Page 52 of Knocked up By the Minotaur

He continues to walk us a little way in, until the sound of people fades away, and all I can hear are the leaves around us shifting in the breeze, and the gentle song of birds and insects.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks as we come to a stop, and I quietly slip my hands in my pockets once more. “How long have you known?”

Known what? There’s nothing to know. I should get back.

My thoughts begin to spin faster, and I look away.

I hear a low growl of annoyance, and then he grabs my arm again and forces it up, turning it so my slowly scarring wrist hovers right before my face. I finally look at it.

At the long sweep of what was once a tiny scratch, but is now an almost complete and perfect circle. A labyrinth of smaller, geometric lines spin from the outer edges, reaching for the center with a sprawling, unified pattern. Just like what my father once shared with his Fated Mate.

I can no longer ignore it. I’ve been pretending to myself since I last saw Grace that this wasn’t happening, pretending I still thought it was just a scratch. I’ve been avoiding looking at my own wrist like a child.

But I knew, deep down inside. Something had clicked into place, something accelerated inside me the last time Grace and I came together. Something powerful and frightening. I have a Fated Mark, the sacred Labyrinth that appears on all minotaur’s wrists when they find their Fated Mate, the center of their heart’s maze.

My heartstring is tied to hers. Our hearts now beat as one, forever tugging us towards each other.

I’ve spent my life wishing this would never happen to me, and hoping in the same breath that it would. Thinking about the Labyrinth seared into my father’s wrist, which he sliced in half with a kitchen knife when Mom died. Each pattern is unique to every mated pair, a matching, visual representation of their connection, and when he lost her, he couldn’t bear to see it whole and complete anymore. He admitted that to me once, the only time I ever saw beyond his cold mask.

“Grace doesn’t have one.” The words come out of me unbidden, and I gesture at my wrist.

Rho blows out a long breath and releases me. “She’s a human, you idiot.”

“I know.”

“So, it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t have one. It doesn’t mean the same thing.”

Slowly, I put my hand back in my pocket. “I know.”

“Then, why—” He cuts his words off suddenly, before running one big green palm from forehead to tusks, and glaring at me. “Just tell me what the problem is.”

“She doesn’t want me.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“Yes.” My heart is still beating with a steady tug, and the ringing in my ears hasn’t quite gone away. I feel lost. “And no.”

“Yes and no,” Rho mutters. “Great. Perfect. I hate you.”

My lips twitch in a small smile.

“Listen here you big, hairy moron.” Rho shoves both his hands against my shoulders and leans forward. “Where’s the male I know who goes after any female he wants without hesitation? What in all fifteen hells has come over you?”

My smile stretches, and my chest begins to warm at the ridiculous, dramatic frustration coursing through my oldest friend. Gods, I love getting a rise out of him. “I thought you wanted me to stay away from your mate’s sister?”

He snorts with annoyance and shoves me away. “Olistaire, you stubborn-headed bull.It’s different now. Just ask her out like a normal person and let the chips fall where they may.”

“I did ask her out.”

“Oh.” His expression turns suspicious. “And?”

“And she said yes.”

He sighs roughly. “I’m going to punch you.”

“As a friend, Rho.” My smile dims, even in the light of my favorite grumpy bastard’s ire. “She made a point of calling us friends. And bringing up her ex. She said yes for him, not for me.”

Rho squints his eyes further. “So, you’re just giving up?”

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