Female minotaurs were as brutish—and perhaps even more aggressive and territorial than males—and one didn’t grab their attention unless they wanted to fight or mate.
And yet, here he was, holding this fragile creature in his arms, all bruised and broken.
He felt like he was carrying an injured bird, and it was his job to nurse her back to health and let her go on her way.
Grazing down at her, the way her face winced and her hands scrunched with every step made him feel guilty.
The last thing he wanted to do was to cause her any more harm than he already had. He was determined to provide her with shelter and warmth, giving her the aid she needed, so she could return to whatever her task was doing.
He’d hoped her presence wasn’t a sign that humans were invading the Monster Island, wanting to claim the wild and untamed—and mostly untouched—land as their own.
Monte’s heavy hooves crunched through the underbrush as he carried the injured woman, traveling at a steady, yet quick pace, navigating along his path with ease, in hopes to beat the storm.
It reminded him that with every step he took, no matter the distance or how careful he was, made her wince and whimper in pain.
Her shallow breaths tickled the fur on his chest, a constant reminder of her dire condition. His mind raced, already cataloging her numerous injuries and what he would need to tend them.
Monsters were known for their self-healing capabilities, some like the lycans, were enhanced whenever there was a new moon. There wasn’t a need for a healing kit, outside of life-threatening emergencies, which required the nearby healer.
Unfortunately, for the both of them, her sprained ankle paired with the other cuts and wounds were considered major injuries, and he had no knowledge of how to mend her outside the basic medical treatment.
He needed to make sure she survived the night, then he could request the Lone Lake Pack to send a healer to aid her.
His teeth clenched in frustration as he quickened his pace, his powerful legs eating up the distance.
Today was supposed to be a normal day, just like any other. He was scouting his land for the fallen tree limbs—or those that needed trimming—to use for future projects, not wanting to chop any trees down if he could prevent it, unless they were decaying or damaged.
Now, he was carrying this broken and frail female human, who had somehow ended up not only on Monster Island, but had also traversed into his land.
Finally, his cabin came into view, a sturdy structure of rough-hewn logs nestled among the towering evergreens, with a wraparound porch overlooking the peaceful lake.
Monte climbed the steps, careful not to jostle her. Using one hand, he pushed open the heavy wooden door with athunkand ducked inside.
The interior was rustic—open and well-maintained—with a large stone fireplace dominating one wall, the focal point of the cabin. Monte strode past the kitchen area and toward theoversized couch that faced the hearth. Gently, he lowered the female onto the plush cushions—not caring if her blood would stain the fabric, he could replace them—his hands trembling slightly as he released her.
She moaned softly, her eyelids fluttering. Monte knelt beside the couch, his heart clenching at the sight of her battered face and torn clothing. Up close, her injuries looked even worse, the bruises vivid against her pale skin under the cabin’s warm lighting.
“You’re safe now,” he rumbled, his deep voice echoing in the quiet cabin. “I’ll take care of you.”
The woman’s hazel eyes opened, hazy with pain and confusion as they darted about. When they finally landed on him, her mouth opened slightly as her gaze roamed over his horns and fur-covered body. He braced himself for her fear, her revulsion…for her to snap out of her haze and injure herself further.
But instead, she sighed and closed her eyes, instantly relaxing as she hoarsely whispered, “Thank you.”
Something warm and unfamiliar bloomed in Monte’s chest. He swallowed hard, nodding jerkily. “Rest now, you’re safe. I need to assess your wounds.”
His large hands hovered over her, suddenly unsure where to start. He took a deep breath, ignoring the skunk stench as he tried to recall what little he knew of human first aid.
“Don’t move.” Monte reached for the hem of her ripped shirt, then hesitated. “I...I need to remove this,” he said awkwardly, knowing how bashful humans were when it came to nudity. “To see the extent of your injuries, so I can stop the bleeding.”
The woman weakly opened her eyes and held his gaze for a long moment then nodded once. Either she was brave, or too weak to protest—perhaps even both. Regardless, Monte was relieved that he didn’t need to try to convince her that he wastrying to save her and not eat her—or whatever humans believed monsters like him enjoyed doing to them.
Carefully, Monte peeled the tattered fabric away from her skin, his fingers gentle despite their size. She hissed in pain as the material stuck to a particularly nasty gash on her side.
“I’m sorry,” Monte murmured, wincing in sympathy. The wound looked deep and angry, still seeping blood. He would need to clean and stitch it closed.
As he examined her other injuries—the bruises on her ribs, the swollen ankle, the lump on her head—Monte felt a simmering anger rising beneath his concern. Who had done this to her? Why was she alone in the forest, hurt and vulnerable?
And why did she stink like a skunk?
