Page 24 of Bound to the Minotaur
I could feel it. Kess was no longer safe here. I turned, following the freshest trace of her scent—fast, desperate. I reached the outer wall and stopped dead.
The hedge had been burned through in one section, charred black and crumbling. Beyond it, an old path that hadn’t been used in years led toward the southern treeline. Two bodies lay just past the breach; human men. Blood soaked into the dry pine needles around them. Sitting nearby, slumped against a stump, was Kai.
The werewolf’s shoulder was torn open, blood crusted black around the wound. His lynx mate—light and sleek—licked at the damage while keeping a wary eye on the woods, her ears swiveling toward me.
Kai looked up as I approached, guilt etched into every line of his dirt-smeared face. “Greg,” he rasped, then coughed. “I was too late.” A growl built in my throat, but I stomped it out, muffled it. It wasn’t like Kai hadn’t paid for the attempt to save her.
“Avis is tracking,” he added quickly. “He’s with her. They haven’t gotten far yet. You could catch up.”
I turned toward the path, heart a war drum behind my ribs. A rush of wind hit the back of my neck. I looked up just in time to see the gleam of golden scales: Chardum, the dragon, his wings casting long shadows across the scorched edges of my maze. He roared once in greeting and dumped a massive steel vat of water from the sky. It hit the flames with a hiss and a cloud of steam, soaking the maze’s wounded edge.
He landed with the grace only age and power could provide, claws settling into the earth like roots.“All will be well,”he rumbled.
I stared at him. But the bond between Kess and me shivered in my chest like a plucked string; faint, flickering. She was in danger. I didn’t want to believe the worst, but I felt it. “I will make it so,” I said, my voice more beast than man. Then I ran, faster than I ever had before, plunging into the woods.
After Avis.
Aftermy mate.
Chapter 16
Kess
The truck rumbled back onto the pavement, and the trees peeled away like curtains, revealing the edge of town. Hillcrest Hollow looked… still. Too still. Not a soul on the sidewalks, not even lights on at the plumber’s store we’d visited or in the diner. The only sign of life was the warm glow coming from the general store. For a second, I thought I saw someone peer out from the upper window—a shadow shifting against the light—but it vanished before I could be sure.
The truck swerved down a narrower road, its tires crunching over gravel, past houses that looked more abandoned than lived in. They pulled up to a cabin at the very edge of the town, the outskirts. It was more like the ghost of a cabin. The stones along the dirt path were cracked and uneven, the fence crooked and leaning like it had given up years ago. Moss clung to the siding, and the roof sagged in one corner, black with water stains.
The place looked tired, angry.
Two men flanked the door, rifles slung over their shoulders, eyes scanning. They didn’t look at me, just reached in and hauled me out. My feet hit the ground hard, and my knees nearly gave out. The guy who’d caught me in the woods still had dried blood under his nose and claw marks on his chest. I hoped they stung. His grip was bruising as he shoved me forward.
Just before we hit the porch, I caught movement; low, fast. A blur of silver-gray fur disappeared around the back corner. Avis. I was sure of it. He was here, watching, waiting. Good—thatmeant Gregory knew where I was, too. I had to believe he was coming. Maybe the danger I was in meant Gregory knew even without Avis’s help, and there was no doubt: I was in serious danger.
They forced me inside. The house smelled like old tobacco and lemon polish. The living room had been awkwardly staged, like someone had tried to dress it up for a photoshoot. Fancy rugs were laid out on top of an uneven, unpolished hardwood floor with more scratches than smooth spots. A high-backed chair—clearly expensive and wildly out of place—sat like a throne in the center of the room.
And in it: my father. Romano. The man who haunted half of New York with a smile. He looked relaxed, one leg draped over the other, fingers steepled. The gray in his dark blond hair was perfectly sculpted, his suit spotless despite the setting. His bodyguards stood behind him, wide-shouldered, blank-eyed. To his right stood a man I recognized from old family functions: Luca, his second. All scars and slicked-back hair. He grinned at me like he was already unwrapping a wedding gift. My stomach turned.
“Kestrel,” my father said, his voice like velvet draped over a knife. “You look well.” As if we were at a family reunion, exchanging pleasantries. Next, he’d ask me how I was doing, like he didn’t already know. I didn’t respond.
“You’re coming home. We’ll have the wedding next week—Luca’s waited long enough. Haven’t you, son?” So he skipped right past the fake pleasantries and straight to the stick, the punishment. The fate I’d known was hanging over my head all this time, one I could not put off much longer. And so, I’d run.
“Long enough,” Luca said, that grin twisting. “She’s a peach.” The scar at the corner of his mouth made his grin tilt strangely upward, crooked, like the crook that he was. Darkness coiled in his eyes—eyes that spoke of possession, of avarice, and nothing of the warm, passionate feelings that go with love.
“I’d rather stay here,” I said, forcing the words past my dry mouth. “With Gregory.” I knew what to look for in a man now—how one should treat me—and I was never going back. Never falling in line, even at the cost I knew I’d pay for defying him. I didn’t know whether I wanted my minotaur to hurry or to stay away. Still didn’t know if he was hurt or not, but I did know that he would come if he could, because that was the kind of man he was.
Romano’s smile didn’t falter, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s not one of your options. You know better.” He gestured casually toward the floor, beneath it. “You’d rather be six feet under?” I swallowed the lump of panic in my throat. My heart pounded like it wanted out of my chest. I knew he’d utter the threat, knew he’d expect me to fall in line, like I always would.
A shift against the wall caught my eye. A man I hadn’t seen before. Tall. Handsome in a shadowed sort of way, with olive-toned skin, dark hair swept back neatly, and a sharp pinstripe suit, like something out of a noir film. He didn’t speak or move, he just watched. I didn’t know who he was, but he didn’t look like the others.
Before I could ask—
Knock, knock.
Three sharp raps echoed against the door. Everyone stilled. Romano raised his eyebrows slightly. One of his men moved toward the front. “Who is it?” he barked, strong and clear, demanding answers from this unseen intrusion. A deep furrow of distaste sat on my father’s face, anger that he’d been interrupted.
“This is Sheriff Jackson,” came the answer. “We got a call about a disturbance. We’re here to check things out.” I looked at the door, heart thudding. My fingers clenched into fists. Romano’s lips pressed into a thin line, not from fear, but irritation. His little town play had just been interrupted, and he really didn’t like that. His bodyguard looked to him, awaiting orders.
Romano’s nostrils flared. He didn’t move at first, didn’t blink, just stared at the door like it had personally offended him. Then, slowly, he shifted in his seat, spine straightening like a cobra rearing to strike. “Do not let him in.”
