Page 19 of Matched to the Minotaur

I’ll do anything to hear her say my name like that again. “You like it?”

“I do.” There’s wonder in her voice. “It’s not a grocery store at all.”

I don’t know what a grocery store might be, and I don’t care other than to ask, “Is that a good thing?”

“Yes.” The word comes out on a laugh. She takes a deep breath, seeming to savor the delicious scents. My mouth waters, but I won’t interrupt her perusal of the stalls closest to us. Glancing up, she tips her chin toward the labyrinth’s vaulted ceiling. “You created the feel of an open-air market inside the maze.”

“It’s what I knew of your world. The tent-covered stalls, the street food, the sounds of everyone gathering in one place? I built what I remembered.”

“And the sky that’s painted up there?”

“There’s no disguising that we’re underground, that I couldn’t bring the true outdoors to my kingdom. There’s no sun in this realm, no weather, no stars. The murals will be the closest my people see of a real sky, so long as they remain in this sanctuary.”

“Can you ever leave the realm?” She doesn’t let go of my arm, but I feel distance with her words.

“If magic returns, perhaps I could visit your world. I would need to know that the maze will sustain itself in my absence. Plus, I would require a glamour to walk among humans. Sustaining one became painful as my magic faded, and then impossible to even conjure.”

“You wouldn’t need one on Halloween.”

“What?” I’ve heard of the holiday and its costumes, yet the idea that I could walk among the people of her world seems farfetched. “Surely not. Your kind would know me for a monster on sight.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I don’t know about a monster. You say it as though it’s a determined fact, but you don’t act like one. You’ve taken this realm and made it a refuge for others. You protect them, provide for them, take care of them. That sounds more like a hero than a monster.”

I don’t know what to say. Calling my mate delusional seems harsh. In the end, I’m saved from responding by shopkeepers clamoring for her attention.

We move through the market, with her tasting every food she’s offered, chatting with sellers eager to meet my match, and bringing happiness back to this world. Or at least to me.

I almost hadn’t brought her here. Sure, Bess had insisted she come, but Darnell told me the market was nowhere to bring a woman who I hoped to make my mate. Yet Meg’s excitement over the stalls I’ve passed thousands of times gives me a new perspective, helping me find potential for more where there’d only been reminders of my failure before.

“Thank you for bringing me here.” She squeezes her fingers around my hand, not seeming to notice she almost knocks me over with the sweet gesture.

I had anticipated the lust that thrums through me whenever I catch her scent, the desire to take her until we’re both sated. Such expectations are touted by the matchmakers to encourage optimal magical manifestation. But the technical language of contracts and sales pitches pale in comparison to what Meg does to me with a smile or a kind word.

Each time I think I’ve recovered from meeting my mate, her tenderness staggers me, and I spiral into endless need. I want her to have a choice, and I also crave keeping her with me forever. “You’re welcome, little… warrior.” Not shouting to the world that she’s my mate? It’s hard, but I won’t scare her away. I’ll win her through whatever game she asks me to play, even if it means bending the rules. She may design the contest, but I’m king, and I won’t hesitate to use whatever means necessary to be the victor when she’s the prize.

She flashes a grin, tugging me along in a swirl of emerald silk and fiery curls that brush against my skin. Beneath the smell of roasting vegetables and rich sauces from the stalls, I can scent her excitement, and I would let her drag me to every single seller to give her whatever she wants. She stops at a stall of breakfast treats and the baker rushes out to offer samples. If my mate loves the food, everyone will want it. She’s advertising at its finest.

Meg bites into a pastry and makes a moan that has me hard in an instant. My discomfort grows as she sucks the taste from her fingers. I want to claim her hand and savor the sticky sweetness there.

“Here.” She lifts one of the icing-covered rolls to my mouth. “You try.”

I part my lips, and she coaxes the treat forward, not pulling away before I catch her fingers and lick the tips. Her answering dimpled smile melts me. The pink tinging her cheeks has nothing to do with the stall’s bright red canopy, and everything to do with her response to me. This incredible woman, who thinks I’m more hero than monster, wants me. Her arousal smells sweeter than the sugar on my tongue, and I want to rush her back to the castle. But she lets the baker ply her with other confections, and I quietly wait my turn.

“Leander, look. A toy maker.” She rushes to the stall. Tinkering with various games that have been adopted from her world, Meg studies the marbles and tiles as if they were made of gold and jewels rather than stone and clay.

Above the din of musicians and haggling, a voice I recognize and didn’t expect to find here boasts of his many accomplishments from his time in the human world. What’s Darnell doing in the market? I lean to peer around the stall’s tapestry walls to find the warlock with Belaya, who has left her tower yet again. Is this a repeat of her lost ramblings from last night? I need to put another nurse on her. Hiding with my height takes skill, especially with so many of my people asking to meet my mate.

I growl once and send a pig shifter into a fear-based snort fest. Not my intention.

Darnell follows Belaya through the stalls. Where are they heading, and where is her nurse? He hasn’t talked about the elf hybrid, other than pity and conjecture, and she hasn’t mentioned the warlock. Has he somehow enchanted her?

Worry has me heading their way. Glancing over my shoulder, I check on Meg who seems fully entertained by a goat shifter juggling loops before catching them on his horns.

A pulse of my power wraps around my mate. I’m hesitant to leave her, even if she’s only out of my sight for a few moments. Her skin radiates a soft glow, as though a spotlight shines only for her, and the crowd gathers closer to her. Perhaps they think I’ve snared a witch, another magical creature. Or maybe they recognize it for the mate magic that it is.

I can’t wait to make her mine. But first, I need to keep her safe from whatever has triggered the sense of unease that has my fur standing on end. I trail after the unlikely pair, hurrying to keep pace with them while trying to remain out of sight.

Darnell says something sharp to Belaya, a loud word I can’t understand, but the tone has shoppers around him moving away. She gazes at him as she has looked at everyone in my realm for so long—as though she’s only partly in this world and her mind still lingers with the one she lost. If he hurts her or causes her to lose what sanity she has left, I’ll make the warlock regret it in the most painful way possible.

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