Page 98 of Married to My Grumpy Minotaur Boss

With a sigh, I turn down a smaller street and avoid the main square. I’ll get a taxi once I make it a few blocks and I’ve lost the crowd.

The sirens are closer now. I hope no one was hurt in the surge.

A sick, unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach makes me ice over.

It’s not—

The sirens are even closer. They must be only a few blocks away.

The sound cuts out.

I don’t know how. Don’t ask me. Somehow I justknow.

“Ronan!” It’s stupid. He’s huge! There’s no way he would have been hurt.

What if something happened, though? A fight. A mugging. My mind skims over ridiculous possibilities as I run.

I’m wrong.

I’m probably wrong.

I’m panting as I round the corner. The ambulance has parked so it takes up most of the narrow alley where the back exit to the studio is. I almost fall when my worst fears are confirmed.

His muscular body is laid out on a stretcher. A huge, bulky troll in a white paramedic’s uniform lifts the stretcher and begins loading him into the back of the ambulance. The stricken look on his face makes me ache. “Oh, my god. Ronan!”

I rush toward him, but a stocky human woman, wearing the same uniform as the troll, bars my way. “Ma’am. Only family are allowed.”

“That’s my wife!” Ronan pushes himself to sit on the stretcher, making it almost overbalance.

The troll curses.

I’m so astonished, I almost fall over my feet. “I am? I mean... I am!” I’ve come to a stop next to the stretcher, but all I can do is stare at Ronan looking weaker than I’ve ever seen him.

The troll pushes Ronan into the ambulance, hauls me into the back and shuts the door.

“What’s going on back there?” The driver shouts back.

The troll grunts. “Kuna?”

Ronan nods solemnly. I have no idea what they’re talking about, but my heartbeat is somewhere in my throat and my eyes prick with tears.

“Monster stuff. Just go,” the troll calls to his companion.

She mutters under her breath, “We’re gonna be in so much trouble for this.” But she switches on the sirens and we’re away.

The troll straps Ronan to a machine, fixing something on his arm and sticky patches on his chest.

We’re all so squashed in the back of the ambulance there’s hardly room to move, but somehow the big monster manages it with his thick fingers.

“Justine, you ran off so fast after the show, I couldn’t talk to you.”

The troll hands Ronan a glass of water and a tablet. “Take this.”

“What is it?” He eyes it skeptically.

“Aspirin. Take it.” The troll pushes it toward him. “How’s the chest pain?”

Ronan looks a little sheepish. “Better now.”

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