Page 35 of Bred By the Minotaur
I stroke him over the blanket. “Hey, Milo. It’s me.”
His eyes finally seem to register that I’m there, and his frantic thrashing stops.
“Phoebe!” He tries to sit up, but he can’t, his body swaying as he lies back down. “I feel so bad. Everything is pink.” The rest of the words that come out of his mouth are garbled.
“I think he’s running a fever,” Janelle says as I rummage around the downstairs bathroom. I find a thermometer and verify her suspicion.
“Fudge. It’s 103.5.” That’s much too high. “We have to take him to a hospital.”
“A hospital?!” The poor woman is horrified. “Hank’s going to kill me.”
I shake my head and pick Milo up off the couch, staggering under his weight. He isn’t just a little five-year-old human boy—he is a minotaur boy, and I need a wheelbarrow for him.
Janelle helps me carry him out to the car as he whimpers and moans. At least she has a medical release from Hank just in case of an emergency like this, so she comes with me to be his guardian.
One fever reducer and some IV fluids later, the hospital staff helps us carry Milo back to the car. At the house, we bring him inside together, but unfortunately, we can’t get him up the stairs, so we lay him on the couch with his head on my lap.
After the frazzled Janelle leaves, I sit there stroking Milo’s shaggy hair, watching the even breaths he lets out of his cute, round muzzle. I adjust the blanket laid across him to keep him warmer.
From here, I can see into the kitchen. And sure enough, there is a note on the refrigerator that reads:
MILO EMERGENCY CONTACT
PHOEBE
With the phone number of the phone they gave me listed underneath. And frankly, I’m glad it was me, though I can’t say I ever gave permission for it to go there.
All’s well that ends well. I lean my head back against the soft couch with its new, plush cushions, and my eyes fall closed. Milo’s soft fur under my hand lulls me to sleep.
“Phoebe?!” I jerk awake at the sound of Hank’s worried voice. He comes into the room, and his brown eyes are big and wide, his breath harried.
“Shh.” I hold up a finger to my lips as Milo stirs, then offer him a smile. “It’s okay. He’s all right now. But we should keep an eye on him.”
With a sigh of relief, Hank sinks into the chair next to the couch. His face is sooty, and he looks absolutely exhausted.
“What a fucking day,” he murmurs, his head falling back. “What on earth happened? How did you get mixed up in this?”
I blink at him. “What do you mean? My name was on the fridge, clearly labeled ‘Milo’s emergency contact.’” I shoot him a chastising look. “You could have told me first, at least.”
His head jerks up. “I never did that.”
“It’s on the fridge. In the kitchen.”
Getting out of the chair, he heads into the next room and spies the same thing I did. Then, a realization seems to strike him, and he rolls his eyes. “My mother.”
“Your mother?”
He returns, sinking even deeper into the chair this time as he rubs his face. “She did that. Meddling. I’m sorry.”
“I’m glad Janelle called me,” I say, stroking Milo’s head. “He has a fever, and he was starting to hallucinate. He calmed down when I got here, though, and we took him to the hospital.”
Hank stiffens all over. “The hospital?”
“The fever broke pretty quickly, but they sent home some more of that strong fever reducer in case it gets bad again.”
His mouth slightly ajar, he nods in understanding.
“Thank you,” he says, voice turning hoarse. “You really went above and beyond.”
