Page 26

He stands by the shuttered window, spine rigid. I linger near the door, heart pounding with leftover adrenaline. Finally, he turns, the scars on his chest visible through the partially laced tunic. His expression is wrought with concern and fury.

“That was a mistake,” he mutters. “We should have gone to Ortem first, or prepared more witnesses.”

My throat tightens. “Vaelen knows we’re onto him now. He’ll double down.”

He runs a hand over his muzzle, letting out a frustrated growl. “And you heard him. He threatened to brand you an enemy. If the Senate believes him?—”

“I’ll be cast out,” I finish bleakly. “Or worse.”

Silence stretches, heartbreakingly tense.

The closeness of the walls seems to amplify the rush of blood in my ears.

I see the guilt in Remanos’s gaze, and it twists something inside me.

Despite my anger, I don’t blame him. He’s fighting his own city’s corruption, and I chose to stand beside him.

But the fear that Vaelen might actually succeed in sending me back to the orcs sits like a rock in my gut.

“It’s not your fault,” I whisper, voice cracking. “We had to try.”

He shakes his head, jaw tight. “You deserve better than being threatened and used as leverage.”

My chest burns with conflicting emotions—rage at Vaelen, dread for my future, a desperate longing for some kind of reassurance.

We stare at each other, the air thick with unspoken tension.

Memories of last night’s near-intimacy flash through my mind.

The swirl of desire and fear tangles together, coiling tighter with every second.

I turn away, pressing a palm to my forehead. “I hate that Vaelen has all the power to label me a traitor just because I’m not a citizen. It’s so twisted. And if he gets you stripped of your champion rank, no one will stand in his way.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Remanos says fiercely, stepping closer. The warmth of his presence draws me, a steady anchor in the chaos.

My breath hitches. “I’m scared.”

He inhales, voice softening. “So am I.” His confession snags my heart. “Vaelen wields the Senate like a blade, but I refuse to watch you be cast out because of his schemes.”

Something inside me cracks at his earnestness.

He’s always tried to shield me—his “spoil,” ironically enough.

I sense the burden he carries, how he’s torn between upholding city tradition and protecting a woman who despises the very system that enslaves her.

My vision blurs with unshed tears. The vulnerability coursing through me is overwhelming.

He steps nearer, close enough that I see the faint swirl of fur at his jawline, the tension in his broad shoulders. “Mira…” The single word resonates with more emotion than I can parse.

Anguish, frustration, the fear of losing everything—these feelings churn inside me. Then, an ember of electric attraction flares. I recall the heat of his body last night, the stolen glances, the moment we almost surrendered to what’s been brewing between us. My heart beats faster.

My gaze lifts to meet his, and the world recedes.

I see every nuance of conflict in his dark eyes—guilt, longing, protectiveness.

His arms hover at his sides, as if he’s fighting the urge to reach for me.

I realize I’m trembling, part terror, part raw desire.

Maybe it’s reckless, but in the swirl of everything, I yearn for a moment that’s real, unshadowed by Senate threats or orc fears.

I step closer, head tilting. “Remanos,” I manage, voice raw. “I don’t know what to do.”

His tail flicks once in agitation. “I don’t have the answers.” He exhales shakily, the warmth of his breath brushing my hair. “But I know I want to protect you. Even if it costs me everything.”

A surge of emotion tears through me. The admission sends my heart jolting.

He’d risk the Senate’s wrath, his champion status—maybe more.

This unstoppable minotaur, revered and feared in the arena, is as trapped by politics as I am by my forced status.

Something about that shared helplessness breaks down the last wall between us.

I move on instinct, bridging the gap until we’re scant inches apart.

I sense the tension in his posture, a question in the furrow of his brow.

With trembling boldness, I rest my palm on his broad chest, where the diagonal scar from an old orc duel still stands out.

His breathing falters, but he doesn’t recoil.

Instead, he leans into my touch, eyes half-lidded with longing he can no longer hide.

“This is madness,” I whisper. My voice shakes. “You’re the champion, I’m… a prisoner, or something.”

“Something,” he repeats softly, voice tinged with a husky note.

The heat of him seeps through the thin fabric of his tunic, an anchor in the swirling storm of fear and desire.

We’ve danced around this tension, tiptoeing closer every time the city’s threats pushed us together.

Now, in the hush of his estate, with Vaelen’s ultimatum ringing in my ears, I can’t pretend any longer that I don’t crave him, or that I don’t find solace in his fierce presence.

He lowers his head, muzzle brushing against my cheek in a tentative gesture.

A shiver ripples down my spine. My fingers curl in the fabric of his tunic, pulling him nearer.

The hush between us crackles with anticipation.

I tilt my face so our gazes meet in a potent moment of shared vulnerability.

Then, with a flicker of desperation, our lips meet—cautious at first, tasting the unspoken tension that’s been building for days.

My heart leaps, pounding erratically. The press of his mouth is warm, firm, yet uncertain.

We hold onto each other, the swirl of emotions flooding into this single moment: fear, relief, longing that scalds away hesitation.

He releases a soft rumble that vibrates through his chest, answering the knot of anxiety coiling in my stomach.

My breath catches as I press closer, wanting to melt into him despite the chaos outside these walls.

He shifts, pressing a broad hand to the small of my back.

The gentle possessiveness ignites a fierce need, and I deepen the kiss, parting my lips.

He meets me with equal hunger, as though we’ve both been starving for comfort that no Senate decree can steal away.

The taste of him and the soft brush of his muzzle sends sparks through my veins.

This is no measured negotiation—this is a collision of souls battered by threats and conspiracies.

A whimper escapes me, raw and unguarded. Remanos tears away just enough to peer down at me, panting slightly. In his gaze, I see the storm of guilt and desire tangling. My lips feel swollen with heat, and I can’t stand the thought of him holding back anymore.

“Mira,” he murmurs, voice thick. “I—I don’t want to treat you like a spoil. If we do this?—”

I press my fingers to his mouth, silencing him.

My mind is ablaze with too many thoughts: Could this be a mistake?

Will I regret seeking comfort in the arms of the minotaur who “won” me in an arena duel?

But the fear of tomorrow’s uncertain fate tangles with a craving for the safety of his embrace.

Right now, I don’t care about the city’s labels.

“I choose this,” I rasp, sincerity trembling in my voice. “Not because anyone forced me. Because I want—need—something real, even if it’s just for tonight.”

His breath stutters. Then, with a growl of pent-up longing, he claims my mouth again, fiercer this time.

I gasp, arching into him as the tension surges into heated urgency.

Everything about him is powerful—solid muscle coiled beneath short fur, the heady musk of his body steeped in leftover adrenaline. My senses reel.

We stumble back, bodies pressing into a wooden table in the antechamber.

The subtle ache in my limbs from last night’s skirmish flares, but I barely register it.

His hands roam over my back, cautious yet insistent, as if verifying I’m truly here.

I clutch the folds of his tunic, pulling it aside to bare more of his chest. The scar I’ve seen so often in the training yard stands out, and I trace it in a reverent caress.

He shudders under my touch. “Tell me to stop,” he rasps, voice straining. “If this feels wrong?—”

I tug him close, breath ragged. “It feels necessary. Don’t stop.”

That’s all it takes. Our mouths clash again, tongues meeting in a desperate dance. Each brush of his lips sparks an electric jolt under my skin, a reminder that we’ve been circling this moment since the day we realized we were allies, not enemies. My head spins at the sheer intensity.

He shifts, lifting me onto the table with remarkable gentleness, mindful of my smaller frame.

My legs wrap around his hips, and I feel the rumble of his breath in his broad chest. Despite his size, his touch is reverent.

The press of his body is firm, a living shield between me and the swirling chaos beyond the estate walls.

The tension in my belly coils tighter as our clothes come undone in halting movements.

Each layer parted is a concession to trust—no Senate edict, no orc threat can intrude on us here.

I brush my palms over the hard planes of his abdomen, feeling the suppressed shiver that travels through him.

He groans softly, burying his face against my neck, letting out a low murmur of my name that sends a thrill skittering down my spine.

His muzzle grazes my collarbone, the velvety fur against my skin a sensation I never imagined associating with warmth and desire.

I gasp, tangling my fingers in the short hair at his nape.

There’s a distinct awareness that this is taboo: a minotaur champion and a human captive.

But in this charged moment, labels dissolve.