Page 12 of Bound to the Minotaur
I turned back to the food, shaking it off. I was treading close to a line I wasn’t sure I could uncross.
We sat down at the table. She folded herself small in the chair, Avis hopping into her lap like the little bastard owned the place. She nibbled at her food, distracted at first—until the flavor sank in. Then, she ate in earnest.
Good.
I watched her from the corner of my eye as I ate. Every fiber of me still buzzed with the taste of her, the feel of her pressed against me, and the unshakable truth that had settled into my bones, like an oath.
She was mine to protect now, even if it killed me.
I tried to focus on the damn dishes, the water running too hot and steam burning my knuckles. It didn’t help. Every time Iblinked, I saw her again—curled up on my couch, legs tucked under her, fingers flying across the keys of that little laptop like she was typing her way out of my life.
Looking for another job. Another town. Another escape. My teeth ground together. I rinsed the last plate and set it in the drying rack with more force than necessary. I hadn’t claimed her. Not yet. That didn’t mean she wasn’t mine.
The peach cobbler had sounded like a good idea earlier—something sweet to round out the night, something warm to offer her, maybe coax a smile from her lips that wasn’t shadowed by fear or doubt. I knew how to bake, dammit. I liked it. That didn’t mean it didn’t feel ridiculous now, elbow-deep in sugar and butter while my thoughts spiraled out of control.
The smell of cinnamon and peaches filled the kitchen before long. She hadn’t spoken, but I could feel her watching me—not with her eyes (though I was sure she peeked more than once), but with something else. That tether that had begun the moment she walked into my life. And every second she spent here, breathing the air that was mine, letting Avis curl around her like she belonged, only made it stronger. It made me ravenous.
I set the cobbler on the table to cool and leaned in the doorframe, arms crossed, just to look at her. She was hunched over that device, her hair curling and a little messy, reminding me of our kiss earlier. Her glasses were perched on the tip of her nose; she kept pushing them up with a dainty finger, but they’d slide right back down.
I had to look away. She was too tempting, and offering her the peach cobbler was out of the question now. I’d lose it. Her tastemingling with my favorite dessert? I’d go crazy. I’d forget all about the rules of this world, do things I’d regret, and scare her away forever.
I grunted, grabbed my coat from the hook by the door, and growled under my breath. “Avis, watch her.” The cat didn’t so much as flick an ear. Just stretched luxuriously where he’d draped himself across the back of the couch like a smug little gargoyle.
I stepped outside before I could change my mind. The air bit at my face the moment I left the warmth of the house, the chill slicing through the last of the heat her presence had put under my skin. I let it. I welcomed it. Anything to keep my head clear.
She was safe—for now. He didn’t know exactly where she was. Not yet. Or if he did, he couldn’t reach her in just a few short hours. But he would, and I’d be damned if I let the town get caught in the crosshairs without warning.
I broke into a jog, boots crunching over the frost-hardened dirt of my drive, then pounding the shoulder of the road until I reached the edge of the woods. The darkness there was heavy—the kind that swallowed light and sound alike—but it welcomed me like an old friend.
I didn’t stop.
The shift took me as I ran, my stride changing mid-step, a flush of warmth, a burst of light. Then, my skin stretched over something larger, older. My breath fogged the air in great clouds, and the world sharpened into scent, movement, and instinct. I flicked my ears, shook my head to feel the weight ofmy horns, then slashed the air behind me with my tail. The bull in me surged forward, hooves striking hard earth, muscles loose and wild.
The forest opened for me. Branches bent. Wind hissed. The stars blinked in silence above.But even in the thrill of movement, I couldn’t shake it—that twitch between my shoulder blades. Like something watching. Waiting. Breathing with me.
Not her father.
No… something closer.
I halted, my body twisting to partially hide behind the thick trunk of an ancient oak. My eyes sharpened as they angled back toward my home, where the merry twinkle of lights came from the front windows. Was that a shadow? My guest, scurrying away before she was caught? Had sheseenme?
When there was no further movement, I forced myself to start walking, then running—harder, faster—my body exulting in freedom even as my thoughts stayed tangled in Kess. Imagining the smell of peaches on her lips, hearing the low, defiant fire in her voice, relishing the prospect of trapping her, chasing her. She still didn’t know that she’d walked straight into the heart of the labyrinth—and I was the beast that would never let her go.
I hit the outskirts of Hillcrest Hollow just after my lungs settled into the rhythm of a good run, my hooves eating up the distance like the forest meant to carry me all the way to the sea. But this was far enough. I slowed, stepped behind the wide trunk of a birch, and let the shift take me back—skin and bone knitting intohuman again with a crackle of air and heat, with the flash of light that morphed one essence into another in the blink of an eye.
My breath steamed as I tugged my coat closed, my feet already numbing against the frosted grass despite the snug fit of my boots. I was lucky I had mastered my shift to the point of taking my clothes with me; others were not so lucky, like Kai and his mate. I grinned wryly as I surveyed the town. It slept around me like a cat curled against the cold, with only the faintest signs of life still flickering in windows and on porches. I took in the layout, every familiar flicker of light, every scent on the wind.
Luther was still up, which was no surprise. Light shone in his upstairs loft above the general store. He was probably drinking that expensive blood blend he liked to save for long nights. Ted’s shop still hummed with life, too, his silhouette moving past the fogged windows as he worked late on some ancient washer or other machine in desperate need of a loving hand. Both good men. I’d talk to them soon. But tonight, I needed the quickest route to word spreading.
That meant Grandma Liz, the mayor of the town and the alpha of the local werewolf pack.
I passed Halvers’ B&B, catching movement behind the curtain—Mister Halvers himself. Narrow eyes, drawn mouth, a cup of something probably bitter in hand. Judging me like always. I met his gaze for a beat before turning my back on him. Let him guess. Let him gossip. He didn’t know anything, had only rumors and suspicions. Over the forty years he’d made Hillcrest Hollow his home, he’d never made any effort to be part of the community. Sometimes I wondered why he was still here.
Grandma Liz’s cottage sat behind the town hall, tucked into a little grove that still held a hint of summer warmth in its bones, despite the frost. Her porch was deep and wide, built for pack gatherings in better days—plenty of room for old friends to drink, to argue, to howl at the moon. Now, it looked more like a memory. Rocking chairs lined the porch like sentries, and the herb garden she’d planted in the summer was tucked under burlap wraps, still defying the cold.
The moment I stepped past the lilac hedge, the air changed—warm, charged, ancient. There was only one explanation for that: Chardum.
The evergreens screening the backyard muffled the view, but I could already feel the weight of him there. The warmth of dragonfire, slumbering just under his thick golden scales. When I rounded the house, I found him exactly where I’d expected: coiled like a golden storm in the yard, wings tucked close, tail wound between the trees. His head, the size of a car, rested on folded claws. But his eyes—those molten, molten eyes—were wide open.
