Page 34 of Wrangled By the Minotaur
Chapter 11
Monster Mingle
Raphael
The hum of the SUV’sengine is a low thrum beneath my hooves as I drive us to Diego’s. Frankie sits beside me, a soft smile playing on her lips as she scrolls through something on her phone. She’s been doing that a lot, ever since Sage’s article hit the digital presses yesterday. Each notification, each comment, is a new data point. And the data, surprisingly, isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.
“Well, I’ll be darned. He was protecting Sunnybrook this whole time?”
“Frankie Baker always did have a good head on her shoulders. If she trusts him…”
“Finally, some truth comes out. Always knew those Caldwell bastards were up to no good.”
There are still plenty of the familiar condemnations, the warnings about beasts and the foolishness of sweet little FrankieBaker. But they’re not the majority, and a fragile sense of relief has settled in my chest, a sensation so foreign it almost feels like pain.
Hope. I haven’t felt it like this in years.
Frankie glances up, catching my gaze. “Still brooding?” she teases, her smile widening. “It’s going to be okay, you know. Most people are just curious. And a little relieved.”
“Curiosity can turn to fear quickly,” I remind her. “And relief is a fickle emotion.”
She shakes her head, leaning over to gently rest her hand on my arm. “Not for Californians tired of seeing their small towns bought up by corporations. You’re a hero, Raphael. They just don’t know it yet.”
A hero…
I’ve been many things in my life: a ruthless negotiator, a corporate enforcer, a monster. But never a hero. My past is too stained for that. Yet, with her beside me, the idea doesn’t feel entirely preposterous.
“Still, this will be… an experience,” I admit, my gaze scanning the approaching lights of downtown Sunnybrook. Diego’s coffee shop, The Daily Grind, is already spilling light and voices onto the street.
“It will be,” she agrees, squeezing my arm. “Just breathe. And remember, you’re with me.”
You’re with me.The simple phrase carries a weight of reassurance I hadn’t realized I needed.
But she’s right. Her warmth, her acceptance, her unwavering belief in me—it’s a shield against the judgment of the world. I focus on her presence beside me, and the tightness in my chest eases.
We pull up to The Daily Grind, and I notice a distinct change from the few times I’d attempted to visit during my first months in Sunnybrook. Diego had always been welcoming, but soon the rumors started to spread about me buying out the town, and the disapproving stares from patrons became too much for me to bear.
Tonight feels different. The small parking lot is full, and as we step out of the SUV, I see people gathered outside in small clusters, their voices carrying on the evening air. It’s a monthly mixer, I remind myself, a chance for the more diverse members of Sunnybrook to socialize. But tonight feels charged with new energy.
“Ready?” Frankie asks, her hand sliding from my arm to intertwine with my fingers.
I take a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be, little bee.”
As we approach the entrance, conversations pause for a moment, then resume with new intensity as all eyes are on us. I feel the familiar prickle of being observed, scrutinized, judged, but I force myself forward. This is what we chose.
The door swings open, and Diego Vasquez steps out. He’s a chupacabra, but not the bloodthirsty monster of legend. Talland lean, with dark, intelligent eyes and a surprisingly gentle demeanor, he reminds me of a particularly elegant deer, albeit one with a set of sharp teeth that only show when he smiles widely. Tonight, his fangs are on full display.
“Frankie! Raphael!” he greets, his voice a low, melodic rumble. “Welcome. We were just talking about you.” He gestures to the group lingering nearby.
Frankie offers him a warm smile. “Diego! Thanks for having us.”
Diego’s gaze shifts to me. There’s no fear in his eyes, only a quiet understanding. “It took courage, Raphael. To tell your story. To trust us.”
“It was time,” I acknowledge, the words feeling inadequate for the upheaval I’ve caused.
He nods. “Come in, come in. It’s quite the gathering tonight.”
The interior of The Daily Grind is transformed. Gone are the usual cozy coffee shop vibes. The tables have been pushed aside, leaving a large open space. Soft, colorful lights string across the ceiling, casting a warm glow on the diverse crowd. Coffee and pastries can’t mask the underlying currents: the metallic bite of old blood, forest loam clinging to fur, the electric charge that makes my skin prickle, all the raw essences these monsters normally suppress in human company.
