Page 3 of Kept By Her Obsessed Minotaurs

"Don't move," I snarl, my face inches from hers. "Don't scream, or I'll gut you right here."

Her wide eyes meet mine, and I see the flicker of defiance there, a fire that even fear cannot extinguish. She nods, her bodyquivering beneath my grip. For a split second, I feel a twinge of something unexpected—pity, perhaps, or a shred of respect for her courage. But I shut it down, focusing on the mission.

With a swift, precise movement, I strike the back of her head, rendering her unconscious. She goes limp in my arms, and I hoist her over my shoulder. She's light, her weight a reminder of the fragility that lurks beneath her strength.

I head for our carriage waiting at the edge of the city. When I finally arrive, I dump her inside, her body landing with a soft thud on the wooden floor. I'm about to follow when Lazir and Calo appear, their expressions grim but triumphant.

"No dark elf will follow us now," Calo announces, a dark laugh escaping him as he wipes the blood from his knuckles.

I nod, climbing into the carriage beside the unconscious woman. "Let's get this over with," I say, the weight of the night settling on my shoulders.

As the carriage lurches forward, I can't help but study her. Her face, so determined in the drawing, is now slack, her breaths shallow and even. I find myself wondering about the fire I saw in her eyes, the same fire that once drew me to another human—a fire that led to nothing but pain and betrayal.

I shake off the memory,focusing on the road ahead. We have a long journey, and the woman beside me is nothing more than a means to an end—a path to reclaiming the honor we lost.

The city fades into the distance, replaced by the rugged landscape of the wilderness. The carriage rocks rhythmically, the sound of the horses' hooves a steady drumbeat against the silence of the night.

I glance at the woman again, her chest rising and falling in the dim light. I tell myself she's just another job, another step on the road to redemption. But as the hours pass, and the cityrecedes into the background, I can't shake the feeling that this woman might be more than we bargained for.

The carriage hits a rut in the road, jostling us. She stirs, a low moan escaping her lips. I lean forward, my hand resting on the hilt of my dagger, ready for any sign of wakefulness. But she remains unconscious, her face a mask of vulnerability that belies the spirit I glimpsed in that alleyway.

The night is still young, and the road ahead is long and uncertain. But as I sit there, surrounded by the darkness, I can't help but feel that we're on the cusp of something—a confrontation, a revelation, or perhaps, a second chance at something long thought lost.

3

MARA

The crackling of a fire and the murmur of voices seep into my consciousness, pulling me from the darkness of unconsciousness. My head throbs with each beat of my heart, and my wrists chafe against the rough ropes binding them. I squint against the firelight, my eyes adjusting to the dancing shadows that play across the rugged wilderness surrounding me.

I'm not in the city anymore. The scent of damp earth and pine replaces the stench of refuse and sweat. My captors—minotaurs, from the look of them—sit near the campfire, their massive forms silhouetted against the flickering flames. I remember the cold press of a knife against my throat and the heavy weight of defeat.

I can't afford to be a captive. Not now, not when I'm so close to exacting my revenge. I test the ropes, my fingers fumbling in the dim light. They're tight, but not unbeatable. I grit my teeth, pulling at the knots, each movement sending sharp pains through my wrists.

"Don't bother," a voice rumbles, interrupting my silent struggle. I look up, meeting the gaze of a minotaur I hadn't noticed—younger than the others, with light brown fur andbright green eyes that hold a hint of mischief. "You won't get far."

His words are a challenge, but his tone is almost kind. I glance at the other two minotaurs, their attention seemingly fixed on the fire. The largest of them, with icy blue eyes and a scarred chest, stares into the flames with a distant gaze. The third, leaner and with a worn expression, sharpens a wicked-looking blade, his amber eyes flicking occasionally toward the stars.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady the fear coiling in my chest. My mind races with possibilities, each one more daunting than the last. I don't know their intentions, but I know my own: survival and vengeance.

I stop my futile attempts at escape, instead focusing on the minotaurs. Their conversation drifts over to me, a mix of strategy and grudging respect for their quarry—me. They speak of gold and honor, of a chance to redeem themselves. My capture isn't personal I realize; it's merely a job, a means to an end.

My throat is raw as I bite out the words, glaring at the young minotaur, "I’m already broken. What more can you do to me?"

The young minotaur frowns. He studies me, his gaze tracing the lines of fatigue and defiance etched into my face. With a sigh that seems to carry the weight of the world, he reaches for a knife at his belt. The metallic rasp of the blade leaving its sheath makes my heart skip a beat, but instead of plunging it into my heart, he saws through the ropes binding my wrists.

"You can move around the camp," he says, his voice surprisingly gentle. "But don't try to run."

I stare at him, the implications of his actions sinking in. The ropes fall away, and I rub my chafed skin, wincing at the sting. "You’re letting me go?" I ask skeptically.

He grunts, looking away as he pockets the knife. "No. Just… don’t make this harder than it has to be," he mutters.

I'm on my feet in an instant, the blood rushing to my legs, tingling with the promise of movement. I follow him, my mind whirring with possibilities. This one is soft, I realize, a weak link in their formidable trio.

The other two minotaurs notice my newfound freedom instantly. The large minotaur's voice cuts through the night like a thunderclap, his scowl illuminated by the fire's glow. "What is she doing loose? Tie her up!" he barks.

The young minotaur raises a hand, a silent plea for calm. "Garron, she’s harmless. And she’s hurt," he insists, gesturing to the raw skin around my wrists and the swelling around my ankle.

Garron's icy gaze flickers to me, his skepticism evident. "She's a fugitive, Calo. A thief," he growls.

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