Page 13 of Bound to the Minotaur (Hillcrest Hollow Shifters #2)

Kess

The silence in Gregory’s cabin was starting to get to me. The kind of silence that doesn’t soothe, doesn’t let you settle. It claws at your nerves, makes your skin itch with the weight of what’s left unsaid.

I shut the laptop with more force than necessary and shoved it onto the coffee table.

Another hour wasted pretending I was still looking for a job my dad would never allow me to take.

How could I care about cover letters or part-time barista work when all I could think about was the feel of Gregory’s mouth on mine?

That kiss… it hadn’t just curled my toes; it had rewired something inside me.

Short-circuited my sense of logic. There was no going back from that.

And now he was gone. He’d left without a word moments ago, stalking out his door as if he would rather be anywhere other than here.

Like the awkward silence after that kiss, after the truths I’d been forced to reveal, was too much for him, too.

I sank deeper into the couch cushions, staring into the half-dead embers in the stove.

Cold. Just like the cobbler he left in the kitchen.

Just like the space he’d made for me here, in his home, only to walk out of it.

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” I muttered to Avis, who blinked up at me from where he lay sprawled belly-up on the rug.

“He kissed me like I meant something, then stormed off without a word.” Avis flicked his tail in judgment.

I glared at him. “Oh, please, like you’re not obsessed with him too.

” His blue eyes seemed to pierce me with a look that said, “Well, what are you going to do about it?”

I stood and wandered toward the window, arms crossed tight against my chest. The night outside pressed close to the panes; black and thick, like velvet soaked in ink. No curtains. No blinds. I could see everything.

Including him.

I caught sight of Gregory just as he moved past the shed, across the dirt road, and into the dense treeline.

I froze, breath caught mid-lung. I should’ve looked away, but I didn’t.

He looked so purposeful, so sure of himself and his place in the world.

Wearing those coveralls from his shop like a second skin, like being the sleepy town’s mechanic was exactly what he wanted to be.

He glanced back once, and I wondered if he could see me.

But he shrugged, his black hair gleaming blue as a beam of moonlight struck him.

Then he ducked behind the thick trunk of an oak, and I lost sight of him.

No, not quite. There—something shimmered in the air, like heat over pavement.

And then the light—sharp and sudden, like a falling star had touched down right there in those woods.

His whole body was briefly visible, just to the left of the tree, glowing, bigger than life.

..then unraveled into something else entirely.

I gasped, fingers digging into the window frame. A shape stood where he’d been—massive, horned, almost man but not. Silhouetted by the moon, backlit in silver: two legs, a tail, hooves, and horns that curved from his skull like a crowned predator.

“What the hell…” I whispered, stumbling back from the window, my heart hammering in my chest like it wanted to rip through bone and flee.

Impossible. I must’ve imagined it. Lack of sleep, too much stress.

Or maybe that tasty vegetarian dinner he’d made was laced with something more potent than fresh herbs.

Still trembling, I dropped back onto the couch, burying my face in my hands. I didn’t want to think about what I saw. I didn’t want to think about what my father was doing right now, either, but the thoughts came uninvited. What strings was he pulling? What shadows was he sending?

And Gregory—God—where had he gone? What was he doing? He kissed me like he meant forever, and then vanished into the dark like a ghost.

I waited—for minutes. Maybe hours. I don’t know.

The cobbler cooled, untouched, on the stove, the fire nothing more than glowing ghosts of flame, and I lay curled on the couch like a woman abandoned. Eventually, my eyes shut. The silence swallowed me whole. And I dreamed.

The maze again—endless hedges and shifting corridors, lit by a bloodred sky and scented with jasmine and smoke.

I was barefoot, breathless, and running, but not out of fear.

It never seemed to be out of fear, despite the convoluted, confusing surroundings.

Something chased me, yes. Something powerful: heavy footfalls, low rasping breaths, horns, heat.

A minotaur. He was hunting me—not to kill, not to devour, but to claim—and that thought was not nearly as frightening as it should be.

The maze was alive. It loomed around me—walls of twisting vines and thick hedges that pulsed and breathed as if the plants themselves were dreaming.

I walked barefoot across damp moss and broken asphalt, my steps soundless but for the gentle crackle of old leaves underfoot.

The walls weren’t just green; they were made of things: car doors rusted over and half-swallowed by ivy, steering wheels suspended in bramble, a mosaic of broken glass and chrome embedded in living bark, catching light from nowhere and throwing it back in fractured color.

Gregory’s influence was everywhere. Even in my dreams, he left fingerprints. Why else would I dream of a maze made of nature and broken cars—pieces that, when put together, turned into a beautiful whole?

I turned slowly, trying to get my bearings, but there was no logic to the layout. No symmetry or repetition to hold on to. The path twisted ahead in impossible directions. Overhead, the sky bled twilight, never quite day or night, just an endless, bruised red.

Lucid, I realized with a jolt. I’m lucid dreaming.

That didn’t comfort me. I’d never had a lucid dream before, and the experience was pretty terrifying in its intensity.

Why was this happening? I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of mysterious place I’d stumbled into—not just because of this dream, but because of what I’d seen and what I’d felt when I was with my monosyllabic, grumpy mechanic.

A soft mrrrow to my left had me spinning, and there—between two moss-covered traffic signs—sat a silver-gray cat, larger than life, with tufted ears and bright sapphire eyes.

He had tucked his thick, fluffy tail with its faint striping neatly around his paws, a perfunctory look on his handsome, furry face as he gave me another demanding meow.

“Avis?” I whispered, and he blinked at me with his usual judgmental calm, as if I were late and he’d been waiting. He turned and walked, plumy gray tail held high, casting glances over his shoulder to make sure I followed.

“Great,” I muttered. “Even my subconscious is bossy.” But I followed because the cat seemed to know the way.

Deeper into the maze we went, past broken vending machines spewing ivy instead of snacks, past half-melted windshields etched with symbols I couldn’t read but that reminded me of Greek.

My breath grew shallow not from fear, but from effort.

I had to jog to keep up, to stay close to the flickering guide of the cat’s tail.

Behind me… a sound.

Footsteps. Heavy. Rhythmic. Not quite human.

I risked a glance over my shoulder, and heat sparked in my belly.

The beast was there, half-shrouded by the vines, massive, covered in a silky black pelt, and so very real.

Horns curved like a crown of carved bone.

Broad shoulders rolled with muscle, and his hooves struck sparks from the stones when he walked.

His chest rose and fell like a forge’s bellows, and his eyes—dark as midnight, burning—found mine even across the distance.

It was him. It was Gregory . Just as I’d seen when he vanished into the woods. I swallowed hard, my heart hammering. “No,” I whispered, laughing softly. “This is insane. He’s not... a minotaur. That’s not a thing.” But my legs didn’t stop moving. I didn’t wake up. I didn’t even want to.

Each time I glanced back, I caught more of him—his bulk, his scent on the wind, his presence like gravity. And every time, the heat that flooded me grew sharper, lower. I wasn’t afraid. I was aching. Something deep inside me wanted him to catch me.

Avis darted ahead through a narrow gap between a thick sprawl of bramble and the driver’s-side door of a half-sunken Cadillac.

I scrambled after him, my pulse thrumming in my throat like a war drum.

I was getting turned around, disoriented.

I had no idea which direction we’d come from. The maze had swallowed the way back.

All I knew was the rhythm of the beast’s hooves behind me, and the way my body responded to every step, every breath, every glimpse.

The vines thickened, turning black around the edges, slick with dew and something sweeter.

The scent made my head swim. My legs felt weak.

Every step made my thighs tremble, and my belly ache with desire.

I couldn’t stop, but I wanted him to catch up. ..

Behind me, the beast growled as if he knew what I was thinking. Like he knew exactly how badly I ached for him, and none of it made sense.

I was nearly there; wherever there was. The air shifted, growing warmer, perfumed with crushed petals and something muskier, more animal. The maze opened around me with the silent grace of a curtain parting. And there, just ahead, Avis halted.

He turned slowly, deliberately, and for one strange, impossible moment, his eyes gleamed a startling, vivid blue—like sky reflected on ice, glowing star-bright. It wasn’t the reflection of light; it was something other; something only possible in dreams.

“Avis?” I breathed. He didn’t respond, didn’t give me another of those sure meows or a reassuring purr. The cat only blinked and turned aside, stepping into the thick ivy as if it were nothing at all and vanished.

And then I saw it.

The center.

A clearing, ringed in walls of flowering vines, held a thousand blooms in every color climbing upward in defiance of the season. The ground here was soft moss and golden grass, dappled with spears of sunlight that shouldn’t have existed. It was quiet. Peaceful. Sacred. The air hummed.

I stepped forward, breath hitching. I felt like I’d stepped into a church or something. That’s how heavy the air felt, how hushed everything seemed. Behind me, the noise chasing me was in direct opposition to the clearing: the thunder of hooves.

I turned, my heart stuttering against my ribs.

He was there.

The beast. The Minotaur. Towering and virile, his body half-shadow and all glory.

Black fur rippled with health over powerful muscles.

His chest heaved. Thick horns arced high above his brow, glinting like ancient steel.

His eyes burned—so dark, so hungry. His tail lashed behind him, long and tufted, flicking once, twice.

His hooves gleamed. Steam curled from his flanks as if he had been running hard.

I couldn’t move, frozen in place as I stared at the creature. I wanted him to take one more step.

One more.

And then—

“ Kess, ” a voice called out in a deep, husky rumble.

I gasped, the dream collapsing like a wave receding from the shore.

My eyes flew open. Gregory loomed at the foot of the couch, cast in firelight and shadow.

His chest rose, breath still quick from whatever he had been doing.

Snow melted in his dark hair, boots dripping onto the floorboards.

He looked like he had stepped straight out of my dream.

Still catching my breath, I tried to sit up.

My legs were tangled in a blanket I didn’t remember pulling over myself.

I stared at him, blinking the heat and fog of sleep from my eyes.

He looked down at me like I was the dream.

“Gregory…” I whispered, throat dry, pulse racing .

But I didn’t finish the thought—I wasn’t sure I was truly awake.