Page 29 of Nanny for the Minotaur

A wicked grin spreads across his face, his eyes darkening. "Come for me, Lyra," he commands, his voice a low rumble. "Let me see you fall apart."

His words are my undoing. My body convulses, pleasure exploding through me like a wildfire. I cry out, my vision whiting out as I ride the wave of ecstasy. Theron's grip on me tightens, his thrusts becoming erratic. With a final, powerful drive, he finds his own release, a deep groan echoing from his chest.

We stay like that for a moment, our bodies pressed together, our breaths ragged. I can feel his heart pounding against my chest, the rhythm matching my own. As the haze of pleasure begins to clear, I'm left with one thought - this was more than I ever expected. More intense, more consuming, more... us.

Theron's lips find mine, a soft, gentle kiss that contrasts with the wild passion of moments before. He pulls back, his eyes searching mine. "You alright?" he asks, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

I smile, my hands cupping his strong jaw. "More than alright," I say, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart. "That was... incredible."

Theron helps me dress with the same tender care he showed in undressing me. His massive hands, so capable of destruction, smooth my wrinkled clothing with gentle precision. We share one last lingering kiss before parting ways in the corridor.

In my room, sleep evades me. I trace my swollen lips, remembering the press of his against mine, the way his fur felt between my fingers. The memory of his touch burns through me. My body aches in the most delicious way, but it's my heart that feels the fullest.

I roll to my side, watching moonlight paint silver patterns on my wall. Three months ago, I arrived here as a healer,determined to help a sick child. Now I can't imagine my life without Mira's bright laughter or Kai's gentle spirit or Theron's quiet strength. Every morning spent teaching Mira her letters and reading with Kai, every evening sharing stories with Theron - they've woven themselves into the fabric of my heart.

My fingers find the dried herbs braided into my hair. My mother always said a healer's heart must be as open as their mind. I never understood until now, lying here, realizing I've fallen completely in love with this unlikely family.

Dawn breaks too slowly. When I finally open my door, something catches my eye. There, on the floor, lies a single rose. Its petals are the deep crimson of the bush we've been nurturing together in the garden - the one Theron claimed would never bloom again. I lift it to my nose, breathing in its sweet fragrance.

The thorns have been carefully removed, but one tiny leaf remains attached to the stem. I recognize it as the same leaf I pointed out to him last week, explaining how its unusual shape meant the plant was finally healing. He remembered. Of course he did.

My heart swells as I cradle the rose. This isn't just a flower - it's a promise, blooming against all odds, just like us.

15

THERON

The morning sun filters through my study window, casting long shadows across the financial ledgers spread before me. My quill hovers above the parchment, thoughts drifting to soft copper hair and determined green eyes rather than focusing on the columns of numbers.

I growl and push back from the desk, my chair scraping against the wooden floor. The accounts can wait. My feet carry me to the window overlooking the garden, where movement catches my eye.

Lyra kneels beside my prized roses - quickly becoming our prized roses - her small frame dwarfed by the towering bushes. My chest tightens, just like it always does when I see her out there working on them. But Lyra's hands move with practiced grace, checking the soil, gently pruning dead leaves. Her fingers trace the edge of a petal with such care it makes my throat close up.

The morning light sets her hair ablaze, turning copper to liquid fire. The kids are not too far from her as they play in the garden, too. She's humming something, a quiet melody thatcarries through the open window. The sight of her there, so at home among Mother's roses...

A pounding at the front door shatters the moment.

"Lord Blackhorn! Emergency at the docks!"

Damn it all. I grab my coat, shrugging it on as I descend the stairs. Through the window by the door, I catch another glimpse of Lyra. She's moved to the white roses now, speaking softly to them as she works. Something inside me rebels at leaving.

"The shipment from the Kaynvu, sir - there's been an incident-"

"I'm coming," I snap, yanking open the door. The messenger, one of my dock supervisors, takes a startled step back. Can't blame him - I must look like thunder.

My gaze strays one last time to the garden. Lyra's lifted her face to the sun, eyes closed, peaceful. Small, capable hands rest in her lap, stained with earth. The urge to stay, to walk out there and pull her into my arms, nearly overwhelms my sense of duty.

Instead, I follow the messenger, each step away from her harder than the last. The roses will keep. They always have. But for the first time since Mother died, I think they might actually thrive.

The Kaynvu silk shipment lies ruined before me, water damage turning the once-vibrant fabric into muted shadows of their former glory. My dock workers hover nearby, waiting for instructions, but my mind keeps drifting to copper hair and gentle hands tending roses. I should care more about this, but Idon't.

I rub my horns, the silver rings clicking against each other. "Send a full inventory to my office by sunset."

"About the Merchant's Guild meeting..." Another voice pipes up.

I blink, trying to focus. The Guild. Right. Crucial trade negotiations today. But all I can think about is Lyra in the library, spread out beneath me...

"The merchants are waiting, my friend." Dex's familiar bulk appears beside me, his green eyes twinkling with amusement. "Unless you'd rather stand here daydreaming about a certain redhead?"

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