Page 26 of Kept By Her Obsessed Minotaurs

"Calo, take her and go!"I bellow, my voice cutting through the chaos. "Find a healer. We'll hold them off!"

Calo hesitates, his eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. Mara's limp body is cradled in his arms, her lifeblood staining his hands. "Go!" I roar, and the urgency in my command snaps him out of his daze. He nods, a curt dip of his head, and then he's gone, disappearing into the labyrinthine alleys of the lowtown.

I turn my attention back to the dark elves, a growl rumbling deep in my chest. My blades dance and weave, a lethal ballet of gleaming metal and raw strength. Each enemy that falls beneath my onslaught is another obstacle cleared for Calo to get Mara the help she needs.

Garron fights beside me, a tempest of brute force. His battle axe cleaves through the dark elves' defenses like a hot knife through butter. We're a formidable pair, our combined might enough to give even the most seasoned warriors pause.

A dark elf lunges at me, his blade aimed for my heart. I sidestep his attack, my blade slicing through the air to find itsmark in his side. He crumples to the ground, joining his fallen comrades in the ever-growing circle of bodies around us.

The street around me is a maelstrom of chaos and bloodshed, yet my mind is a singular, focused point of rage. Mara's blood paints the cobblestones, and it's as if each crimson droplet fuels the inferno within me. This isn't just about gold or retribution anymore. This is about her—a human who's managed to burrow under my skin and ignite a protective instinct that I'd long thought dead.

My twin blades sing a deadly song as they slice through the air, finding their mark with ruthless efficiency. Each dark elf that falls is another lesson in pain for those who dare harm what's ours. I move with a savagery that surprises even me, my body a lethal instrument honed by years of exile and survival.

"Lazir!"Garron's voice cuts through the din, a gruff command that barely registers over the sound of my own heartbeat thundering in my ears. I spare him a glance, noting the tight set of his jaw and the fresh wounds marring his hide. He's holding his own, but the odds are against us.

"Keep them off me!" I shout back, my voice resonating with an authority that brooks no argument.

A dark elf lunges at me, his eyes alight with the thrill of battle. I parry his strike with one blade and counter with the other, opening a deep gash across his chest. He stumbles backward, shock widening his eyes before he collapses. I don't have time to revel in my victory; another foe takes his place, and then another.

The fight is a relentless onslaught, but I welcome the challenge. Each swing of my blades, each rolled shoulder and evaded attack is a testament to my strength and resilience. I ama warrior, a survivor, and I'll be damned if I let these dark elves take Mara from us.

The dark elves' archers suddenly prove to be a nuisance, their arrows whizzing past us with deadly accuracy. One embeds itself in Garron's shoulder, and he grunts in pain, his movements becoming sluggish. I can't afford to let them distract us; I need to even the odds.

With a swift, calculated throw, I send one of my blades hurtling toward the nearest archer. The knife lodges in his throat, and he falls from his perch, silent and still. The remaining archers falter, their confidence waning as they realize they're not safe from our reach.

"You okay, Garron?" I call out, my eyes never leaving our enemies.

He grunts in response, yanking the arrow from his flesh with a snarl. "I've had worse," he replies, his voice strained but steady.

I nod, a grim smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Let's give them something to really worry about."

We launchourselves back into the fray with renewed vigor, our attacks synchronized and merciless. The dark elves fall before us, their arrogance turning to fear as they realize they've underestimated us.

The sound of a blade scraping against cobblestone catches my attention, and I spin just in time to block an attack from behind. The dark elf snarls, his eyes glinting with hatred, but I meet his aggression with cold indifference. I twist my blade, disarming him, and then drive my other blade into his chest.

I look over and lock eyes with Garron, a silent agreement passing between us. We're not just fighting for our lives—we'refighting for Mara, for the chance to reclaim our honor and our place within our clan.

"Let’s finish this!" I call out, my tone gruff as I block an incoming strike with my remaining blade.

"I’m on it!" he growls, his voice strained but laced with determination.

As the last of our attackers falls, I allow myself a moment to catch my breath. My body aches from the exertion, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins keeps the pain at bay. I turn to Garron, an unspoken gratitude reflecting in my eyes. He nods, understanding my silent token of appreciation. We're both exhausted, but we've survived, and that's all that matters.

Without any further hesitation, we turn to make our way through the tangled streets of the lowtown towards the healer. Our steps are heavy, but our spirits lifted by our victory. The sight of Mara's blood on the cobblestones as we walk away is a stark reminder of what's at stake, and I quicken my pace, eager to reunite with Calo and ensure Mara's safety.

23

CALO

My heart pounds like a drum in my chest, each beat a reminder of the fragile life I carry in my arms. Mara's face is pale, her lips tinged with blue, and the sight of her like this sends a jolt of fear coursing through my veins. I've faced down enemies, charged headfirst into battle, but none of it compares to the terror that grips me now. I shouldn't have left her. This is on me. The guilt is a heavy weight, pressing down on me as I sprint through the winding streets of the lowtown.

The hut appears like a beacon in the darkness, its flickering light a symbol of hope amidst the despair that claws at my insides. I don't bother with niceties, my boot connecting with the flimsy wooden door, sending it crashing inward. The healer, an old man with a shock of white hair and a face etched with years of hardship, recoils at the sight of us. His eyes dart from my face to Mara's limp form, and I see the hesitation there.

"Help her," I demand, my voice raw with emotion. The words come out harsher than I intend, but I can't soften them. Not now. "She's dying."

The healer steps forward, his movements cautious as he examines Mara. His touch is gentle, but his words are like apunch to the gut. "She's too far gone," he says, shaking his head. "The wound's deep. I can't save her."

A red haze descends over my vision. I grab the healer by his tunic, lifting him off the ground with one hand. His eyes widen in fear, but I don't care. All I can see is Mara, her life slipping away because I wasn't there to protect her. "You will try," I snarl, my face inches from his. "Or I swear by all that's holy, I will end you."

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