Page 33 of The Minotaur's Valentine

“Uh, yeah, I’m pretty sure I would go blurting it out exactly like that. If you care about a person, you tell them the risks of being with you!”

“What would a big, lunkhead minotaur know?” Ricky spits, dropping Libby’s shoulders and turning to me with a sneer. “You have no finesse. No game.”

“Love isn’t a game!”

The kittens are out of the cooler and running to back up Daddy and defend Mommy. That’s what it looked like to me, anyway. In a blinding rage, I’m still so proud of my bitty boys, who hiss at Ricky.

He doesn’t notice. “Milo, man. Come on. This isn’t love, it’s just fun. She knows that. She was practically begging me for it in the club. We had to rush out so we could get to the highlight of the evening if you know what I mean. Just go. And take those cats with you.”

“I’ll go when Libby tells me to go.”

“Fuck, Milo!” Ricky’s sneer turns ugly, twisting his angry features into something sinister. “Why do you care?” Ricky glares at me, and then his eyes bug. “You? You have a thing for her? Big, hairy, horn-head Milo with this beautiful girl?”

“It’s happened before,” I inform him coldly, wishing he’d shut up. If I wasn’t already overheating with rage, I’m sure my cheeks would be hot with embarrassment. I only hope Libby is too out of it to connect the dots.

“Uh.” Libby moans and struggles up, shaking her head as if she’s regaining consciousness.

Ricky sits next to her on the couch and puts his arm around her possessively. “Tell him, sweet thing. Tell Milo to mind his own business so I can make you fly. It’s going to feel so amazing. I haven’t even started yet.”

“Get your hands off of her. You’re messing with her mind whenever you touch her in this state,” I warn. I know a thing or two about incubi and succubi.

“Look, you like to binge on chocolate on Valentine’s, I like my sweet treats more sexy, less sugary. You’re disrespecting my incubus nature.” Ricky tries another tactic.

“One, you’re half-incubus. You could safely feed off of one partner in limited amounts and be perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, if I wanted to feel like any average human. That would suck—no offense, Libs.”

Libby rises, wobbles, and moves over to squeeze herself against the very edge of the sofa, still not speaking, still looking confused.

Ricky groans and grabs his coat, the picture of a frustrated teenager who just got his keys taken. “You ruined it! She’s freaked out now. I’m only half-full, too. What gives you the right to disrespect incubi everywhere by challenging how we eat? I don’t kill! I don’t possess! I make my partners hit that ‘big O’ a dozen times!”

“What gives you the right to make me deny my taurosapien heritage and not trample you into a little stain on this carpet for manipulating and endangering the woman I l— for endangering an innocent woman? Minotaurs protect!” I thump my chest over my pounding heart—and crack the flimsy little glamour pendant I had hidden under my hoodie. Crap.

“Whatever. Libs, it was fun. I’ll see you next year when I bring in Sixpence to see the vet.” Ricky has the gall to bend down, kiss her cheek, and slam out of the apartment. I smell fear above the reek of pheromones.

Good. I scared him.

Also—bad. Libby is staring at me. And I almost said that I loved her. Ricky hinted at it. And I said I was a minotaur.

I want to die.

But I made sure Libby didn’t. Now I have to make sure she’s okay, even if she never wants to see me again. “Please don’t worry about how I look,” I start softly, not quite looking at her. “It’s just... it’s nothing. I’ll go as soon as you can talk and tell me you’re okay. Oh, yeah. I’m Milo. I see you’ve met Freddy and Felix.” I manage a weak smile as the boys climb into her lap, then up her chest so they can stalk across the back of the sofa.

“Milo.” Her voice is beautiful—but definitely not normal. It’s vague and her expression is puzzled as she reaches out a pale hand to pet the nearest kitten.

“Yes. Milo. Uh. Happy Valentine’s Day. I’m sorry it sucked. Oooh. Bad choice of words. Um.” Desperation is not a good look on me. I fumble. I shift. I pull flowers out of my hoodie and present a lopsided bouquet to the woman of my dreams while she’s semi-incoherent.

Libby takes the flowers. A slow, dreamy smile spreads across her face. “Thank you. Metallica.”

“No, Milo. Oh! My shirt. Yeah. I’m a metalhead.”

“Cool. Me, too.” Libby blinks a lot. Her eyes fully focus and she gasps. “Whoa.”

“O-kay.” I slap my hands together as I realize her brain is fully back online and she’s just realized she’s not hallucinating. There’s a mythical creature in her living room. “Well. You sound like you’re feeling better, so I’ll hug the cats and get out of your hair.”

“No. Stay. Please?”

I swallow and shift my trajectory. “Sure.”

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