The minotaur’s nostrils flared suddenly, and her eyes widened. Smoke poured out of him—much like it had pooled out of her days ago.
The memory awoke a spark of pain inside her, and she quickly swallowed some of the leftover cove to numb it out. Its raw, bitter taste made her eyes water.
When she blinked the dew away, she found the minotaur staring up at her. Calavia sat forward and leaned over his face.
“Can you move?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. She did not want to startle him into lashing out. His gaze was unfocused although he grunted again. She sat back and looked around, searching for a way to transport him to her temple.
Several thralls came forward.
Calavia turned back to the minotaur. “You are under my protection now.” She looked at her thralls. “Carry him to the old bath in my temple.” The thralls moved on either side of her champion, and pale, long limbs reached out to grasp the giant bull and lift him.
“They will do you no harm,” she said, although he made no move as if he heard her, or when the thralls grasped him. Regardless, she had seen him fight off the centaurs from a distance, so she knew what he was capable of.
He could slaughter every one of us without qualm.Had she made the right choice in bringing him here? The sooner he was in the walls of her sanctuary, the safer they would all be.
In the end, it took a half-dozen thralls to get him on his hooves and when he looked as if he wasn’t going to fall again, Calavia ducked under his meaty arm and wrapped hers around his back. His bulk pressed against her side but not enough to send them back to the ground. She took a step forward and he moved with her, and before long, she was leading him toward her temple.
She didn’t know how long it took them, or how much time had passed, but the day was darkening to eventide by the time they made it up the several broken steps of her home and into the overgrown, viney passage beyond. The thralls stopped following them and went back to wander. She led him to the pool room and lowered him to the floor.
It won’t be long now before his senses return.Calavia hoped that he wouldn’t immediately try to kill her, at least not before they spoke. She didn’t want him to find out hecouldn’tkill her.
She didn’t want to give him another reason to try. If she lost too much blood, her secret would be out. She looked around her and sighed, moving away from the minotaur’s overwhelming presence, and sourced out the blisterbark and bowls she had stashed beside the fire pit.
Without her knowing, his unfocused eyes watched her every movement.
Chapter Four
His vision faded in and out and he was delirious with the pain. His skull was on the verge of cracking open because it could no longer contain the meat within. But he was moving, that much he knew. A small female was under his shoulder, with her arm around his back, helping him. He vaguely recognized that he was being led into Prayer—into its mist magic—and deeper into the bowels of a place where the mist was a friend rather than a foe.
It seemed like an eternity before they stopped and the world around him ceased blurring together. The female under his arm helped him to the ground.
He locked his muscles so he wouldn’t reach for her and the unusual comfort her presence gave. Her touch was gentle and soothing. It had been so long since something touched him in that way. Not since he was a young bull seeking affection from the older female minotaurs in his clan. But their affection was often misplaced.
He was a Bathyr after all, and his father was the leader of their old tribe. Female bulls often wanted to try and use him—his brothers—to cure their infertility, but he was neither the cause nor the reason for their tribe’s curse. The affection from this small female’s touch was a weakness he would have to cauterize, Astegur knew, because he craved it so much even after such a short time.
Creatures, once human or otherwise, did not give comfort freely. Not in this world.
The crackle and heat of blisterbark filled the space and he bowed his head forward in exhaustion.
A wet rag touched his back and he jerked his head up.
“Be still,” the female ordered.
“Who are you?”
“You know who I am,” she said. “Your hated hag of this settlement. Calavia some call me. It’s my given name, but it is rarely spoken aloud anymore. This place does not get many visitors.”
Water sluiced down his skin, tickling him with each drop. Slowly, the feel of the itch faded and a sense of calm overcame him. Another, fresher wave of numbness overcame him and took away the majority of his pain. The hag washed him with water fused with medicinal cove. He could smell the herb in the air, could feel its effects immediately within his wounds. Astegur raised his head to ensure he was still in possession of his bags and weapons. They lay next to him.
“Hag,” he said, his voice rougher than usual as he finally looked at Prayer’s witch. “Calavia. I seek information...” His words died on his lips as he finally got a good look at her. “It’s you.”The female from the cave.The human who called for his help. The same one with the potently erotic scent.
Her slight hands left his back and moved to his shoulders, cleaning and tending to his new wounds. “While others still call me things that I do not go by, you may call me what you deem fit.”
His hands tensed at his sides. “You visited me in the cave,” he rasped, still trying to make sense of it. The smell, the subtle undertone of humanity that he couldn’t quite place, was still in his nose to serve as memory. “You…” His jaw ticked. Her fingers brushed against his horns and his eyes shot to hers. The touch sent chills down his skin despite the nearby fire. His anger rose. “Hag.”
It had been a trick. He had hoped the female who visited him had been human...even if it were a fantasy in his own mind.
Astegur moved to strike as his vision cleared further. Her features presented themselves in the bright light; they were no longer distorted by shadows or shrouded in darkness, giving him his first direct look at her face. He stopped before he took her life.
