“I can’t let you go. I need you.”
“I care nothing for your needs!” He strode into her private space and grew even larger as he approached her.
She kept her feet rooted to the floor despite his wrath. The minotaur stopped right before his skin touched hers, releasing a thick cloud of belly smoke right over her face.
Her nose filled with the bitter smell of burnt wood and sweat, making her eyes water. It tickled her nose and throat and she sneezed loudly, accidentally touching him in the process. A hand landed on her shoulder and pushed her back. He did not remove his hold on her.
She blinked out the water in her eyes and rubbed her nose when she looked back up at him. “You have fought centaurs before, and killed them efficiently.”
“I have killed much more than centaurs,” he said, his voice grave.
“So have I!”
“Is that so? What have you killed, little hag? Be cautious of what you say, lest I hear lies coating your tongue.” He watched her closely, looking for any involuntary twitch to give her secret away.
Her eyes hardened. “I once came upon a sleeping centaur resting near Prayer and slit his throat. My thralls dragged its corpse back to feed me and mine for a fortnight. I poisoned the waterways leading through a hobgoblin clan and wiped them out within hours. They vomited up their organs.”
“And have you ever looked something in the eye before dealing out such a fate?”
“I have looked many things in the eyes,” she stated.
“But you have not seen death. Not you. You can see it for a second, in their eyes, right before they fall. The fate you have given them, the hopelessness of the moment, and all because you took it in your hands.”
She searched his face. “I am stating the truth.”
His grip on her shoulder tightened. “Then kill your enemies and release me. You have one last chance before I kill your thralls. Do it now or lose everything you have. I may not be able to harm you directly but there are other ways. There are always other ways.”
Calavia’s eyes widened before narrowing at his threat. She’d known the risk of bringing him here, but just because her magic was weakening did not mean she was completely without power. Threats against those under her protection could not go unanswered.
She reached behind her for her bowl full of hot wax and threw the contents in the minotaur’s face. The bloodcurdling battlescream he released hurt her ears. She shoved away from him and fled behind her altar. She picked up her knife and broke off another clump of wax as he swiped his face clean.
“One more threat to those under my care and I will make you go blind!” she screeched.
The minotaur’s eyes were now red with darkness and smoke as he looked back at her, eyelashes and eyebrows already clumping together with wax as she held up her knife. He rubbed his mouth, glaring, heaving furious breaths.
They stood at odds for several tense minutes, neither making a move, both ready to attack. His horns were coated in a grey, waxen sheen.
“Are you certain you can say your pretty spell before I strike?” he asked.
“I don’t need to say anything. My wax is already upon you.”
Some of the strain left the minotaur’s body. “You use wax as your source,” he said thoughtfully. “My mother was a witch. She had an affinity for bones.”
“Your mother was a witch?”
Within the next instant, his fist slammed onto the table between them, knocking off her candles and cracking the stone face. Calavia drew back in shock as she saw her altar split straight down the middle. It had survived for over a hundred years without so much as a chip.
The minotaur leaped over it as she stood stunned and grabbed her, knocking her knife and wax from her hands. A scream tore from her throat as he pressed her against the crumbling wall behind it and covered her mouth with one of his hands. “My mother was a witch.”
He blocked out the rest of the world from her view. There was only him now in her vision. Calavia tried to turn her head as he leaned closer, but he kept her still.
“Oh she was,” he continued. “A terrible, brutal human female from the sunlight realm of Savadon. Long ago, my sire, one of the greatest warriors my tribe has ever known, traveled from the deadlands and captured her from the wall as if she had called for him directly, as if her will could only be matched by his. There are hags, and then there are witches. You do not know what I am capable of.”
His hand loosened over her mouth as he lowered his face closer until he was staring directly into her eyes. The tips of his horns menacingly flanked the sides of her head. She pressed herself as far back as she could but found she had nowhere else to go. He filled every inch of the space.
Her own anger rose as he continued to stare at her. He did not hurt her, he could not, but she was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. The air between them heated, and sweat slickened her skin. She tried to breathe, but each exhalation against his hand only increased the temperature.
Why is he not moving?
