Page 49 of Her Possessive Minotaurs

“I don’t care!” I snap, frustration boiling over. “I can’t just sit here while they fight for me. I need to do something. This waiting game is making me crazy.”

He steps closer, his presence both comforting and imposing. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “If I don’t face them—if I don’t fight for myself—I’ll never be able to heal. Please let me do this. You’re a healer; you know I need this.”

Kael’s expression softens, his eyes searching mine. He hesitates, the internal battle clear on his face. Finally, he sighs, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“Alright,” he says quietly. “But promise me you won’t be reckless.”

Relief floods through me, and I nod eagerly. “I promise.”

He steps aside, giving me room to pass. “Stay close to me,” he instructs, his voice firm but gentle.

I grip the dagger tightly and follow him into the forest shadows, my heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination.

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35

IRIX

The enemy camp lies before us, a collection of crude tents and flickering fires. Dark elves move about, their voices low and unintelligible. They’re oblivious to the danger lurking just beyond the tree line.

I crouch beside Thalos, my muscles coiled and ready. There are more of them than we expected, but that’s never mattered. We’ve faced worse odds.

Thalos’s eyes meet mine, a silent question in their depths. I nod once, my lips curling into a grin as I spot a lone dark elf stepping away from the group, heading toward the trees. Perfect.

I move like a shadow, my steps silent on the forest floor. The dark elf doesn’t even sense me until it’s too late. My knife slips into his throat with practiced ease, cutting off his breath before he can make a sound. Blood spills onto the ground, dark and viscous.

I drag the body into the bushes, wiping my blade clean on his tunic. One less to worry about.

Thalos takes out another dark elf, his axe cleaving through the elf’s skull with brutal precision. The camp is none the wiser, their oblivious chatter continuing as if nothing has happened.

I feel the familiar rush of adrenaline, the thrill of the hunt coursing through my veins. This is where I thrive—in the chaos of battle, where blood and death are my only companions. Each heartbeat echoes like a war drum against my rib cage, each breath sharp and exhilarating.

Thalos nods at me, signaling that it’s time. Together, we move into the camp with the grace of predators on the prowl. The scent of smoke soon fills the air as we set fire to the tents, flames licking hungrily at the fabric and wood. The crackle of burning timber mingles with the shouts of surprise and panic from the dark elves.

One steps into our path, sword drawn and eyes wide with fear. My axe meets his chest before he can react, splitting armor and flesh with ease. Blood sprays in an arc, painting the ground red. Another charge at Thalos, but he’s too slow; Thalos’s axe cuts him down mid-stride, his body crumpling to the dirt.

We strike down anyone who gets in our way, our movements synchronized and lethal. Each swing of my weapon brings another dark elf to their knees, their lives snuffed out in an instant. Thalos fights beside me, his powerful form a blur of destruction.

The camp descends into chaos, dark elves scrambling to escape or defend themselves. But it’s too late. We’re already among them, a force of nature that cannot be stopped.

The thrill of battle surges through me with each kill, a reminder that this is where I belong—at the heart of chaos and bloodshed, where I am most alive.

The dark elves scrambled in confusion, but Thalos and I cut through them like a storm, our weapons flashing in the firelight. Each strike of my axe sends another dark elf to the ground, their blood mixing with the dirt. The scent of smoke and iron fills the air, mingling with the panicked shouts of our enemies.

A dark elf charges at me, his eyes wide with fear and determination. I meet him head-on, my axe cleaving through his armor and sinking into his chest. He gasps, blood bubbling from his lips, before he crumples to the ground. I yank my weapon free, my gaze already seeking out my next target.

Pain flares in my side, but I push it aside. I didn’t even notice this injury. Blood pours from the wound, warm and sticky against my fur, but it only fuels my rage. Pain is nothing compared to the thrill of the kill.

I fight with reckless abandon, each swing of my axe a testament to my fury. Another dark elf falls before me, his scream cut short as my blade finds his throat. The world narrows to the rhythm of battle—the clash of steel, the spray of blood, the satisfying crunch of bone.

“Irix! Duck!” Thalos’s voice cuts through the chaos, urgent and commanding.

I turn too slowly. A dark elf lunges at me, a sword aimed for my throat. Time seems to slow as I see the glint of the blade coming toward me and feel the sharp edge of danger.

Before the blade can strike, an arrow whistles through the air, embedding itself in the elf’s hand. I whirl around, my eyes wide, as I see Laia standing at the edge of the camp, bow in hand. She looks like a warrior in every sense of the word.

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