Page 62 of Her Possessive Minotaurs

“But the orc attack... that was different. That was my mistake, my selfishness. I wanted her back. I couldn’t let go,” Eryndor babbles.

Kael’s expression darkens, his voice a cold whisper. “Laia must never know about this.”

I nodded, my jaw clenched. “Agreed.”

Without another word, I slam my fist into Eryndor’s face, sending him sprawling to the ground. The sickening crack of his jaw hitting the dirt echoes through the courtyard, and blood spills from his nose.

“This is for every scar on her body,” I growl, yanking him back up only to slam him down again. His cries of pain fill the air as I unleash blow after blow, each one fueled by the torment he put Laia through.

Kael circles behind us, his axe gleaming in the torchlight. “He needs to live,” he murmurs, his voice cold and devoid of mercy. Kael stops him from bleeding profusely.

My chest heaves with each breath, and my fists bloodied from the assault. But I step back, my eyes still burning with fury. “Then make sure he can never speak again.”

Kael moves swiftly, his blade flashing as he grabs Eryndor by the throat. With a swift, precise motion, he cuts out the dark elf’s tongue. Eryndor’s screams are silent now, his body writhing in pain as blood pours from his mouth.

We leave him hanging in the courtyard, his body broken but alive—if only for Laia’s final judgment.

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46

LAIA

The morning sun rises, casting long shadows across the courtyard. The sky is a pale blue, and the air is still cool with the remnants of night. I stand before Eryndor, my hand gripping the handle of a heavy axe. My body is still weak, but my mind is clear, and my purpose is singular.

Eryndor hangs from the post, his body battered, his eyes sunken and wild. His mouth moves, but no sound comes—his voice stolen by Kael’s blade.

My heart racesbut it’s not fear I feel anymore. It’s power. It’s control. For the first time since my capture, I’m the one with the power.

Thalos, Irix, and Kael stand behind me, silent sentinels, their presence a wall of strength. They’re here with me, but this moment is mine alone.

Eryndor’s eyes meet mine, and for a fleeting moment, I see something that almost looks like remorse. Almost. But it’s too late for that now. He made his choices; now he faces the consequences.

I tighten my grip on the axe handle, feeling its weight in my hands. My arms tremble slightly—not from fear but fromexhaustion and anticipation. I take a deep breath and step forward.

The air is thick with tension; every breath is a reminder of what this moment means. It’s not just about revenge—it’s about reclaiming my life. My freedom.

“Do you remember?” I ask him, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “Do you remember what you did to me? To my friends?”

Eryndor’s eyes widen slightly but he doesn’t respond. He can’t respond. Kael made sure of that. Kael pinned his tongue on the top of his head.

I take another step closer, the axe feeling like an extension of myself now. “You took everything from me,” I continue, my voice gaining strength. “But you didn’t break me.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I see the fear in his eyes grow. He knows what’s coming.

I glance back at Thalos, Irix, and Kael—my protectors, my family—and draw strength from their presence. They nod in silent support.

I step forward, my gaze locked on Eryndor’s twisted form. The courtyard is silent, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the morning breeze. The air smells of earth and iron, a grim reminder of what’s at stake.

“This is for every life you’ve taken,” I say, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “For every scar you’ve given me. For every moment you tried to break me.”

Eryndor’s eyes widen, his body trembling in the chains that bind him. He tries to speak, but only a faint gurgle escapes his lips. His fear is palpable, almost a tangible thing in the air between us.

I raise the axe high above my head, feeling its weight shift in my hands. The morning sun glints off the blade, casting abrief flash of light across Eryndor’s face. His eyes are wild and desperate—filled with a fear he’s never shown before.

With one swift motion, I swing the axe down. The blade slices cleanly through Eryndor’s neck, the force of the blow sending his head tumbling to the ground with a dull thud. Blood splatters across the dirt, pooling around his lifeless body.

For a moment, I stand still, my chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. The world feels different—lighter. His tyranny falls with his severed head, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, I’m liberated.

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