Page 36 of Wrangled By the Minotaur
Before I can respond, Frankie returns, slipping back to my side with an apologetic smile.
“Sorry about that. I guess people consider me the wildflower expert around here.” She glances between Lysander and me, perhaps sensing some shift in the atmosphere. “…Am I interrupting?”
“Not at all,” Lysander says smoothly, his warm demeanor returning instantly. “Do enjoy the rest of the evening. It’s so wonderful to see our community coming together.”
As he glides away, rejoining his circle of admirers, Frankie looks up at me with a slight frown.
“Well. He’s interesting,” she says carefully. “Very polished.”
I simply nod, not trusting myself to speak just yet. The conversation replays in my mind, each carefully chosen word revealing layers of meaning. Lysander Silvermoon is indeed a predator, but one who hunts with a silver tongue and velvet gloves rather than fang and claw.
The rest of the evening is a strange blur. Many monsters approach me, some with genuine gratitude, others with a shared sense of being outsiders. The shared experiences are a validation I hadn’t known I craved, a sense of solidarity with those who truly understand what it means to be feared.
An elderly woman with silver hair spots us from across the room and makes a beeline in our direction, her bedazzled fanny pack catching the light as she moves. She’s wearing a hand-knitted sweater covered in embroidered constellations, and her hair is adorned with small crystal clips that tinkle softly as she walks.
“Frankie, dear!” she exclaims, pulling Frankie into a tight hug before turning her sharp, assessing gaze on me. “And this must be your minotaur. Oh my, you’re even larger than I imagined.”
“Eleanor, this is Raphael,” Frankie says. “Raphael, Eleanor was my grandmother’s best friend. She’s been looking after me since I first took over the apiaries.”
Eleanor circles me slowly, her eyes half-closed in concentration. “Mmm, yes, I can see why Frankie took to you so quickly. Your aura is quite complex. Lots of deep burgundy, which indicates past trauma, but it’s shot through with gold threads. That’s protective energy, dear. And there’s a lovely warm amber glow around your heart chakra when you look at our Frankie.”
I stand perfectly still, unsure how to respond to this mystical assessment. Frankie, however, seems to know how to handle her eccentricities. “I think you’re right, Eleanor. Even the bees were drawn to his aura when we first met. I had to literally scrape them off him.”
Eleanor nods approvingly. “Rose always said the bees were the best judge of character,” she continues, patting my arm with surprising boldness. “If they trust you, that’s good enough for me. Though I do sense some storm clouds on your horizon. You’ll want to be careful.”
Before I can ask what she means, Eleanor spots someone else who apparently needs an aura reading and bustles away. Almost immediately, a sturdy woman in her forties approaches in her place. This woman, mousier than Eleanor, is carrying a plate of perfectly golden lemon bars. She has flour-dusted hands and kind but cautious eyes.
“Frankie,” she says, offering a nervous smile. “I thought… Well, I brought some lemon bars. Figured everyone could use a little sweetness tonight.”
“Patty, this is Raphael,” Frankie says gently. “Raphael, Patty owns the bakery downtown. She makes the best pastries in the county.”
Patty extends the plate toward me with obvious reluctance, as if she’s not entirely sure I won’t bite her hand off. “Try one, please.”
I accept a lemon bar with careful movements, making sure my hooved fingers don’t scrape her plate. The pastry is delicate,perfectly balanced between tart and sweet. “Thank you. It’s delicious.”
“He seems polite enough,” Patty says to Frankie, eyeing me warily from behind her plate of pastries. “A bit large, but polite.”
It’s not exactly a ringing endorsement, but it’s something. Frankie beams as if I’ve just won a Nobel Peace Prize.
As the night winds down, and the crowd thins, Diego approaches us again. “It was a good night,” he says, his gaze lingering on me. “You’ve shifted something, Raphael. More monsters here than usual. A lot of us have been waiting for someone to speak up. To show what we can offer the community.”
I feel a tremor of something profound in my chest. The thought that I’ve made an actual change in the community… It’s almost hard to believe. But tonight was proof of exactly that.
Finally, we make our way back to the SUV, the night air cool against my fur. Frankie is humming softly, a contented smile on her face.
“It went well, didn’t it?” she asks, settling back in her seat. “Everyone was so genuine. Even Lysander seemed nice, though heisa bit much.”
I nod, not elaborating on my concerns about the fae. She doesn’t need to carry that burden tonight, not when she’s still glowing from the positive reception we received from so many others.
The drive home passes in comfortable silence. When we pull into the driveway, Frankie stretches and yawns.
“Well, that wasn’t nearly as terrifying as I thought it would be,” she says, then glances at me. “You okay? You seem quiet.”
“Just processing,” I say, which is true enough, and as we head inside, I push thoughts of Lysander’s calculating smile aside.
Tonight was a victory, even if it came with complications I hadn’t expected.
Chapter 12
