Page 30 of Bound to the Minotaur
We didn’t have to wait long. The ground trembled a little as Arden lumbered up through the trees—massive even by troll standards—blue-skinned and huffing like he’d jogged all the way from town. I couldn’t remember how far it was; the charge through the woods to save Kess was a blur.
High above, great wings stirred the trees. A golden shape spiraled overhead—Chardum, in his dragon form, with Rosemary perched on his back—returning from wherever their meeting with the Taoiseach had taken place. The sight of them filled me with the first true hope I’d felt in hours. They’d take care of things. Chardum would know how to clean all of this up, and he’d deal with Kess’s father.
“Arden,” I called, motioning at the troll to make him hurry over. “We need your help.” I pointed at the wounded man on the ground, knew exactly what kind of response I was going to get, and hardened my expression, giving the man my most stubborn look to make sure he knew I meant it.
The troll paused, looking at Kiran’s crumpled form, then at me. “You’re out of your mind, bull,” he said in a deep rumble, generated by his massive chest. His blue body was covered only by a pair of large, stretchy shorts.
“Probably,” I muttered, agreeing. “But he saved her.” Arden grumbled under his breath but dropped to his knees beside thebody. With a gentleness that belied his size, he placed his huge hands over the worst of the wounds. Magic shimmered faintly between his fingers. A glow of light that would heal, restore, at cost to himself, and often also to his patient. It was better than dying, that much was certain.
I turned to Kess and scooped her into my arms. She didn’t protest, only leaned her head against my shoulder, exhausted beyond words. Avis reappeared and leapt up to curl in her lap, purring like an engine. His head butted against my chin, a rough tongue lapped once in affection, and then he turned to snuggle with my mate.
“Time to take you home,” I said, and began the long, slow walk back to town.
Chapter 20
Kess
Three months had passed, and the chaos had begun to settle, the way I’d begun to settle in this place. Hillcrest Hollow was still a quiet little town, still wrapped in its odd little stillness, but it was the kind that whispered peace now, not threat. The trees outside the window were brushed in early spring green, pale shoots catching the morning light, and the breeze that drifted in smelled faintly of pine sap, warmed stone, and the fire pit Gregory had stoked the night before.
I stood barefoot at the front window of the A-frame cottage, one hand resting on the frame, the other wrapped around a mug of that extra-black coffee Gregory liked to brew. It had long ago gone lukewarm. I didn’t drink it for the temperature. I just liked the feel of the cup in my hand. Solid. Comforting. Like the man who lived here.
The man who loved me.
My gaze drifted from the edge of the forest to the great green-and-silver snarl of his maze, just beyond the repair shop. It was growing again, shifting. Changing. Gregory had been working on it almost every day since the fighting ended, and my father had been banished from my life for good. Sometimes he worked on it for a few hours before he was drawn back to me; sometimes he lasted longer. He needed his space and his quiet, but he needed me more.
I missed him when he worked, even if he was only a few dozen yards away, but I had enough to keep myself occupied too.
Avis lay curled on the back of the couch behind me, his gray fur gleaming in the sunlight. He purred softly, as if he were trying to lull me into sitting down and relaxing. As if. He shifted just enough to reveal the small patch of missing fur on his shoulder; a scar from the scuffle. Gregory said the fur would eventually grow back in, but the graze of the bullethadleft a permanent mark, at least for now.
He was fully healed now—no pain, according to our resident troll doctor—but you’d think he was dying from the way he angled himself so everyone could see it. “Drama queen,” I murmured.
His tail twitched in haughty agreement. I’d caught Gregory rubbing his ears and feeding him strips of venison more than once, when he thought I wasn’t watching. The big beast might be grumpy and gruff, but he was as wrapped around Avis's paw as I was.
I took a breath and let it out slowly, eyes sweeping over the winding paths that cut through the scrap metal and cars, overgrown with evergreens and brambles, blooming with early spring flowers. Some of those twisted remains had once belonged to my father’s men. Now they were part of the maze, absorbed into its living, breathing bones. A fitting tribute. Payment. A warning, maybe. They’d tried to harm that ancient, not-quite-living thing—the maze—with their fire and their guns; now their cars were part of restoring it.
I tried not to think about the bodies, though, the ones left behind after that bloody, terrifying day. I hadn’t asked, but I knew. Knew that Chardum, in his great golden dragon form, had carried them deep into the woods and made them disappear. Some questions didn’t need answers.
I didn’t miss my life in New York, and I certainly didn’t miss the revolving door of shady men in my home. I didn’t miss the man who raised me, either. He was still alive. That truth settled in my gut like cold iron. But I wasn’t afraid of him anymore.
He was behind bars in New York, hand-delivered by Sheriff Jackson and a small convoy of shifters who had no intention of letting him slip away. Jackson had promised he’d make sure my father testified, admitting every single one of his crimes. My father wouldn’t see the outside of a prison for the rest of his life.
I was free.
The word still felt foreign:free. It tasted like spring air, motor oil, excellent vegetarian food, and a grumpy Minotaur who made me coffee every morning and kissed me like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. The coffee was strong enough to put hair on my chest, the kisses hot enough to burn me alive. I loved nothing more than early mornings in his kitchen, staring at the view of the valley and the sleepy, quiet town. To curl in the arms of my beastly Minotaur and his surly glare, for anyone but me that is.
Gregory’s home had become mine. Cozy, cluttered, full of odd warmth, stone, and thick old wood. Everything here was honest and real.
At night, I dreamed of the maze. I dreamed of running barefoot under moonlight, chased by horns and breath and heat, until strong arms caught me and I was claimed. Claimed in a way I knew I needed, something that had been missing, though the sex was absolutely mind-blowing. After one of those dreams, I’d wake tangled in his arms, sweaty and shivering, and he wouldgrowl softly, pull me closer, and murmur in his deep voice until I drifted back to sleep. Sometimes he’d be as hot as I was, and he’d fuck me until I was senseless with it, but it wasn’t enough.
I knew what I wanted—what we needed—but until the maze was fixed… my mouth went dry as I contemplated the wrought iron gate, the hedges beyond, and the shapes of cars and other discarded things that had wound up on Gregory’s stoop. Much like me, actually. It looked whole, but it had looked whole to me all week.
I shoved away the heat and need for my mate—for the beast and the chase—that curled in my gut. I focused on the things I had right now that I’d never had before: home, stability, love. I was safe for the first time in my life and cherished every minute of the day.
My fingers itched to make things again. To twist copper wire and glass and old gears into something beautiful. Ideas came to me in waves now, thick and fast. I worked with the bits and bobs Gregory brought me, trinkets that felt like gemstones—gifts from the heart. Because he understood my desire to craft things from the old—and he had the eye of an artist too, my grumpy mechanic. Freya, a lynx shifter from the town, had promised to help me build a webshop, and the thought of actually sharing my work with the world lit something inside me.
A future, the promise of working with my passions rather than slogging through a daily grind I hated. A future filled with nothing but bright things. And then I saw him.
Gregory emerged from the maze like a god sculpted from dusk and shadows. The sun caught the sweat that darkened hischest and soaked the collar of his gray shirt, unbuttoned to his sternum. His broad shoulders flexed as he rolled his neck, his arms bare and streaked with dirt. His jeans clung to his hips, torn at one knee, dusted with sawdust and moss.
