Page 57 of Jayce

We all look. It can’t be one of our protectors. They’re hidden from sight, sound, and smell with Willow’s magic.

“Enough is right.” The male who gave us the ultimatum to come with him or Elena dies, shouts before shifting.

He throws the first punch at Damian, whose head flies backward, but he quickly recovers.

In the heart of the wreckage left to decay by a hurricane, amidst the towering amusement rides and swampland, a fierce battle rages. Those of us who can’t shift crawl, dragging Jamie’s body with us, under overturned tables in the distance.

The roars from the heat of battle echo throughout the park. I can only hope cars on the interstate passing by chalk the noise up to thunder.

Horns clash in a deadly dance of dominance.

On our side stands the forces of righteousness, their resolve as unyielding as the cypresses that remain untouched by Katrina’s wake.

The eyes of all are ablaze with a fire of determination.

My sperm donor’s herd’s thirst for control has maneuvered them past the point of sanity. They’ve fallen into whatever level is beyond reason and logic.

The clash of flesh against flesh fills the air. The sickening crunch of bone mingles with the anguished cries of the fallen.

The difference between their Minotaurs and ours appears to be the color of their skin. While our men are more brownish, the enemies’ skin is gray and ashen.

Our Minotaurs under Willow’s spell fight alongside our men, confusing the other herd. Six of theirs have fallen, it seems, to their deaths. Their imminent doom hasn’t shaken their resolve to win.

Another three fall to their deaths before the rest raise their hands in surrender. As the dust settles and the cries of the battle fade into the distance, a tense silence descends upon the area.

I stay huddled with the others under the table even though it appears safe to emerge.

Hearing the bulls speak takes me by surprise. It seems silly that I assumed they only communicated telepathically.

The three remaining members of the enemy are on their knees.

“It’s a trick. It’s not possible for my daughter to mate with anyone.” The one speaking must be our grandfather.

Damian’s bull turns his shoulder with his new mark from Helios toward the man. “It is possible. We have no power to mimic Helios.”

“But our herd can’t mate. We made sure of it.”

“I don’t know what that means or care. She stopped being a part of your herd the day she ran. Whatever you did to hold back her destiny doesn’t apply to her.”

“Are you finally finished?” The same voice that spoke to Jayce and me during the ceremony interrupts.

A presence materializes, but he looks more ghostly than tangible.

Our bulls fall to their knees with reverence.

The other three spit at his feet. “You did this. You took our mates,” Grandfather tells him.

“Did I not scream enough just a few minutes ago? Was I not ignored? Is it my fault your men lay dead?”

Heads hang in shame.

“It’s not the same. You could have made her stay. Made her choose me.” Grandfather’s words are whispers on the wind. His voice laced with pain.

“The same way I could have made you stop this fight? You would have me rip someone of their freewill, as you have done?”

Grandfather looks up at Helios in defiance and screams, “If it meant I didn’t have this ache in my soul!”

“You would have found wholeness with another had your heart not turned bitter. The Fates are always ready to restore.

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