A laugh bubbled out of me, half disbelief and half wonder. "How are you even real?" I whispered, reaching up to trace my fingertips along the edge of his jaw. I laughed softly, shaking my head. "You've been taking love lessons from a demon moth. That's a thing that happened."
Atlas grinned, his crooked smirk sending a flutter through my chest. "Lucien has become infatuated with your books. He just wants to be prepared with all things romance when he finds his."
I rolled my eyes playfully. "Yeah, well, just don't go picking up any of his bad habits. I don't need you turning into a smooth-talking Casanova on me. I like you stumbling on your words."
He nuzzled my neck, his breath warm on my skin. "Never. That was a one-time deal. I could barely look you in the eyes when I spoke."
I squealed as his scruff tickled my neck, pushing him away gently. "Okay, okay, Romeo. Let's get you fed. You must be starving after…" I paused, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. "After your earlier snack."
Atlas chuckled, rolling off me and onto his back. He stretched out, his limbs long and languid. "Yes, food would be good. But I must admit, I enjoyed my earlier meal immensely."
I swatted his arm, grabbed the bag of food and pulled out the sandwiches I'd packed. "Here, try this. It's not a 'summer sausage,' but it'll have to do."
He propped himself up on one elbow, taking the sandwich from me. His eyes never left mine as he took a bite, chewing slowly. "Mmm. Almost as delicious as you."
I felt a blush creep up my neck, turning my attention to my own sandwich. We ate in comfortable silence, the warmth of the sun seeping into our skin. It was peaceful, just the two of us alone in the forest where Atlas worked.
Nothing could be heard but our munching, the playful banter and how he had to chop up the rest of the tree before…
A distant voice bellowed through the trees: "Really? Canoodling during work hours?" The shouter was keeping his distance… a lesson learned after last time, when the poor minotaur had stumbled upon us and left with psychological scars that probably required therapy.
I turned to Atlas and whispered, “Canoodling? Really?”
Atlas silently laughed. “He isn’t as open to talking about sex as you are, vixen.”
I snorted and quickly tugged on Atlas' infamous red and black plaid flannel, the soft, worn fabric falling to mid-thigh as I tucked my bare legs beneath me. Byron emerged through the dense pines, ducking his massive head as branches snagged on his polished horns. Each one spanning wider than my outstretched arms. His coal-black fur wasn't the earthy brown I'd expected from storybook minotaurs, but instead gleamed like obsidian, interrupted by patches where deep purple undertones caught the sunlight. Blood-red eyes glowed from beneath a heavy brow, and when he shifted his weight, his mirror-bright hooves struck sparks against the stones. Every movement rippled with barely contained power, his chest expanding like a bellows with each breath. Watching him, I couldn't help but imagine Harlow's face when she returned home and met this magnificent creature—she'd absolutely lose her mind.
Unlike Atlas, Byron rarely ventured into town, his shyness keeping him tethered to the forest. He'd haul the freshly cut timber only as far as the tree line, where phantom workers would arrive with their smaller trucks, loading the wood before continuing on to the workshops without him.
I waved at the minotaur as he emerged into the clearing. "Byron! Perfect timing." His massive nostrils flared, releasing a cloud of warm breath that briefly fogged the gold ring piercing his septum.
“You aren’t finished chopping. Now my schedule will be delayed.”
Atlas stood, his wings flapping behind him. “What schedule? You haul wood, what else do you do besides that?”
Byron counted with his hoof on the ground. “I do many things. Now, hurry up while I wait. Surely you can be done in ten minutes.”
I propped my chin on my fist, watching their back-and-forth like a tennis match. With each of Atlas's quips, Byron's massive bull tail flicked harder against his haunches—not from anger at my match, but discomfort at my presence. He claimed to dislike all women, but I suspected the truth was simpler: we terrified him.
Byron kept his eyes fixed on Atlas, pointedly avoiding my gaze while making no move to help with the work. "Perhaps," he muttered, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder, "you two might consider taking your... activities... elsewhere. You could wander the forest instead."
I wrinkled my nose. “I would rather crochet my own cunt hair than go for a hike in the forest. Besides, Atlas can fly; why would I want to walk?”
Byron's jaw dropped, revealing not the flat, herbivore molars I'd expected from a bull-man, but rows of jagged predator teeth that glinted like daggers in his cavernous mouth.
Way cooler than the typical minotaurs I have read.
He also didn’t have a cock pocket, because he was wearing a loincloth. Or did he have a cock pocket?
“Hey, Byron?”
Byron was still staring at me, shock written all over his face. “Does your junk just hang out, or do you have somewhere to, like… hide your stuff, the way Atlas does?” I hooked my thumb over my shoulder toward Atlas. He stopped chopping, but I didn’t pay it any mind. “Because you seem like the kind of monster who would wear a loincloth just to hide the slit part since you’re so prudish.”
Byron let out a sound halfway between a moo and a wail. Atlas placed his hand on my shoulder, his touch gentle but firm. "My mate has always been curious," he said, amusement threading through his voice. "Humans often are about our anatomical differences." He cleared his throat, leaning closer to my ear. "Kassie, how would you have felt if I'd asked about your intimate anatomy when we first started spending time together?"
I bit my lips and smiled. “If I knew you were a monster, I’d have let you explore it because I think it’s funny.”
“Bad example.” Atlas rubbed between his antennae. “For the record, no, he doesn’t have a slit; it all hangs out. Leave the bull alone.”
