Page 21 of Bound to the Minotaur (Hillcrest Hollow Shifters #2)

Gregory

The forest was quiet in that wrong way, like a held breath, too still. No birdsong. No wind. But I heard them.

Soft to a human—nearly nothing—but I wasn’t human.

Not in this form. My ears flicked, twitching toward the sound like a satellite locking onto a signal.

Voices: male, rough, confident. Boots crunching over pine needles and damp earth.

Leather groaning, the faint click of a safety switch on a weapon.

Metal. Guns. Cologne slicking over sweat.

I inhaled, nostrils flaring wide. The air reeked of danger and city grime, of blood money and false bravado. They didn’t belong here, and they hadn’t come to talk.

I crouched low, hooves silent against the loamy soil as I stalked the edge of the clearing, a ghost in black fur and heat.

My horns brushed through ferns and brambles.

The back of my neck tingled with adrenaline, with alertness.

Five men. One at the car, watching the road.

Four spread out, watching the woods. Watching us from their higher vantage point.

They knew I was coming, they’d seen my shift, but they’d lost track of me now.

There was no doubt: this was an attacking party.

My hackles rose. A protective fury bloomed so hot in my chest, it made my vision narrow. These weren’t scouts. They were here to drag Kess away. Or worse.

A growl tore from my throat before I could stop it.

They heard it. The nearest man spun, far too slow.

I charged. The woods thundered with the sound of my hooves.

Trees blurred past. The ground shook beneath me.

I came out of the undergrowth like a demon, massive, furred, snarling.

One man screamed and fell backward, trying to scramble away.

The others bolted. The first smart move they’d made.

The car door flew open. Two of them dove in, the driver panicking as he fumbled with the keys.

Another raised a gun, hands shaking. I veered off, crashing behind the thick trunk of a pine just as bullets sprayed bark and earth into the air.

They couldn’t kill me—not easily—but it wasn’t worth it.

Scaring them off was good enough for now.

My heart stuttered abruptly, my chest clenching as something hooked behind my sternum: Kess. Her scent hit me. Panic. Fear. At the back of my mind the maze stirred, the magic shifting like a pressure drop in the air. She was inside. She’d run. They must’ve found her.

No.

I left the men—still shouting and cursing—as the car squealed into reverse.

I ran. Branches whipped past, snapping against my shoulders.

Mud sprayed my thighs. My hooves bit into the forest floor as I bolted through the trees, lungs burning, blood thundering through my veins.

The trees thinned. I could see the cabin roof now, the narrow path to the maze’s mouth. ..

And her scent, so sharp, so close. Fear. Movement. Sweat. Determination. She was running.

Dammit, Kess.

I roared past the porch, shaking the earth as I galloped toward the maze.

Its edge shimmered like heat on stone. I could feel the magic working, winding, protecting her.

Ancient magics that I could not control, but that had come from me anyway, from every drop of sweat and blood that had gone into making that place. My protection, my sanctuary.

I skidded to a halt, panting, nostrils flaring, and pressed a hand—no, a massive clawed paw—against the hedge wall. It parted slightly under my touch, enough to let her scent drift through like a promise. She was still moving. Still alive. But I wouldn’t let her be alone another second.

I bellowed into the maze, a sound of rage, of warning: I'm coming. Then I plunged in after her because I knew she wasn’t in there alone. She was being chased, and it wasn’t by me. That was all kinds of wrong.

The maze responded to me as I moved, its hedges parting just enough for my wide shoulders, then closing tightly behind. But something was wrong. The energy, once smooth and protective, now pulsed with jagged edges. Like an injured beast, lashing out and unsure of whom to trust.

Kess.

I dropped my head low and sniffed the ground, the acrid sting of smoke already tickling my nose.

But beneath it—footsteps. Many. At least six or seven men had chased her, boots tearing up the moss and breaking stems. I could see where they had crashed through the outer corridor, following her blindly. Fools. The maze would not be kind.

Farther in, their voices echoed; panicked and scared.

I picked up speed. Then, one less voice.

I turned a corner and found a man sprawled against a hedge, eyes glassy and wide, mouth open in a silent scream.

His chest was pierced through with a branch that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

The maze had grown it to strike, then retreated.

Good, I thought. Protect her. But as I went deeper, I felt the shift. The air soured. Gunfire cracked like lightning through the trees, then the sharper snap of fire catching dry wood. Smoke billowed. I thundered through the hedge, burst into a wider corridor, and found them.

Five men, all armed, all yelling, shooting, and burning my maze. I roared, and the sound shook the very roots of the place. They turned but it was too late.

I charged, horns lowered, and the first man went flying. His gun discharged as he hit the hedge wall, his scream brief. Two others raised rifles. I spun and lashed out with a back hoof. One went down clutching his chest, gasping. Bullets tore across my shoulder, burning but not stopping me.

One fired into the hedge where the remains of an old Ford sat. The metal didn’t burn, but the dry leaves gathered on its trunk did. They caught fire, flames licking up with ravenous hunger. I threw him bodily into the flames.

The last man tried to run. I let him, because I had only one focus: my mate.

The maze wouldn’t, it’s ancient powers stirring, coiling, striking with a last surge of strength before it fell dormant.

It would stay dormant for a long time, until I could make repairs, regrow brambles, give it the appropriate offerings.

When it was over, the clearing stank of blood, smoke, and scorched greenery. But the damage was done. The maze was wounded, its protection fractured. Its pathways stuttered and slowed. My bond to its core magic flickered like a weak pulse.

I could feel it. Kess was no longer safe here. I turned, following the freshest trace of her scent—fast, desperate. I reached the outer wall and stopped dead.

The hedge had been burned through in one section, charred black and crumbling.

Beyond it, an old path that hadn’t been used in years led toward the southern treeline.

Two bodies lay just past the breach; human men.

Blood soaked into the dry pine needles around them.

Sitting nearby, slumped against a stump, was Kai.

The werewolf’s shoulder was torn open, blood crusted black around the wound. His lynx mate—light and sleek—licked at the damage while keeping a wary eye on the woods, her ears swiveling toward me.

Kai looked up as I approached, guilt etched into every line of his dirt-smeared face. “Greg,” he rasped, then coughed. “I was too late.” A growl built in my throat, but I stomped it out, muffled it. It wasn’t like Kai hadn’t paid for the attempt to save her.

“Avis is tracking,” he added quickly. “He’s with her. They haven’t gotten far yet. You could catch up.”

I turned toward the path, heart a war drum behind my ribs.

A rush of wind hit the back of my neck. I looked up just in time to see the gleam of golden scales: Chardum, the dragon, his wings casting long shadows across the scorched edges of my maze.

He roared once in greeting and dumped a massive steel vat of water from the sky.

It hit the flames with a hiss and a cloud of steam, soaking the maze’s wounded edge.

He landed with the grace only age and power could provide, claws settling into the earth like roots. “All will be well,” he rumbled.

I stared at him. But the bond between Kess and me shivered in my chest like a plucked string; faint, flickering.

She was in danger. I didn’t want to believe the worst, but I felt it.

“I will make it so,” I said, my voice more beast than man.

Then I ran, faster than I ever had before, plunging into the woods.

After Avis.

After my mate.