Page 4 of Kept By Her Obsessed Minotaurs

I square my shoulders, meeting his stare with a defiant one of my own. "I'd do it again if I had the chance," I declare, my voice steady despite the turmoil within.

The third minotaur, chuckles darkly, his amber eyes reflecting the firelight. "Feisty one, aren't you?" he mutters. He sheathes his blade with a flourish, leaning back against a tree trunk. "This should be interesting."

Interesting isn't the word I'd choose. Dangerous, precarious, volatile—those fit better. But I can't deny the spark of hope that kindles within me. They see me as a job, a means to an end, but perhaps I can turn that to my advantage.

I take a cautious step away from Calo, testing the limits of my newfound freedom. Garron's eyes narrow, but he doesn't order me bound again. Instead, he returns his attention to the fire, the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching.

Calo gives me a small, encouraging nod before moving to join his companions. I'm left standing on the outskirts of their circle, the warmth of the fire doing little to dispel the chill that settles over me.

The fire crackles, sending a cascade of sparks up into the night sky. I watch, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts, as the one they call Lazir hands a small vial to Calo. The glass container catches the firelight, casting an amber glow on Lazir's face. For a fleeting moment, his amber eyes soften. It's gone as quickly as it appeared, but I've seen it. A hint of tenderness from the most hardened of the three. Interesting.

Calo, with his energetic demeanor, approaches me. He doesn't look nearly as intimidating as his companions, and I can't help but feel a twinge of relief. "Come," he says, his voice carrying the warmth of the fire. "Let's tend to those wounds."

I follow him to the edge of the camp, away from the prying eyes of Garron and Lazir. The night wraps around us, the whisper of the wind the only sound apart from the distant murmur of the minotaurs' conversation. Calo's hands are surprisingly gentle as he examines the raw skin around my wrists and the swelling on my ankle. He uncorks the vial, and the scent of herbs fills the air, pungent and earthy.

"This might sting," he warns, his voice low. I nod, steeling myself. The medicine feels cool against my injuries, the initial sharp pain quickly giving way to a soothing numbness.

"Thank you," I murmur, offering him a soft smile. It's a tool, this smile, a way to disarm and charm. But as I look into Calo's earnest eyes, I find myself meaning it. There's something about his straightforward kindness that makes me feel... safe. It's a foreign sensation, one I haven't felt in years.

Calo's cheeks darken at my gratitude, and he looks away, focusing intently on his task. "It's nothing," he mumbles. "We're not monsters."

My mind races as I watch him work. This is my chance. Calo is kind, perhaps too kind for his own good. If I can gain his trust, maybe even his sympathy, I might be able to use it to myadvantage. Escape is within reach, and I can't afford to let this opportunity slip through my fingers.

I study Calo's profile, the way his brow furrows in concentration. He's younger than the others, more impulsive, I suspect. Garron is the clear leader, a tower of strength and restraint, while Lazir is the cynical warrior. But Calo... Calo could be my ticket to freedom.

4

LAZIR

The fire's glow dances across the human female's face, highlighting the determined set of her jaw and the spark of defiance in her hazel eyes. It's a familiar look, one I've seen on the battlefield, but it's misplaced on her. Mara, she calls herself.

I grab the rope, the rough fibers biting into my palm. Her gaze locks onto it, and she recoils as if it's a serpent poised to strike. "No," she pleads, her voice barely a whisper against the crackling fire. "Please… don't tie me up again."

I can't help but scoff. "I'm not as stupid as Calo," I say, my voice low and steady as I crouch before her. Her eyes are wide, fear and desperation warring within their depths. I loop the rope around her wrists, my movements deliberate and precise. "You're too obvious, human. I see what you're doing."

She swallows hard, her face losing what little color it had. "What do you mean?" she stammers, trying to pull away from the inevitable.

I smirk, tightening the knot with a sharp tug. "You think you can manipulate him," I say, nodding toward Calo, who's busy tending to the horses. "Play on his sympathy. But it won't work with me."

Her defiance crumbles, replaced by a vulnerability that I refuse to be swayed by. "I… I wasn’t…" Her voice trails off, and she lowers her gaze to her bound hands. Her breaths come quicker now, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that betrays her fear.

For a moment, my hands still. There's a part of me that's bothered by her fear, a part that feels an unwelcome twinge of guilt. But I push it aside. She's a job, nothing more. I've seen too many fall for the damsel's act, and I won't be one of them.

I finish tying the rope, ensuring it's secure but not too tight. "You're not the first to try and outsmart us," I say, standing up to my full height, looming over her.

Mara's voiceslices through the tension. "I can pay you more."

"What?" The word slips out, gruff and disbelieving.

Her next words spill forth like a dam breaking, rushed and tinged with desperation. "I can pay you more—more than whatever my dark elf master is offering you!"

My brow furrows, skepticism etched into the lines of my face. I lean in, my voice a low growl, my eyes narrow slits of suspicion. "Where?"

Her breath hitches, a small, telling sound that echoes in the quiet space between us. My hands begin their search, patting her down with practiced efficiency. I feel the contours of her arms, the folds of her tunic, the swell of her hips. When my hand inadvertently grazes the curve of her breast, she gasps, her body tensing like a bowstring.

Our eyes lock, and I freeze, the world narrowing to the space where our gaze collides. Her cheeks flush a deep crimson, her lips parting slightly as if to speak, but no words come out. The softness of her, the vulnerability in her wide eyes, it's disarming.My grip tightens on her arm, my breath coming heavy and ragged.

"The gold… it’s… it’s not there. It’s on my side in my satchel." Her voice is a whisper, a secret told in the dead of night. My fingers slide along her breast to her ribcage, lingering longer than necessary, betraying the alpha male exterior I've always prided myself on.

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