Page 151 of Monsters in Love

Tipping his ear in the direction of the sound, he turned the rabbits, rumbling to himself. Hunger, as he knew well, was a good incentive for curiosity. Not wanting to startle her, he kept his back to her as he continued to work over their meal. Only when it was done did he straighten, pick up a large clay bowl from his crude stone table, and walk over into the light-filled antechamber. His guest may not eat if he was present and watching, but he would occupy himself in his sanctuary and give her time to eat her fill in peace.

Perhaps later, when she was feeling more confident, he would share with her his special place. He smiled at the thought as he stepped inside the antechamber and breathed deep the combined fragrances of all the plant life within. He looked around, trying to see the space how she might.

He could not imagine how she would not find it beautiful.

Light filled every inch of the space, coming through numerous flora-shaped carved vents in a natural stone-worked grating. All his life, he had tried to figure out the source of the warm sunlight and had failed. Even the seemingly delicate stone working was stronger than it appeared when he had thought in one of his youthful rebellions to attempt to break through it. He never saw the sky except glimpsed through the carved vents in the upper parts of the labyrinth, and he did not care to leave himself exposed in the hunting grounds of the other creatures for any longer than he had to.

This room, thus, had become his sanctuary. Filled with light and possessing a natural spring, it was the only source of beauty he had ever really known. And there, in the middle, a pair of peach trees grew, their limbs brushing the top of the roof above. Some of the branches disappeared entirely from sight into the grating and vents, but the labyrinth seemed to adjust around their presence.

The walls continuously reforming themselves, it was every much as alive as he had said aloud. Its sentience was not human, or like any other being caught inside, but something colder even as it took care to nurture the things that benefited it. His existence there fed it and benefited it, and so it saw that he, too, was fed and cared for. The small berry bushes, the peach trees, and the herbs kept alive in a timeless fashion were a testament to that.

Reaching up, Asterion plucked several round globes of fruit from the branches, taking care not to tangle his large horns, and he filled his bowl at a leisurely pace. He did not hear any activity coming from the main chamber, but that did not mean anything. His human was small and probably light on her feet, especially if she wanted to move with an idea of him being unaware.

Finally, he heard it, the soft brush of small human feet on the stone floors. He grinned triumphantly and turned toward the spring to refill one of the small jugs shelved on a carved-out nook in the wall off to the side of it with fresh water.

With his simple offerings in hand, he returned to the main chamber, his gaze falling on the spit where one of the rabbits was missing. He refrained from seeking out the location of his female. Instead, he walked by the spit as if nothing was amiss, carrying the fruit and water jug to the table, his fur prickling with the sense of eyes watching him.

Ignoring his companion’s presence to the best of his ability—a difficult task with her delicious natural perfume thickening in the air of his abode—he attended to his meal, devouring the remaining two rabbits.

Eating his fill of meat and fruit, he eventually retreated to the antechamber to bathe in the spring to remove the grease and fruit juice from his fur, as well as the blood that had dried in uncomfortable, stiff patches all over him. Most of the blood was not his own, but there were at least a few scabs that peeled and opened a bit under his ministrations, stinging at the touch of the cool water. They bled for only a moment before washing clean.

That he healed quickly was one of the few blessings of his cursed existence. The other was his general good health. While he still questioned whether or not his immortality was a good thing, that he wasn’t plagued by any manner of illness was at the very least in his favor. The gods could have been far crueler in devising his fate.

It was for that reason he did not curse them. Though at many times he felt justified in doing so. And some of that was out of respect to his sister that he still continued to visit the ancient shrines scattered through the labyrinth to pay his respects. He did not believe as she did that the gods did not hate him. Why else would he exist in the state he did? Many times, Ariadne had attempted to assure him otherwise. His birth that was a punishment to their parents had nothing to do with their decision to violate the nature of the labyrinth and seal him within it. She had been certain that unholy act had changed the labyrinth and made its thoughts toward humanity hostile.

Pouring a large jug of water over his head, thoroughly dousing his mane and horns, Asterion considered her argument for the first time in a great many years, pushing aside his pain to recall her observations. He remembered the way she had sat on the rocky ledge as he was now, bathing her feet in the water, smiling with pleasure as she spoke.

“The labyrinth was not made this way, Asterion. It has always been a mystic portal between worlds, allowing us to seek and learn the greater mysteries. That is what it was in the time of our forefathers, and theirs before them. Long before Father claimed it as his, the labyrinth drew many to experience its mysteries and to pledge themselves to the gods of the hidden road.”

If she was correct and the labyrinth hated humanity as much as it seemed to love him, then he was definitely going to need to keep a careful watch on his little human. Sooner or later, it would become impatient for her blood.

That uncomfortable thought lingered in his mind, the silence from the main chamber adding to his disconcertment. Asterion rose and shook the water from his fur before hurrying back to the main chamber. He had to assure himself that she was still safe within his abode. Although aware that the thunder of his hooves hitting the rock so quickly could frighten her, he could not force himself to slow. Instead, he flew into the room, panic swelling within him as he turned around the room only to fall at last on the small feminine form slumped at the table.

Lips twitching, he walked to her side and chuckled at the grease and fruit juice smeared across her lips and cheeks, her mouth parted in a soft snore. Grabbing a rag from near his stove, he dampened it with water and gently slid it over the skin of her face and hands, washing away traces of dirt, grime, and the remaining evidence of her meal.

Only once she was clean did he carefully lift her into his arms as not to wake her, enjoying the warm stir of her breath against his chest. He indulged himself in the pleasure of holding her for several minutes as he gave his bed a long, considering glance.

There was only one place for them to sleep. As much as he did not wish to give up his only comfort, he also did not wish to see such a delicate female sleeping draped against the table or on the floor. At the same time, he did not wish for her to wake in terror at the sight of him lying beside her. As delectable as all her scents were—even the fear scent that intrigued the predator within him—he did not wish for her to look on him for much longer in a way that was plagued by that emotion.

He shook his head, annoyed by his own thoughts. Why was he even debating the matter? She would become accustomed to his presence sooner or later. Besides, there was no reason for either of them to be uncomfortable. His sleeping platform was more than big enough for them both. He would just have to take care to keep to one side so not to scare her too much or accidentally crush her beneath his weight in his sleep.

Laying her on his bed, he braced his weight there with one knee as he covered her with the thick furs before he too climbed in and wearily allowed himself to drift into slumber.

Vicky smiled sleepily, burrowing into the warmth surrounding her. It was strange that the sun wasn’t in her face, but she wasn’t about to quibble over small mercies. She wasn’t of the mind to move any time soon, anyway. She was so incredibly warm. And whatever she was pressed up against smelled good too. Did she spill something on her blanket? No, more like on the fur sleeping pad she used. She rubbed her cheek against the soft fur, breathing in the scent. What was that smell?

She couldn’t recall having anything that smelled like that. The bit of cologne that she had found in salvage she had used sparingly, enjoying the pleasant aromas of amber and musk. But this didn’t smell anything like that, and she had run out of the cologne a short while back.

Mumbling, Vicky stretched with a quiet moan of pleasure. Her pillow shuddered on her cheek, and a warm gust tousled her hair. She frowned in her sleep. That wind was unseasonably warm. Extreme changes in the weather were never a good sign from what she recalled. Best to just enjoy the simple comfort while she could, then.

Tangling her hand into thick fur, she snuggled in closer, rubbing languidly against it. She scowled again. There was an uncomfortably hard lump pressed against her belly.Damn rocks.She shifted against it, but when that didn’t dislodge it, she began to lift her knee to shove it aside when a low, very deep moan vibrated against her. Instinctively, she froze, a cold chill suddenly sweeping up her spine when something beneath her furs shifted and a distinctive hand gripped her bottom, pressing that lump even more firmly into her.

Shying away, Vicky squeaked and attempted to wriggle free as she was enclosed even tighter against the fur, a rumbling growl filling her ears.

“You seek to escape, little female?” a voice rasped above her head as a surprisingly warm, velvety soft surface brushed against her forehead and back into her hair.

Those words and the deep growl of the masculine voice cut through the sleepy fog in her mind and Vicky bolted upright. Or would have if the arms around her didn’t tighten further, pinning her helplessly in place while her heart hammered like a snared rabbit. The long, thick shaft pressed against her twitched with an excitement that made her tremble.

The minotaur!

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