrival, I am unable to stop kissing him—his small nose and the curly thatch of dark hair between the velvet buttons where his horns will sprout, each of his eyelids, which are closed in sleep for much of the time. I sing him the songs of Korinthos and tell him of my life there and the people he was from, keeping him warm near the brazier, always in my arms.

I do not remember when they took him, only that one day he was there, suckling at my breast, and the next he was gone. I do not know how long he was with me. That thing we once called time has ceased to exist here, at the heart of the maze. The only light comes from the torches and from the trap door, which lowers several times a day with food and supplies, the only reminder that the outside world still exists. There is no sun, and so the marking of its passage across the sky is meaningless here. There is no sunrise, no sunset, and thus, there is no time. In this world of endless darkness, time is fractured into only two halves: the time spent being filled by my husband—filled and fulfilled—and the agony of emptiness. The only time I am whole is when I am filled with his cock; the only time with meaning is when I am joined to him, and every minute spent empty and alone and waiting is borne with a heavy heart. What use have I for the sun in a place like this? What use have I for a child?

He has gone on to become a great warrior, that is what I am told. The brides who have borne children before me speak assurances, and I have no choice but to believe them. At length, I accept it is for the best. My only purpose is to serve my husband and be served in return. The cost of devotion in his temple has cost me my son, but the pleasure I receive in payment for my veneration is well worth the sacrifice. The trapdoor’s platform is large enough to lower us all into the maze on the day we arrived, and I am certain it would be large enough to raise us all back to the surface, back to the light, but I have no wish to leave my temple. There is nothing left for me topside, and the life I may have led, the girl I once was, is gone. Outside of this place, in a world of light, my son will be a warrior, and may someday become a king. I gave him the gift of life, and I nourished him from mine own breast. If the last gift I give him is a life in the sunshine, then I have served him just as admirably.

Iam wandering when I hear the shouts. At first, I think it is an issue with the trapdoor. The platform lowers each day and the guards atop it unload the baskets of food they carry without sound, most days. There are always four of them—two to unload the food, and two to stand guard with spears, an unnecessary precaution, for none of us have ever charged the platform, and it is well away from the heart.

The shouts, I realize are not coming from the direction of the trapdoor, nor are the voices I hear those belonging to any of my fellow brides. They are low and coarse, loud and echoing across the tall walls of the maze. Men. The realization fills me with a clenching fear, for nothing good can come from men, certainly not here. I think of the boastful boy on the brieme, the one they said was a prince. He loudly proclaimed his intention to rescue us from the maze, insisting he could find a way, either by cleverness or by force...I begin to run away from the voices, pressing myself into the long stretches of darkness between the torches. I know it does not matter how far I go or how lost my feet become. I will hide from these men, for the maze will swallow them up as it swallows all, and no matter how far I wander, my husband will always find me.

“So they really weren’t eaten. But why so many? He couldn’t be happy getting it on with one tribute at a time? And why the replacements every few years? Are yousurethey weren’t eaten?”

His laughter was a rich, deep rumble, and her back arched to hear it. She wondered how long it would take, for the newness of him being there all the time to wear off; wondered when the solid heat of him beside her in bed would no longer leave her giddy upon waking.Hopefully never.

“You’re making me spoil the exhibit, but I know you won’t let it go and just be patient.”

“Nope,” she agreed, giving him her cheekiest wink. “You already have me walking like I just spent a week on a centaur’s back, now I want all the spoilers. You know I always read ahead to the end of books first.”

Madoc rolled his eyes, giving her a put-upon sigh.

“If you absolutely have to know now...they were there to be bred. He was able to mate constantly, and no, we don’t know how. Maybe he suffered from a form of priapism, maybe it really was a curse from the gods, who knows. ‘Inheriting Pasiphaë’s lust, the son bore the curse of the mother,’” he recited, nodding at the inscription on one of the plinths. “What we do know is that he mated them continuously, with the goal of the palace, of course, being conception. The resulting offspring were sent back to their mother’s homelands. Sons were trained as warriors, and every king in the region wanted to boast minotaurs in their armies. That’s why the tributes were sent.”

The implication of his words took several beats to fully sink in. It wasn’t much different than the arranged marriages of women of every species throughout history, she reminded herself. Daughters sold in marriage to build alliances for their fathers, to have sons who would inherit empires...

“And the daughters?” she demanded, spinning in his arms, her stomach flipping the same way it had at the sight of the manacles. “What happened to them?” Madoc lifted a broad shoulder in a beseeching shrug, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly in a sad smile, resignation tingeing his eyes. Pulling her flush to him once more, she let him wrap her in his arms. “Slaves,” she answered her own question woodenly, already knowing it was true.

“You have to look at the big picture,” he murmured after a long moment. “What happened to these girls was terrible, yes. They were sent from their homes, and you’re right, they were probably terrified. They were made to have children over and over, and every few years they were replaced with fresher candidates. But,” he turned her, lifting her chin to look up at him, “we know that plenty of those sons and daughters survived whatever fates they went on to. You and I wouldn’t be standing here if they hadn’t. We wouldn’t be planning our wedding and talking about having our own kids if they hadn’t. That’s why exhibits like this are so important. We took back the rings the humans placed on us and made them our own symbol of commitment.”

It was a relief he held her so tightly, for her legs surely would have failed her then. He was right, of course. Finding the thread from the past to their current time was her job, after all. Loving and living and dying. Madoc could have been a direct descendent from that Minoan prince, after all, and their children would carry those genes forward into the future.

A touch of eternity.

“If we have a daughter, she is going to besospoiled, do you understand?”

“The most spoiled princess in all of Cambric Creek,” he agreed, using his sleeve to mop at the tears tracking down her cheek.

“Tell me we’re going to be okay,” she mumbled against his chest. “Everything is going to change now. Promise me you’re not going to get tired of the way I chew or my morning breath or if I’m really bad at being pregnant. What if I’m invited to a dig on the other side of the world? Or if some university wants you as a guest lecturer? How are we going to manage this with kids?”

“You are getting ridiculously ahead of yourself,” he cut her off. “We are going to be fine. I’m not interested in any job that takes me away from you, and I love the way you chew. My grandmother is going to love you, and if your Aunt Simone wants to start a rumor that I splooged all over the museum, we’ll just have to prove her right. If you want to pick up and move across the world, we’ll go with you. It doesn’t matter how far you wander, because I’ll always find you. Isn’t that what we’ve always done? Nothing is going to change.”

He was wrong, she knew, for everything was about to change, but he was right about the rest. It was what they’d always done, and they’d be fine. Living and loving, and the whole world was possible.

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