Page 41 of Kept By Her Obsessed Minotaurs

Draun may be a formidable opponent, but we’re not fighting alone. We have each other, and that makes us unstoppable.

Garron lunges first, his axe slicing through the air with deadly precision. Draun parries, the sound of steel on steel ringing out as he sidesteps the attack. Lazir's hammer comes next, a brutal swing that forces Draun back a step. It's the opening I need. I rush forward, my blade slamming into the general's side with a resounding crash. Draun grunts, his armor absorbing most of the impact, but the surprise in his eyes is satisfying.

He recovers quickly, striking out with his sword. I narrowly avoid the blade, feeling the whisper of air as it passes my face. We're locked in a deadly dance now, our movements a blur of violence and determination.

Draun's a seasoned warrior, his strikes fast and furious, but we match him blow for blow. Our combined strength pushes him to his limits, and I can see the flicker of doubt in his eyes.

Lazir suddenly roars murderously, his hammer swinging in a deadly arc that catches Draun on the shoulder, sending him to his knees.

"This is for her,"Lazir snarls, his voice as cold as ice. The hammer comes down one final time on his skull, the sound of shattering bone echoing through the hall.

The silence that follows is deafening. We stand over Draun's lifeless body, our chests heaving. But within seconds, we quickly turn and head back outside to find Mara. The courtyard is a scene of carnage. But one figure stands out among the chaos—Wlloza.

The dark elf master is a mess of blood and grime, his once-pristine robes torn and stained. His fingers are tangled in Mara'shair, yanking her head back to expose her neck. Rage boils within me at the sight of her pain.

"You dare destroy my plans? You'll watch her die for it!" Wlloza spits, his voice a frenzied snarl. His sword glints ominously in the firelight as he raises it high, ready to deliver the killing blow.

Every instinct within me screams to act, to protect her at all costs. My hand closes around the hilt of a dagger, and with a flick of my wrist, I send it sailing through the air. It strikes true, embedding itself in Wlloza's hand. He releases Mara with a howl of pain, the sword clattering to the ground beside him.

Mara doesn't hesitate. She kicks out, her boot connecting with Wlloza's knee with a sickening crunch. The dark elf crumples, his cries of agony music to my ears. She scoops up the fallen sword.

36

MARA

My heart thrashes against my ribcage. The sword in my hand feels like an extension of my fury. Its weight is a testament to the years of pain and suffering I've endured at Wlloza's hands. His eyes widen in shock, the reality of his impending doom slowly dawning on him. My voice, though trembling, carries the weight of my resolve as I utter the words that seal his fate.

"This... is for everything you’ve done," I cry out.

The blade slices through the air, its path unerring, a deadly arc that ends with the wet thud of Wlloza's arm hitting the ground. Blood paints the air, a macabre display of justice, and splatters across my face.

I wipe the blood from my cheek with the back of my hand. My hands shake, not from fear, but from the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I feel alive, electrified by the taste of vengeance. I am power incarnate, a force of nature that will not be denied.

With a snarl, I raise the sword again, my gaze locked on Wlloza's writhing form. But before I can strike, Lazir's hand closes around my wrist, his grip firm yet gentle.

"You don’t have to do this, Mara. Let us handle it," he says, his voice soft but firm.

His voice is a soft whisper in the chaos, a beacon of reason in the storm of my rage. Calo steps forward, his eyes pleading with me to stop.

"You’ve already won. Don’t let him take more from you," he whispers softly.

Garron's rumbling voice joins the chorus, his words a quiet balm against my wounded soul.

"But if you must, we’ll stand with you," he reassures.

Their faces blur through the tears of anger and sorrow that cloud my vision. I know they mean well, that they only want to protect me from the darkness that threatens to consume me. But they don't understand—this isn't just about revenge. It's about closure, about laying to rest the ghosts of my past.

I shake my head, my voice barely more than a whisper. "I have to do this."

Garron nods, a silent vow that they will support me, no matter what. He moves to Wlloza, his boot pressing down on the dark elf's chest, pinning him in place.

"Do what you need to do," he mutters.

The world seems to hold its breath as I step forward, the sword's edge hungry for retribution. My heart aches with the memory of Diane, her laughter, her warmth, her unwavering loyalty—all stolen by this monster at my feet.

"This is for my best friend!" I yell out.

The blade bites into Wlloza's leg, the resistance of muscle and bone giving way to the relentless force of my anger. The first strike is messy, the cut jagged and incomplete, and a fresh wave of fury washes over me. I scream, my voice a raw, primal sound that echoes into the night, as I swing the sword again and again, each strike a testament to the love and loss that have shaped me.

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