Page 13 of Damian

We press on through the debris for at least another two miles, guided by the ever-present sound of the waterfall, which acts as a beacon, driving us forward.

Damian held his arm straight out across my chest in response to the male voices around the curve. I stop my in my tracks.

The unhealthy fear I have lived with for all my life takes no offense to his chivalrous actions.

Priscilla and Shay seem bothered when shoved behind their mates.

There’s no doubt the men we hear are Minotaurs. They would have already caught our scents. Our bulls shift enough to communicate their plan. A plan we aren’t privy to.

Chapter 9

Damian

“More powerful than the smell of fire is the smell of dreams and fear dancing together in the hearts of those united with one purpose.” ~ Damian

As we approach the group, the smell of wood smoke and the sound of crackling flames fill the air. The forest is alive with chirping crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves. The moon casts a silvery glow, guiding us onward.

When we turn the corner, my heart pounds. The sight of over twenty Minotaurs surrounding a campfire sends a wave of apprehension through me. While my nose doesn’t detect any immediate threat, I remain on high alert. The five of us capable of fighting stand no chance against such a number if they mean us harm. This knowledge doesn’t deter us. It keeps our senses sharp, though.

The tense atmosphere amplifies every rustle of leaves and flicker of flames.

Why are so many here? What are they doing outside?

Peter pushes in front of us. “They are here for the same reason I am,” he admits through our telepathic connection.

He doesn’t have to tell us his mate is calling him. We know by his actions and attitude.

I reach for Emjay’s hand and nod a signal, hoping she understands we believe it’s safe to proceed.

The campfire burns in the center. Sleeping bags lay on the ground. How long have they been here?

Two from the group approach us. “I’m Isaak and this is Charis.”

Isaak, with his blonde hair and piercing blue irises, seems to instinctively take on the role of a leader. He stands tall and confident, his gaze steady. While there’s never an official alpha among our kind, dominant personalities still exist. Natural leaders always emerge in a group when necessary.

The raven-haired Charis, on the other hand, stands with a more cautious demeanor. His muscles tense as he crosses his arms, ready to spring into action if needed.

“Damian.” I offer my hand and they both shake it. “Why are you all outside instead of in the labyrinth with your mates?”

Charis uncrosses and recrosses his arms, holding steady on the defense. Isaak raises a brow.

I nod toward Peter. “This is Peter. He is here for the same reason as all of you.”

“And the rest of you?” Charis pries, looking around our small herd.

Peter, always eager and impulsive, moves toward the entrance with determination. His vision reflecting the firelight. With his hand pressed to the air, he announces, “There’s a barrier.”

Willow follows him with her gentle demeanor and sharp intellect. Her husband Julian remains by her side, his protective nature clear in every glance he casts her way. He grabs his wife’s hand before she gets any closer. Willow gives him an evil eye. “You can come with me, dear, but I’m the only one who can figure out if it’s magic.”

Willow’s words force more men closer.

“Magic?” Isaak asks.

“My former herd enslaved witches to do their bidding,” Emjay tells them.

Charis moves into a fighting position. “Is this witch your slave?”

“Charis, you’re a sweet dear, but I’m no one’s slave,” Willow barks. “Well, except his—in the bedroom.”

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