Page 14 of The Minotaur's Milkmaid
“And the others?” he presses. “No mothers. Fathers?”
My mind is whirling. I don’t understand why he’s asking me this. None of the girls in Havenmoor ever spoke of family. There were caretakers. Keepers. But not parents.
“No,” I whisper.
Dakar nods, encouraging me. “Why do you think that is?”
I fumble for the words. “We’re…protected. The humans protected us.”
“Or maybe,” he says softly, “you needed protectionfromhumans.”
“Shut up!” Jacob snarls, raising the gun higher. “Stop talking to her like that! Maeve, get out of the water. Now!”
Dakar ignores him. “Let me explain something to you,” he says, entirely too calm for someone with a gun being pointed at him. “For generations, humans have stolen calves from their cradles. Raised them to produce milk like livestock. All while feeding them lies and calling it safety.” His gaze falls on me again. “Tell me, Maeve. When a Hucow mates with a human…what kind of children are born?”
The question sends a jolt through me. “Human,” I whisper.
He nods. “That’s right. Because calves only come from bulls. Bulls like me.” He gives me a small smile, bringing my hands to his chest.
“Your kind were never meant to be mated to weak human men who see you as nothing but breeding stock. You were meant to be worshiped. Fought for. Claimed by a Bull.”
“That’s enough!” Jacob screams. “She’s coming with us!”
The crack of the gunshot splits the air.
Dakar jerks back, his hands letting go of mine. My scream rips free as blood blooms across his shoulder.
He looks down with a blank expression. He lifts up his arm and flexes his fingers. The wound is already weeping red down the muscle of his bicep, but he doesn’t even flinch as he wipes at the dripping blood.
Jacob is fumbling with the gun, trying to reload. Dakar sighs.
“Should’ve aimed for my heart, boy,” he says calmly, wading out of the water and stepping onto the bank. “That is, if you can find it. Maeve certainly has.” He throws a wink over his shoulder at me, and I gape at him. I can’t believe he’s still making jokes rightnow.
The other two men behind Jacob shift nervously, backing up, but Dakar’s full attention is locked on the farm boy. As he emerges from the spring, water cascading off his bare torso, he looks so powerful, like even the gods themselves wouldn’t be able to force him to kneel.
“I was trying to be civil,” he tells them, “but you shot me, and that’s rude.”
Jacob raises the gun again, but Dakar moves faster. He rips the weapon from Jacob’s hands like it’s nothing and swings the butt of it straight into his jaw. I raise my hands to my mouth when I hear the crack of impact, and Jacob crumples into the grass with a grunt.
Then, Dakar takes the rifle in both hands, his muscles tense, and he bends the weapon in half as if it’s nothing.
The other men cry out, Aaron rushing forward with his pitchfork. Dakar catches it mid-swing, wrenches it free, and snaps it clean across his knee.
Jacob scrambles back, dazed, a cut blooming on his lip. “You’re a fucking monster!”
“I’m abull,” Dakar snarls. “And she’smine.”
Aaron makes a run for it. Dakar lets him. Eli hesitates until Dakar takes one step toward him.
“Boo.”
He bolts after his friend.
Dakar turns back to Jacob. “Run along, little farm boy. Maeve belongs to me now. Next time you come back for her, bring an army, or a coffin.”
Jacob glares at him, and then back at me, spitting blood on the ground before scrambling to his feet. Then he limps away, cursing under his breath.
Dakar turns toward me, his expression softening. He looks down at the bullet wound and shrugs one shoulder.
