Page 7 of Bound to the Minotaur
“I ordered them for you. So eat,” my grumpy companion said, his eyes leaving my face to focus on his own stack of pancakes and the overflowing salad. He dug in as if he hadn’t eaten in as long as I had, and half of it was gone before I’d even begun. Avis had materialized beside the booth like a summoned demon. He yowled once and jumped up, pawing at my thigh for a piece.Gregory shot him a look, and the cat sat down reluctantly, tail twitching with offended dignity.
I picked up my fork and took a bite. They were divine. Slightly crisped edges, buttery and soft inside, and the syrup was maple—not that corn syrup nonsense. I let out a soft, involuntary moan of appreciation. Gregory’s jaw ticked, and I couldn’t stop myself from doing it again, just to get a response. Still chewing, I watched him with narrowed eyes. “You sure you don’t want bacon?”
He gave me a flat look. “Eat your damn pancakes.” I did, slowly, savoring each bite, trying to stretch the moment. Maybe I didn’t know where my life was going, maybe my future had just been torched by my mobster father from three hundred miles away, but here, in this weird little town, with a pancake-offering tow truck driver and a food-obsessed cat, I didn’t feel like a victim.
I felt...weirdly okay.
The bell over the diner door jingled behind me. I turned to look, curious who else would frequent this place. A woman stepped in first—tall, graceful, with skin like polished obsidian, all bundled up against the crisp autumn cold. Beside her, a man with copper-toned skin and dark eyes scanned the room protectively, his arm slung around her shoulders in a way that said,mine.
“Gregory,” the man greeted, lifting two fingers. They clearly knew each other, but I wasn’t sure if they were friends or enemies, with the way Gregory’s face went tight as he nodded. The woman’s gaze swept toward me. She stilled. Her eyes narrowed, just a fraction. Surprise. Then calculation. Her gazewas a vibrant green that couldn’t possibly be natural and was breathtaking in its beauty.
Gregory’s fork clattered onto his plate with a loud noise. I snapped back in my seat, turning to him. His plates had been all but licked clean—so had mine—but when he stood abruptly, reaching for me, I wasn’t ready to go. My fork hitting the table sounded even louder when he grabbed my arm and pulled. “Up,” he grunted.
“What?” I managed, still chewing on my last delicious bite. We were leaving? But things had just started to get interesting. It caught me by surprise how badly I wanted to know these people and how my strange protector fit into their lives.
“Now!” he snarled. Before I could argue, he pulled on my wrist again—more gently this time, but firmly—and dragged me from the booth. Avis gave a startled yowl and launched after us as Gregory hustled us to the door, moving like a man suddenly very aware of how many people could ask the wrong questions.
The last thing I saw as the door swung shut behind us was the woman and man staring after us, their interest now fully piqued. Whatever peace I’d had was gone—replaced by a familiar flutter of adrenaline. It all felt like trouble, and my sense of safety washed away, replaced by the fear that I’d stepped into something just as troubling as what I’d been trying to escape.
Chapter 6
Gregory
The diner door slapped shut behind us with a gust of heat that clung to my back like regret. I hated that they saw her with me—not because she wasn’t worth being seen—hell, she was all soft gold and sharp edges, a contradiction I couldn’t stop orbiting. No, it was because I knew exactly what would come next: the whispers, the assumptions, the stories that would spring from nothing and catch fire like dry pine.
How long before the mayor showed up at my cabin, smirking through her fangs and dropping off some overstuffed basket full of preserves—along with an invitation for Kess to “run with her pack”? As if being dragged through a moonlit forest half-shifted were some kind of bonding exercise. As if a pack of werewolf misfits wasn’t going to scare off my human forever.
I should’ve kept her in the truck. Ah, fuck, did I just think of her asmyhuman? What was wrong with me? She wasn’t here to stay; she wasn’t here for anything but help with her car, and then she had to move on, had to. The churning feeling that something dangerous was looming over her head intensified, and with it came a deep sense of guilt. I shoved that away as hard and fast as I could, but it was already too late.
Beside me, Kess was quiet. Turned inward like a closed book. I couldfeelthe weight of her thoughts dragging at her steps. Her fingers were cold against my forearm where I still held on—loosely now, but there was something in me that wouldn’t let go. Not yet.
She had fit into that diner too well. Mikael’s place: cozy, cluttered, full of food, heat, and ghosts of conversation. I hadn’t liked the way he looked at her—not overt, just that calm, assessing chef’s glance: appreciation, admiration. He’d been a bit of a womanizer once upon a time, and I couldn’t seem to forget that. I hated it.
Possessive wasn’t something I liked to admit to being. That was old Minotaur instinct: hardwired and ancient, buried under years of self-control. But it was rising in me now, curling under my skin like steam behind a sealed lid. I was painfully aware of her—the sound of her breath, the little scuff of her boots on gravel, the way her hair caught in the wind and shone like pale fire. I hadn’t asked her to come to town with me because I needed company; I’d asked because I couldn’t stomach letting her out of my sight.
We reached Ted’s shop, a squat building with too much tin siding and the faint smell of copper and gasoline. I nudged the door open with my foot and steered her inside with a hand on her elbow. The building was a little crooked on the outside, but everything was straight and neat as a pin inside. Every nut, bolt, and spare part had a place on the handmade racks and shelves.
The place was warm—too warm. It smelled like oil and soldering flux. Ted sat behind the counter, his big hands cleaning a carburetor that probably hadn’t worked in twenty years. Once he was done, it would work like a charm, I had no doubt about that. Ted could make anything obey. He’d have made a good mechanic, but he’d chosen pipes and water boilers over the purr of an engine.
His eyes lifted, taking us in with that unreadable stare of his. He didn’t say a word, just rang up the part I’d called ahead about—the damned radiator fitting I’d been too lazy to replace—and slid it toward me like he was afraid we might start kissing across his register. My stomach twisted again, worried he’d say something, but he didn’t. I nodded once. He nodded back, and that was it. I should have remembered that Ted, weathered werewolf that he was, never wagged his tongue like he wagged his tail.
As we stepped back out into the sun, my ears twitched—figuratively, not literally, though it was a close call—and caught the scrape of his phone being lifted from the counter. “Yeah. He brought a girl.” His voice was low, but it might as well have been shouted. I didn’t need to hear the rest to know exactly who was on the other end.
Kai. His son. I should have remembered that there was one person Ted always talked to. Was it gossip when you simply shared everything, as naturally as breathing? I growled under my breath, and the quiet woman at my side shivered—and it wasn’t from the cold, though it was obvious she was cold.
She hadn’t heard and probably didn’t realize what a stir her presence caused. She was too wrapped in the cloud of her own worry, her gaze distant, shoulders hunched against a chill I couldn’t warm.
Next stop: the general store. I wanted to get in and out fast, but as soon as we crossed the threshold, the dusty scent of wood polish and cloves grounded me. Avis bounded in behind us like he owned the place, tail high and eyes scanning for snacks. The last time he’d been in here was months ago, and I guiltily realized that I’d been even more homebound lately than usual.Maybe that was because Hillcrest Hollow now sported two new additions of the female persuasion—and it had been a little painful to see them and the men they’d snagged together: Rosy and Char, Freya and Kai.
I looked down at Kess. She looked pale, fretful. As uneasy about being inside the store, as I was, it seemed. Maybe still plagued by whatever it was that hung over her head like a dark cloud. “Grab what you like for dinner,” I said, pressing a basket into her hands. “Anything.” I just wanted to distract her, to please her. I wanted to take away the paleness that lingered in her face, and the bruises that marked her exhaustion beneath her eyes.
She blinked at me like I’d asked her to solve a riddle in a language she didn’t speak. Then she nodded and drifted off toward the shelves, her eyes scanning every label as if it might explode if she chose wrong. She looked lost. Overwhelmed. I’d told her to pick anything, but I could see it on her—she didn’t know what she wanted. Most likely, she didn’t want to spend any money, or didn’t feel right spending mine. Maybe she never got to choose back home.
I stood rooted, watching her from the corner of the aisle, chest tight. Something moved beside me. No sound, just a shift in the air. I didn’t need to look to know who it was: Luther, the store’s owner. His form was a cool breath of air against my shoulder, not touching, but invading all the same. His suntanned skin belied his nature, if you believed popular folklore, but then, most nightwalkers walked perfectly fine in the day, too.
He didn’t say a word, just sidled up beside me and raised one elegant brow, following my gaze toward Kess. Then he noddedslowly, like he was approving or something. I bared my teeth at him. Not a grin. Nothing friendly.
Lucien chuckled low in his throat, held up his hands in mock surrender, and ghosted off again, like he’d never been there. He always made me feel like a freaking bull in a china shop, and today was no different. My elbow even caught on a tin of soup when I turned too fast to look back at how Kess was doing. Letting out a long breath, I felt more settled with my eyes on her, knowing that she was safe. Safe, but still fretting over a jar of olives like it held the secrets of the universe.
