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Behind him, Korinnae said, “He does that.”

“I can see that,” the witch said, all warmth again, the steeliness packed away. “Okay, hold out your hand for me….”

He watched the tree line and let their voices blur and made himself think about practical matters. Like how Korinnae would adjust to a new school and a new environment. Who would watch Korinnae if he was sent away on missions. What would their housing be like. How much he would be paid, and whether it was enough for all her needs and wants. And someone would have to tell him what, exactly, Alindale was like, because his entire knowledge of the capital came from clan elders who spoke of the place as if it was a plague town. He thought of anything and everything but the witch.

Chapter 2

Ria

The wind found every gap in her clothes. Ria shivered, tugging the sleeves of her oversized sweater down until the knit swallowed her hands. It barely helped. The cold here wasn’t the kind that chased people between subway stations in New York. It settled into her bones with determination, carried down from snow-dusted peaks that stretched farther than she could see.

She wrapped her arms tighter around herself and looked up. The Ridge of the Nine Horns rose, the jagged spine of a sleeping giant, each summit piercing the gray afternoon sky. Somewhere beyond those mountains lay the villages of the minotaurs, a place most humans only knew through stories or whispered warnings. Yet she had come willingly to Vale Crossing, a hidden world where monsters didn’t just exist. They lived openly, without having to hide what they were.

It couldn’t have been more different from Queens. Back home, the streets were never quiet. Even before sunrise, there was always something: the rumble of the elevated train, delivery trucks double-parked outside corner stores, someone arguing in a language she didn’t understand before breaking into laughter a minute later. The air smelled of roasted nuts from street carts, car exhaust, and coffee shops opening for the morning rush.

Another gust swept through the pass, and she hunched her shoulders. It reminded her, strangely enough, of late autumn mornings growing up. Not because Queens had ever been this cold, but because there had been the same bite in the air that made her hurry from her bedroom, wrapped in an old sweatshirt.

Mama would already be awake. The kettle would whistle from the tiny kitchen while the scent of warm citron tea drifted through the apartment. Her mother always stirred in an extra spoonful of honey, insisting it helped “keep the cold from settling in your chest.” She had never questioned the science behind it. She only remembered wrapping both hands around the warm mug while the windows fogged over and Mama hummed softly as she packed lunches.

The memory warmed her for a fleeting moment, and she smiled despite herself. “I could really use a cup right about now,” she murmured to no one. The mountains, unsurprisingly, didn’t answer.

She wondered what her parents were doing right now. Back in Queens, it was probably late afternoon. Her appa was almost certainly sitting on the front porch with the neighbors, talking as if none of them had anywhere else to be. The conversation would bounce from basketball to rising grocery prices to which cousin was getting married next, with everyone interrupting everyone else until nobody remembered how the discussion had started.

Her mama was probably in the kitchen, somehow finding another excuse to work with phyllo dough. Spanakopita, tiropita, baklava, or some experimental pastry she’d insist wasn’t complicated while every counter disappeared beneath bowls, brushes, and paper-thin sheets that threatened to tear if someone breathed too hard.

“Because why buy dessert,” her mother always said, “when I can spend four hours making one?”

A familiar ache settled in Ria’s chest because even though she wished she didn’t, she missed them. She missed hearing the television in the background while her father argued with the commentators. She missed the smell of butter and cinnamon drifting through the apartment. She even missed her mother fussing over whether she’d packed enough food for the day. She rubbed her hands together for warmth and let herself linger in the feeling for only a heartbeat. She knew they would be proud of her.

Her mother’s family came from a long line of witches, women whose magic was treasured heirlooms, passed down through generations. From the time Ria was old enough to stir herbs into a simmering pot without spilling them, everyone seemed to agree she had the gift. Half Greek, half Korean, and entirely mortal, she possessed an aura that was rare enough to draw attention. When the time came, her family didn’t volunteer her so much as lovingly offer her to Hecate’s service, believing there was no greater honor than learning under the goddess of witchcraft herself. Somehow, Hecate had seen what the others did, and perhaps even more. She had taken Ria under her wing, not because of prophecy or destiny, but because she recognized a strength and compassion that couldn’t be taught. It was a trust Ria had spent years trying to prove worthy of.

If Hecate had asked Ria to come to the Ridge of the Nine Horns, there was a reason worth crossing worlds for. Hecate entrusted very few with her confidence. Millennia had taught the titan that secrets were rarely kept, and loyalties shifted as easily as the wind.

Ria’s gaze wandered across the sprawling grounds surrounding Brontaios’s estate. Somewhere within the stone walls and towering halls of the mansion was the reason she’d been summoned. Korinnae, the little minotaur girl, sat at the center of a situation delicate enough to draw the attention of gods and monsters alike. Hecate had shared only what was necessary, keeping the rest close to the vest as she always did, but one thing had been made unmistakably clear. The child needed protection, and whatever was unfolding here in the mountains had the potential to reshape far more than one family’s future.

Ria took a slow breath, watching it curl into the cold air. No pressure. Just earn the trust of a clan of minotaurs who wanted nothing to do with witches…and keep a child safe while carrying out a mission from one of the oldest beings in existence.

A grunt echoed across the estate. Ria turned just as something landed with a loud thwack, followed by the crack of splintering wood. She followed the sound around a stand of towering pines until the gardens opened into a training yard tucked behind the mansion. Another impact. This one was harder, and a wooden practice dummy exploded into a shower of splinters that scattered across the ground. The culprit didn’t so much as stumble.

Asterion moved with startling speed for someone his size. His massive frame should have made him lumber, every step heavy and deliberate. Instead, he flowed from one strike to the next with practiced precision, shifting his weight effortlessly before driving another devastating blow into a fresh training post. Crack. The thick timber snapped clean in half. He exhaled once through his nose. That was it. No panting, not a pause to recover, or even a bead of sweat despite the series of attacks that would have left any human doubled over and gasping.

Ria folded her arms against the cold as she watched him dismantle yet another target. Well. That certainly explained why the stories warned people not to fight minotaurs. She let her gaze travel over him with the detached assessment of someone sizing up a problem.

He was enormous. Towering over even the tallest humans she’d ever met, with broad shoulders that looked capable of carrying an elephant. Dark fur covered his powerful legs and forearms, while muscle layered over muscle beneath the fitted training leathers that did very little to disguise the sheer size of him. His horns swept proudly from either side of his head, thick and polished, giving him the unmistakable silhouette every childhood illustration had gotten surprisingly right. If someone had asked her to picture a minotaur…this would have been it.

Strong enough to uproot a tree, built like a fortress, and ridiculously handsome, in a rugged, dangerous sort of way. And, from every interaction she’d had with him so far, an asshole. Too bad.

Because beneath a different personality, all that intimidating confidence might have actually been attractive. Instead, he’d greeted her with suspicion, treated her as an inconvenience he couldn’t escape, and looked perpetually annoyed that she continued occupying the same mountain as he did.

His fist drove through another target, and the stone torso burst apart.

Ria winced. “Remind me never to make him that angry,” she muttered under her breath.

Movement at the edge of the training yard caught her attention. Korinnae padded across the grass, her little hooves crunching softly with each step. The calf couldn’t have been more than ten, her tiny horns barely peeking through her curls. Asterion’s stern expression softened almost imperceptibly. It was subtle enough that Ria might have missed it if she hadn’t been watching so closely.

He dropped to one knee, bringing himself closer to her eye level before demonstrating a simple stance: one hoof back, hands raised, shoulders square. Korinnae tried to copy him, but her hooves crowded together, and when she threw a punch, she spun herself halfway around.

Asterion caught her before she could topple over. “No,” he said, his voice carrying across the yard. “Like this.” He adjusted her elbows, nudged one hoof a few inches to the side, then stepped back. “Again.”