Page 16 of Bound to the Minotaur (Hillcrest Hollow Shifters #2)

Kess

I couldn’t believe what had happened, how different things were between us now.

Gregory was still, well, Gregory. Often, a grunt was all the answer I got, or a glance, a very heated glance.

But he smiled too, with a warm twinkle in his pretty brown eyes, and that made me feel all fuzzy inside, in a good way.

Then there was the sex. The mind-blowing, amazing, utterly earth-shattering sex that had surely ruined me for anyone else.

The minotaur—the bull—had stepped out of my dreams and into the real world last night.

First, he was just a fantasy, but he soon became all too real, and now I was addicted.

I was pretty sure I was falling really hard for my caveman mechanic, who also happened to be a vegetarian and one hell of a chef, showing off a sensitive side of himself without an ounce of self-consciousness.

And he wanted me to stay. He’d carried me into his bedroom last night like I was precious.

I’d never been with a man who held me in his arms all night, and I’d never felt as safe as I did with him.

I was almost beginning to believe that my father had met his match in Gregory.

And then reality struck: how could one man stand against someone like Romano—a man with nearly limitless resources, with weapons and assassins at his fingertips?

My hands felt stiff and clumsy as I pulled a plate from the drying rack.

My mind was no longer on the comforting task of washing dishes side by side with someone, in a silence that had once been pleasant.

It wasn’t pleasant now—just thinking of my father had raised the fine hairs on the back of my neck and sent my pulse soaring.

We were finishing up the last of the dishes, Gregory’s big hands moving with surprising care as he set the plates aside to dry. The morning sunlight streamed in through the cabin windows, making everything look golden and calm. Too calm. It felt wrong, like the silence before a storm.

I wiped my hands on a dishtowel, my heart sinking even as he reached across the sink to press a kiss to my temple. Warmth flared in me—instinctual and aching—but it was quickly swallowed by something colder.

Fear.

No matter how safe he made me feel, no matter how strong his arms were or how steady his voice sounded when he said I was safe here…

I knew better. He couldn’t protect me from my father.

I turned to face him fully, the dishtowel clenched in my hands.

“This was amazing,” I said softly, and it hurt to say the words like that—past tense.

“But I should go now, before it’s too late. ”

Gregory froze. Just for a second. But when he looked at me, all that warmth drained from his face.

“No.” A single word: cool, implacable. A decree.

I’d heard many of those throughout my life, but this wasn’t quite the same.

This one felt like it came from a place of strong, deep-running emotion.

When Gregory said it… my heart raced for a different reason.

“No?” I asked anyway, needing to understand.

For a man who hadn’t even wanted to tell me his name that first night we’d met, he’d certainly had a big change of heart.

He had acted like he couldn’t get me out of his home fast enough, and now he wanted me to stay, even while danger was looming—perhaps because of it.

His jaw ticked. “You’re not leaving.” There it was again—that order—and while he looked mad as hell, he didn’t make me feel scared. He made me feel loved, because he was mad that I didn’t want to let him protect me. He didn’t understand, and I had to make him see.

I took a breath, trying to keep my voice even.

“I don’t want to go. God, I don’t. But he’s coming, Gregory.

He’ll have tracked my phone. That’s how he operates.

It was he who had my job offer pulled. He who messed with my brakes.

He’s letting me run just far enough to make a point—and then he’s going to reel me back in.

And if you’re still near me when he does—”

“I’m not scared of him,” Gregory said, his voice like thunder on the edge of a storm. “You said it yourself: he’s just a man—power-hungry, dangerous, but still human. And you are not running again.”

He said human , as if that was significant, as if that made all the difference.

My father was a monster, but he was a human monster, not like…

not like the thing I’d seen in the woods last night, not like the beast from my dreams. “Gregory—” I started to say, my mouth dry as I hovered on the edge of a truth my brain refused to accept.

“No.” He stepped in close, crowding me—not to intimidate, but to shield.

“You’re not going anywhere. Not when he’s hunting you.

And especially not alone.” The intensity in his eyes made my pulse skip.

I opened my mouth to protest again, but he cut me off.

“Get dressed,” he said, voice low and commanding. “We need to be ready.”

And just like that, my heart dropped into my stomach because the way he said it; like a soldier preparing for war.

Like a beast defending his mate. Like a man who would burn the world down before he let anyone take me. A girl could get used to that.

I shut the bedroom door behind me and leaned against it for a beat, breathing in the quiet.

The warmth from the stove pressed softly against my skin, but a chill still crept in—deep, from the inside out.

Gregory’s shirt was wrinkled now, smelling like him and like sex, and it took effort to peel it off and reach for my suitcase.

I pulled out the warmest, sturdiest things I had: fleece-lined leggings, a thick wool sweater, and hiking boots that had seen better days.

None of it made me feel remotely ready for what was coming.

I sat on the edge of the bed to pull my boots on, my thoughts spinning as my fingers fumbled with the laces.

What was Gregory, exactly? Because he was a man.

I’d kissed that man. Had sex with that man.

But then there were those moments… a growl that didn’t sound human.

The way he moved. And last night—out in the woods—I saw something. Something impossible.

No human silhouette had horns or hooves.

I pressed my palms to my thighs, grounding myself.

Maybe I was losing my mind. Stress could do that.

Dreams, fear, trauma —add sex and a hot guy with a hero complex into the mix, and the brain could start writing fanfiction of its own.

But if I wasn’t crazy, if what I saw had been real…

what was he? More importantly, if I asked, would he tell me?

I sighed and looked toward the window. Avis sat like a statue on the sill, ears forward, eyes sharp as cut glass.

Not grooming himself, not napping. He wasn’t relaxed in the slightest. “You’re watching for him, aren’t you?

” I asked quietly, crossing to stand behind the cat.

He didn’t glance at me, but his tail flicked once in answer. “You think he’s coming today?”

Avis didn’t respond, but I knew the answer.

My father always liked to make an entrance when you thought you had time. He wasn’t just dangerous. He was calculated. He wanted control, and the longer you thought you had some, the worse it was when he yanked it away.

I should run.

But I’d tried that already—and Gregory wasn’t going to let me go. I should try harder to convince him, but I’d been alone against my father for so long that having someone in my corner for once… it was a temptation too powerful to resist.

I zipped up my coat and stepped back into the hallway. The scent of eggs and something herbal still lingered in the air, but the cabin felt colder now and quieter. I didn’t see him in the kitchen or by the fire.

Then I heard voices. Muffled, coming from just outside.

Gregory’s low rumble… and someone else. Female.

Cheerful. Bright. It was not a voice I expected to hear inside Gregory’s house, or even near it.

The contrast between the two of them was huge, and now my curiosity was fully piqued.

Who was this woman who sounded like pure sunshine?

I padded closer to the front door, careful not to make the boards creak as I tiptoed. I peeked through the curtainless front window and froze. Gregory stood on the porch, his massive frame blocking most of the light—but to his left stood a woman who looked like she’d tumbled out of a kaleidoscope.

Gray curls spilled from under a knit hat decorated with tiny bells that jingled when she turned her head.

Her wrists were stacked with bracelets, every color imaginable, clinking like wind chimes.

She wore a long, patterned coat over a dress that didn’t seem anywhere near warm enough for the weather, but she didn’t shiver once.

She was looking straight at me. I blinked, startled, but before I could step back, her face lit up like a sunrise.

“Well, there she is!” she crowed, voice rich and warm like honey butter.

“Kestrel! Oh, I knew I’d like you. I’m the Mayor, but please, sugar—call me Grandma Liz.

” She beamed like we were old friends. And all I could think was: I’m standing in a strange man’s cabin in the middle of the woods, being greeted by a bracelet-laden psychic grandmother in a dress meant for spring.

Whatever happened next… I had a feeling things were about to get really weird.

Gregory snapped, “She prefers Kess, please. I told you that already.” When? Just now? It felt odd to discover that my so- often-silent mechanic had talked to someone else, about me, even. What else had he been saying?