Page 16 of Kept By Her Obsessed Minotaurs

My lips peel back in a snarl, my voice a low rumble. "Let's finish this."

The dark elves charge, their movements a blur of deadly intent. But we are not unprepared. Calo stands protectively in front of Mara, his hammer gripped tightly in his hands. Lazir is at my side, his blades glinting in the firelight, his broken horn casting a menacing shadow across his face.

"On my signal," I murmur to him, my eyes locked on the advancing enemy.

Lazir nods, his focus absolute. He's always been the quiet one, but his silence speaks volumes. We've fought side by side for years, our bodies moving in a dance of deadly precision.

The first wave of dark elves reaches us, their swords raised high. I meet them head-on, my axe swinging in a wide arc. The impact vibrates up my arm, a grim reminder of the arrow lodged in my shoulder, but I push the pain aside. I am a minotaur, bred for battle and born to lead.

"Stay close," I yell back at Mara, my voice carrying over the dying embers of the fire.

14

LAZIR

The forest clearing becomes a whirlwind of chaos and death. The campfire’s glow casts long, dancing shadows across the faces of our dark elf enemies. My twin blades sing a deadly melody as they slice through the air, cutting down dark elf after dark elf with ruthless precision. Their blood paints the ground. It's a crimson testament to my fury and the sheer, brutal skill honed from years of survival and loss.

A particularly bold elf lunges for Calo, his sword arcing toward my companion’s exposed side. Without hesitation, I hurl one of my blades, watching with grim satisfaction as it embeds in the attacker’s chest. The dark elf’s eyes widen in shock, his sword clattering to the ground as he crumples.

Calo whirls around, following my gaze to the fallen elf. His eyes meet mine, gratitude and resolve mingling in his expression. We share a nod, a silent acknowledgment of our bond—one forged in battle, hardship, and the unspoken understanding that we are brothers in arms.

Calo scoops Mara into his arms, throwing her over his shoulder with a protective growl. "Stay safe," he murmurs beforedarting into the darkness of the forest, leaving Garron and me to face the tide of enemies.

Garron grunts, pressing a hand to the arrow still lodged in his shoulder. "Good. She's finally away from this. Now we can fight properly." His voice is strained, but there's a savage edge to it that matches the feral grin spreading across my face.

I charge into the fray once more, my remaining blade a blur as it carves a path of destruction through the ranks of dark elves. My heart thunders in my chest, a primal rhythm that fuels my movements. I am death incarnate, a relentless force of nature that will not be denied.

"Let them come," I snarl, my voice carrying over the clash of steel and the cries of the dying. "I will send them all to meet their dark gods."

A dark elfwith a scarred face and eyes filled with hate charges at me, his sword raised high. I meet his attack with a brutal counterstrike, my blade slicing through his midsection. He falls with a gurgling scream, his lifeblood seeping into the earth.

Garron fights beside me, his axe cleaving through the enemy lines despite his injury. We move as one, a dance of death and survival that has been etched into our very souls.

"To think they believed they could best us," Garron sneers, his eyes alight with the thrill of battle. "Fools."

I laugh, the sound dark and thrilling. "They underestimated us. Their mistake," I snarl.

Another dark elf attacks, and I parry his thrust, driving my blade through his heart. As I pull my sword free, I catch sight of Calo's retreating form disappearing into the forest, Mara safe in his care. A twinge of something unexpected—concern, perhaps—tugs at me, but I push it aside. There is no room for distraction on the battlefield.

The fight rages on, and I lose myself in the rhythm of combat. Each enemy that falls before me is a testament to my strength, my skill, my unyielding will to survive. I am an alpha male, a minotaur warrior born and bred for moments like this.

My blades drip with the dark elves' blood as the last of their warriors falls. The clearing is silent, save for the crackling of the dying fire and the ragged breaths of the few survivors. I tower over the fallen, my chest heaving, muscles thrumming with the aftermath of battle.

Suddenly, a pathetic whimper draws my attention. A dark elf, barely more than a boy, cringes at my feet. His eyes are wide with terror, and the acrid stench of urine wafts from him.

"Please," the young dark elf stammers, his voice quivering. "I beg you, spare my life, and my uncle Wlloza will reward you handsomely. He'll pay for my return, and for the slave woman."

I scoff at his plea. "Your uncle's gold?" I sneer. "It belongs to us now."

The boy shakes his head,his expression twisted in confusion. "Not gold," he insists, his words coming out in a rush. "Mara... she has stolen something far more valuable. My uncle... he needs it back."

Garron and I exchange a glance. The little human has been keeping secrets. This should be interesting.

Before the boy can elaborate, his body convulses, a guttural sound tearing from his throat. Black blood spews from his mouth, staining the ground. A slow, knowing smile spreads across my face. It seems Wlloza left nothing to chance.

"He's been poisoned," I state matter-of-factly, nudging the boy's lifeless body with the tip of my boot. "A fail-safe to prevent him from talking."

Garron grunts in agreement, his hand still clutching the wound on his shoulder. "He's of no use to us dead. We'll have to get the truth from Mara," he rumbles.

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