By the Horns Page 14

  “My pack is fine.” Bag on my back, a dagger safely stowed in each boot, back into my pants and loose fitting shirt, my hair in a thick braid trailing down my back, we were well and truly on our way.

  When I wondered at his lack of weaponry, not even a small knife, he claimed it was to do with entry into this realm, short mutterings about a ridiculous rite of passage among his people, a barrier, a long lost ceremony, the Abandoned’s Finding.

  Finding what, I’d asked, to be met with a look of embarrassment. And then it clicked. This beast was seeking to find the labyrinth like it was some kind of gladiatorial game to boast his worthiness as a male. Like the arenas and viperbehr fights of days long past.

  Seeing me trying to put the pieces together, knowing from our short talks along our way I knew some of his people, he began to speak.

  Taurans, at one time, saw the breaching of realms and fighting the Queen’s pets, or wingless beasts, as I’ve come to learn, like the ultimate hunt-fight, the victor the best of the best. My realm, thought to be lost to them, was the last to be found open, whether by destiny, design, flaw, or what have you.

  I was surprised how easily my Minotaur had handed my weapons over, knowing this, going so far as to retrieve them for me. Had it been because of our pairing, had he been aiming to prove something by this, or simply help his mate out?

  Mate. The words gave me the happy tingles. A small smile danced across my face, there and gone in a second.

  This was why I couldn’t find happiness with any ordinary man—it wasn’t meant to be. Fate’d had more in store for me. My eyes scanned my companion and I almost sighed aloud. So much more.

  Almost to the end of Peacock’s secret passageway now, I spotted the stone he’d said to look for, yet another cleverly hidden corner turn. Peacock wasn’t stupid. I hadn’t known how to get out of here, until after, well, the pond incident. He’d had this planned out all along. If I hadn’t held up my part of the bargain, or my beast his, we’d have been left to the mercy of the labyrinth, which may or may not have allowed us to leave.

  We’d have died trying, I knew for sure.

  The Trickster’s instructions were murmured into my ear sweetly as he fucked me, the queen, during that last bodysnatched, love interlude. Fucked me sweetly, then- Nope. Not going to go there. My body did, though, tightening up in funny places at the memory.

  Turquoise with black spots, it’s a booby trap. Set it off. Jump into the pit it leads into, follow it towards the right until you see the vines. There above you’ll find the stump. It was actually a hatch, leading straight into the woods. I was a bit skeptical but it was our only hope.

  Fucking instructions. I snorted at the double entendre, then snorted again.

  The trapdoor had gone off, as promised, a pebble thrown to send the twin doors swinging inwardly, ready to dump any unsuspecting persons straight to the darkness below. Taking our time, careful to ascertain no ghoulies, spooks, yet more traps, or surprise beasties lurked below, we’d just hopped into the pit, almost walking right into the arrow spitting wall above it to the left when the floor gave out below us, depositing us right down into another other side.

  Dirt. We went from small space big enough to crawl on our hands and knees through to giant dirt abyss, complete with damp soil overhead.

  Picking ourselves up, shaking ourselves out in the darkness as the trapdoors swung back into place, our hands met automatically and clasped.

  Together. We were in this together, ‘til the end.

  A feeling I’d never really known filled my chest and I felt infinitely lighter.

  “You alright?” I asked my companion.

  “Fine.” I could hear his nostrils working, puffing and huffing. “You?”

  Slapping my hands about my person, I nodded in the dark. “I’m in one piece.”

  His grunt said he wasn’t satisfied with my answer but it would do for now. Blind leading the blind, we tread lightly, whatever made up the ground below us crunching noisily, as if a thousand creepy crawlies were underfoot.

  There’s no such thing as bugs. There’s no such thing as bugs. Tonight, day, whatever blasted time it was, they didn’t right this moment, not as far as I was concerned.

  We were almost to the vines that led to the stump when my pair bond next spoke. Pair bond. I felt giddy just thinking it. Such a strange life I’ve found for myself.

  “Just walked right in here the first time, the rocks sliding shut like a wall to close in, sliding shut like a trapdoor behind me. Now it’s dips and traps and stumps.” My Minotaur shook his head. “And bugs and-” At my, “Eep,” he cleared his throat, though I could swear he was covering up a laugh. “And dirt,” he finished. “You lot are paranoid.”

  I glanced in his direction. “Humans didn’t build it by our paranoid selves, you know. I’m certain we had a hand. Hands.”

  “True,” he admitted. He had to duck as we tromped along, his horns dragging along the dirt top above noisily. Those things caught on the roots popping through from trees growing above ground. He’d walk along, then jerk back as his horns caught, grumbling and cursing as he untangled himself.

  The ceiling was getting lower, until I felt him hunching, more dirt flying.

  Dirt sprinkled us harder, the farther down we went, raining down as he tromped along, until I was certain we’d be covered in a layer of it when all of this was through. As two mud monsters, we’d be the same for once.

  “You’re smiling.”

  “Oh?” I glanced to him, stopping when he paused. “Can you see in the dark?”

  “I can... feel it,” he admitted, sounding unsure of the idea.

  That wasn’t exactly an answer, but I’d let it lie. “I was thinking of our new suits.”

  “Suits?” His baffled response was adorable.

  “Yes.” Lifting my hands, I pressed my moist palm to his chest, sure I’d left a mark. “Mr. and Mrs. Muck,” I teased.

  Snorting, our fingers untangled and he swiped his hand down his chest. “Cute.”

  “I thought so.” My hand found his again, slipping into it with an ease that should have startled me. Our hands swung as we went. “What is my face doing now?”

  “Watching where we’re going, because you know the way,” he admonished, his voice gruff, making me laugh.

  Admiring the sturdy material about his waist in the poor lighting, small spots of lighting peeking from up above every so many feet, I had to ask, “If you’ve a man-skirt this whole time, why were you naked when I, uhm, heh, fell upon you?”

  “Kilt,” he corrected yet again, “and why not? Until you I’d been alone. No point in dressing up for myself.” I couldn’t see him, but I could sense a smile as he spoke.

  “True,” I parroted back, then smiled a wide smile of my own. “Look,” I whispered, tugging on his forearm.

  “What?”

  “There. Just up ahead. See it? Ringed with that faint glowing stuff.”

  “Moss,” he muttered. “Don’t try to eat it. It’s disgusting.”

  “Why would I try to eat- No, look. It’s a stump!”

  “Thank the gods,” he muttered. Then, shaking his head, his horns scraped the raw ceiling above us yet again, showering us in wet dirt, gripping my hand tight, we rushed ahead.

  ˜˙˜*˜˙˜

  Feeling around the rounded tree stump, a hollowed out oak’s remains, thick dark, knotted roots and strange, speckled green and orange vines poking through the dirt above, I reached up and pushed. “It should come up like... thhhh-urgh, this, ugh, no?” Didn’t budge an inch.

  Grunting, I put my shoulder into it, groaning with the effort.

  Thick hands came up behind me, plucking me up to set me down beside him. “Stay,” he ordered, chuckling quietly when I made a rude noise in my throat.

  “Brute,” I grumbled under my breath, which just served to amuse him.

  Without a word he pressed his shoulder into the thick circle of wood, pulling back to give it a good shove. It moved a few inches. H
is feet dug in and, pulling back, he rammed it, hard. Again and again he had at it, until a crack sounded.

  The stump’s top, or lid, buckled, snapping in two, folding in the middle. Two halves now, the middle popped up, the two pieces, the edges still mostly attached to the trunk, forming a point. My Minotaur rammed it, just kept going until, thick hands gripping the roots at the bottom of the trunk, he pulled back, an angry bellow escaping his steaming snout, and rammed the stump lid with his horns.

  I stood there, gaping, as the lid popped free, a flash of green, gold, and purple exploding all around us as the seal was broken. Gored by his horns, a half of the wooden lid of a top on each horn, the popping burst, exploding outwards, sent my beastie flying out along with it.

  Squawking in protest, I made to scramble after. Mud squished beneath my boots, the roots slippery, almost slimy, oozing a strange substance as some were crunched underfoot. Cool, humid air greeted me as my head popped up.

  Soft blue striated with deep, dark pink swirling with soft pink, white and orange bark, those were not the color of trees in these parts. Glowing mushrooms and lumpy, wart-like barnacle bumps gathering on the trees, twinkling in the dark, I’d never seen anything like this. Fat, spotted mushrooms as big as my head swayed from side to side with the rustling leaves, dancing to the forest’s quiet, humming song. It sang of life, a soft hum surrounding me, my hair instantly standing on end. I felt it, as sure as I did the moons beckoning—Magick.

  Strange animals chirped, yipped, and yowled in the distance, the sound of scurrying feet rushing past pricking my ears. Bushes shook, leaves fell, tree branches full of thick, oversized wild colored maple leaves dipped. The Hollows were alive and well, thriving.

  There was one thing I didn’t hear or see. “He-hello? M-m-minotaur, uh, mine?” Crap. About to call out my pair bond’s name, I realized I didn’t actually know it. All this time I’d been thinking of him as mine and I didn’t even know his given name, or what he liked to be called, for that matter. “Ah... Tauran, ah-erm, bonded?”

  Cotton candy puffs of fluffy moss was lightly raining down all around me, like weightless bits of forest fluff, clinging to my clothes, hair, mixing with the soil and glittery pieces floating about. Trying to make sense of all this and find my companion, I sputtered, making accidental raspberries, shaking my head, blinking rapidly, anything, desperate to ward it off. No glittery magical sprinkling bits for me, thank you.

  The Hollows. I’m deep in the heart of the dark woods. And I’m still alive! Well, for now I am. Gaping, I felt struck.

  Peering around, blinking owlishly as my eyes tried to adjust, I spotted him then.

  Shaking himself out, both halves of the stump’s top pierced on his horns, they swung from side to side with his head with the motion like little rickety doors. Lifting the end of one, an annoyed sound rumbling his chest, a maroon eye peered at me from the crack he made in the slats. Spotting me, he let out a sigh of a snort. It was one part annoyance, one part relief, two parts what just transpired?

  Closing an eye, I squinted at him through the open one. “Glad ta see ye be well, Cap’n.”

  Releasing the plank in his hands, it swung back into place, shielding his face. “Not funny.” His head fell back, resting against the trunk of the tree his back rested against with a soft thunk, and he huffed. The wood swung, giving me glimpses of a thoroughly irritated bull man. So serious, not so very subtle with the discontent there, sir.

  He looked for all the world to be playing Peek-a-boo.

  “You are okay, though, aren’t you?” I asked suddenly. My smile evaporated, finer than the mist surrounding us and twice as fickle. Biting at my lip, I sighed, the sound long and low. Whether by pride or some other fault, he wasn’t going to answer. “You better not be hurt,” I muttered.

  The horn door slat swung upwards. “Where would you go, then, without a means out of here, you mean?” he grumbled, suddenly churlish.

  The sudden shift mystified me. Where was the male before the stump and plank impalement, hmm? Where was that bull man?

  His words hit their mark, piercing my mental exposed flesh in the chinks in this hard shell. If I didn’t know better I’d think he was trying to start a fight. What would be the point? Like hell I was going to leave him, prickly attitude or not. If he was having second thoughts, I worried, the thought trailing off as my chest gave a little squeeze. Nope. No. Not even going to contemplate it. He’s just had his pride pricked and needs to let it go, that’s all. It’ll pass.

  “What would I do without you, I mean, you great, heaving, surly lummox,” I snapped, then jerked back, shocked by my heated, blurted admission. Miss Understanding of moments before, I was not, my reasonable side fighting with my indignant, snarky three quarters of the rest of me. My hand slapped to my mouth, my eyes widening until they looked ridiculous, cheeks flaming. Oh gods, I’d just admitted to-

  “You don’t mean that.” Petulant, the male was practically pouting. Why, then, were his nostrils starting to steam, a funny noise rumbling his chest? Petulant or pleased? Confusing... thick headed...

  My eyes narrowed. “Do not presume to think you know what I mean. I have a mouth, a tongue, I can very well speak for myself, thank you.”

  Hefting myself from the stump-hole, ready to march over there, make sure he was just fine, then remove those boards to beat some sense into him with them if that’s what it took, I attempted to climb free. The rim of the stump proved challenging to swing myself up and over, slick with some type of slippery, mucous-like coating.

  A hand came down, a plank held to the side with his left hand exposing a glinting, maroon eye. “Here.”

  “I can do it,” I sniped.

  “No, you cannot.”

  “But I can. You just wait and- Oomph!” Grabbing the top of my pack, the thick arm attached to the huge hand gripping me lifted me up and out. Tumbling to the ground when he meant to set me to my feet, as I rolled, my lower half slipping and sliding through slippery, slimy muck, I glanced up, pushing my ever-escaping hair from my face, eyeing the male.

  “What a pair we make,” I said on a laugh. It was hard not to see the humor of the situation. My Minotaur grunted in agreement.

  Palm out, he offered me a hand up. About to flat out refuse the male, I thought better of it, pocketing my pride, if only this once.

  My hand slipped into his and he pulled me up with practiced ease. I couldn’t say the same for myself as I squealed and squeaked, flailing as he lifted me up by one arm, swinging me around to set me down. Slipping through the muck, like it was determined to maim me, I fell into him with a grunt, flopping ungainly to my side. My shoulder, elbow, hip, pressed into his warmth. He didn’t push me away.

  “Thanks, I think,” I muttered, glancing up at that single eye poking free, smiling up at the male ruefully.

  His answer was a grunt. I’d expected as much.

  Standing, dusting myself off, I nodded my thanks and motioned to his face. “What say you we try and do something about those, hmm?”

  “As soon as you unstick us.”

  “As soon as I what?”

  My Minotaur gripped my shirt, giving it a tug, grimacing when the material clung to his chest still.

  “Oh dear,” I whispered, mortified on his behalf. “That tree sap stuff, or maybe the moss, or the tree snot? It must be really sticky when dry.”

  He tugged again, grunting when my sleeve came partially unglued, taking a generous amount of the white fur dusting his well-toned abdomen with it.

  “Oh dear, indeed,” he gritted out, sighing when I winced.

  “You should just rip it off, real fast. Get it over with right quick.”

  Maroon eyes began to swirl with red. “Is it your coat or mine we’re debating?”

  “Right, sorry,” I muttered, lifting my left hand to mime zipping my lips. Then lower, “Would be faster, though.”

  His killing glare had me sucking my lips into my mouth, trying not to smile or laugh. With the look on his face, a sli
p like that and, mates or not, it might be my last. I really shouldn’t find it adorable when he’s so angry like that, ears flicking, tail slapping his thighs. Grumbling muttering followed. Yep. Adorable.

  His gaze kept going to mine but I wouldn’t look at him, standing by demurely while he tried to figure a way out of this new pickle.

  I gave it a half hour, tops.

  Nostrils steaming up the place, he grunted something under his breath, then louder, following a very long sigh, “How would we do this?”

  20 minutes later

  “I’m sorry.” I couldn’t honestly say I was sorry at all. It was a lie and we both knew it.

  “Not sorry enough.” A pause. “You said on three.” I could see his hand coming up to rub the small, inflamed bald spot, the skin pink and mostly hairless, the size of a wooden penny. “I never got to three.”

  Listening to him grumbling the last fifteen minutes straight, ready to rip his head off if he didn’t bite mine off first, his words had lost their edge and I’d lost my need to apologize. “You might have backed out. It was easier this way.”

  The dirty look he shot me over his shoulder was met with an innocent look and a shrug. With a clack of his teeth his shoulders stiffened and he spun around. His hand rubbed harder. I’d wounded the big bad male’s pride. Well, I should say the girlish shriek he let out as he lost a chunk of chest hair had. I didn’t understand why he was so sore with me, though, he’d already sworn me to secrecy. It wasn’t like I was going to tell anyone.

  Who wants to boast they’re married to a sissy shrieker?

  “You’re, uh, secret’s safe with me.” My hands lifted in a placating gesture. “Heh. heh. You know, it went much smoother than getting those planks off.”

  I was treated to another quick dirty look. Boots loud as he stomped harder, he started walking faster. The rings on his horns, left behind from the wood, they gave him character, I say. Him, not so much. I never thought of horns as a thing to be vain over. What happened if they broke or cracked?