Page 19 of Bound to the Minotaur (Hillcrest Hollow Shifters #2)
Kess
“What’s going on?” I whispered to the cat standing protectively in front of me.
Was it my imagination, or did he seem larger than before?
Avis was a big fellow, but with all his fluffy fur raised, he seemed as big as a husky or a shepherd, not a simple house cat.
He was glaring at the forest to the left of the house, the maze looming on my right.
It felt like the forest was glaring back.
Gregory had gone that way, but I couldn’t see him now or hear anything.
Not even the twitter of a bird or the flutter of wings.
No rustling in the underbrush. I couldn’t recall if there had been any noises like that before, or if Gregory’s astonishing transformation had scared off the critters.
Ah, fuck… I couldn’t believe this was real.
My gaze slipped from the watchful trees, along the cat acting more like a tiger, to the mysterious entrance of the maze.
It didn’t seem so big when you considered it only ran along the back of the yard, the width of Gregory’s cozy cabin.
But it seemed massive if you stared down the narrow, dark tunnel beyond the wrought-iron gate.
The gate was open. Had it been open before? I didn’t think so.
It pulled at me, that narrow passage into the twisted interior.
It was just like my dream maze: brambles and evergreens, tall hedges augmented by broken cars twisted into beautiful art.
If I stepped inside, I would be lost . But Avis knew the way, just like he did in my dream.
Gregory would find me, chase me, just like in my dream as well.
A sound from behind had me spinning to gaze around the corner of the cabin. I could see a portion of the front yard and the side of the metal building that housed Gregory’s shop. A car was coming up the gravel road, its tires crunching, music blaring from the speakers.
I turned my head slowly, my heart already skipping. A black sedan. Not new. Its windows were tinted, the engine a low growl even as it idled. It rolled to a stop just beyond Gregory’s woodpile, out of direct view from where I stood, rooted at the tree line between maze and home. My breath hitched.
The sounds of doors opening—one, two, maybe more. Heavy boots stepped onto the gravel, then the grass, accompanied by muffled voices. Men, several of them. My stomach flipped, bile rising hot in my throat.
Of course, he didn’t come himself. My father was not above bloodying his hands when it came down to it.
But now that he was getting older, he very much liked to emphasize his power.
He would have gotten to high ground, maybe even rented out a house, set up shop.
I could already picture him sitting in his polished chair like a king overseeing his kingdom, a gun close enough to pat fondly.
These were his men. Of that, I had no doubt, and they were here for me. I had two choices: run or let them take me. They wouldn’t kill me now, no, my dad would want to see me first. He’d take great delight in getting me back under his control; he could always kill me later.
Avis growled, a low, warning sound too deep for a cat that size. He planted himself in front of me again, tail stiff like a wire brush, his pale eyes narrowed toward the approaching footfalls.
I took one last look in the direction Gregory had vanished; the trees swaying gently, still as secrets.
He was gone. There was no sign of him, not even a hoofprint in the dirt.
It was almost like he’d vanished without a trace, but I knew he was there.
He wouldn’t leave me without a good reason, and I was certain he’d be back.
I couldn’t wait for that; it would be too late.
My eyes swept back to the house. I knew the second I stepped toward it, I’d be seen.
Taken. Hauled back to New York. Back to the cage of a daughter my father had tried to mold, beat, and bribe into obedience.
No. Not this time. I’d run because I was done obeying, run because I wanted to live my life, my way.
My gaze went back to the maze. Avis was at the gate now, his sleek gray body quivering with tension, blue eyes piercing me with a stare that said, “Are you coming?” So, I ran, right into the maze.
Branches reached out like beckoning fingers, the entrance yawning wide. My boots pounded over moss and old stones, breath puffing in harsh bursts as I ducked into the twisting path I was not meant to enter. Not yet. Not this way.
Shouts erupted behind me. “She’s in there!” someone barked. A curse followed. Then more boots—faster—fumbled over roots and gravel as they scrambled to follow.
Even as I turned corner after corner, heart pounding so hard it echoed in my ears, I could feel it: the maze.
It wasn’t just some walls and hedges, or broken cars twisted and shaped into new, other things.
No, it felt alive, ancient, watching. Its paths lit in little ways: a glimmer of light on bark, a ripple of air where I should turn left instead of right.
A rustling that didn’t mean danger but welcome.
Avis kept pace, darting ahead and looking back when I hesitated, his meows sharp and urgent: this way, this way, don’t stop, don’t look back. But I couldn’t help it; I looked, just once.
A scream echoed behind me, followed by a sickening crunch. Something growled—and it was definitely not Avis. Definitely not human. Then, silence.
I kept running.
Another voice shouted my name, but not like Gregory would have. This voice was sharp, angry, desperate to capture, not protect. A second later, a gunshot cracked through the air, but the, maze didn’t let it find me.
The paths kept shifting, tangling, folding in on themselves like a living thing confused by the intruders.
That could simply be my panic, a trick of the mind, played by fear and the surreal surroundings.
Dark. Confusing. Scary. I ducked around another hedge wall, nearly skidding on a patch of damp moss, and kept going.
Another scream, much closer this time—a male voice, high-pitched in fear and pain.
I felt no guilt. They didn’t belong here.
I did, and the maze knew it. So did Avis, pressing tight against my legs before leaping up a ledge to scout ahead.
And somewhere, through the thick tangle of forest beyond the hedges, I knew Gregory would come.
He would feel me. Find me. He said he could feel my need, the danger that clung to me, so he’d know I was in danger now. All I had to do was keep moving, keep breathing, keep running—and trust that this strange, ancient place, and the bull-headed beast who claimed it, would protect what was his.
I did not expect the sudden roaring from my left—loud and fearsome—followed by a blast of heat.
I stumbled to the side; the whole maze seemed to shiver and groan around me.
Avis screeched as if he were hurt, blue eyes flashing like fire.
More sharp, staccato sounds echoed behind me, a rapid-fire crackle of guns.
My heart ached in my chest, not just from its fast pace, but from fear as well. Gregory, were they shooting at him?
Despite the roar and crackle of heat coming from beyond the wall of hedge and twisted car parts, I turned to face back the way I’d come.
The maze wasn’t talking to me now. I saw no glimmers to guide me, no ruffle of bramble to ease my path onward—as if it had gone silent, dead.
Did that mean it was focused on helping its master? Was Gregory in trouble?
There was a shove against my knees, paws up on my thighs, pressing with the sharp prick of claws, and Avis meowing loud and insistent.
I stumbled back instinctively, my hand moving to push the claws from my thick leggings, no match for the sharp prick of a feline’s wrath.
“I’m going,” I murmured, stepping back as the cat herded me away from the heat to my left. “But Gregory…”
Avis meowed again, hard and sharp, piercing me with a fierce glare.
I no longer wondered how he could appear so clever—he was that clever—because the cat was more, just like the man was more.
Right now, he was telling me to keep running, that I couldn’t turn back.
I wanted to, certain that Gregory was hurt, but I couldn’t.
At his urging, I began to run again, breath sawing in and out of my lungs in painful bursts, my side aching fiercely.
I thought I’d be running toward the center of the maze—the core of this place—but when the pathway twisted back to the left, I knew just how wrong that thinking was.
Avis yowled in fury as I stumbled to a stop, then began to backpedal as fast as I could, horror spreading across my face.
We were at the edge of the maze, and that heat?
It was fire. A hole had been burned right through the outer wall, and somehow we’d ended up running straight toward it.
I did not think that had been the maze’s intention, as far as it could think or plan…
but maybe we’d been too close already when the fire started.
It did not burn well or easily; too much metal and wet, sap-laden branches.
It cracked and hissed, popping and snapping, but a hole had been made.
Three men stood beyond it, one wielding a flamethrower like he was some kind of action hero from a movie.
Only, this was no hero but one of my father’s goons.
The other two had machine guns slung from straps over their shoulders and were hacking at the branches with machetes and determination.
They saw me, their expressions becoming excited, and then they gave chase.