Page 60 of Minding the Minotaur

“He’s sooo notmy type. I mean, yeah, he’s got a weird charisma, I guess, but I’m only interested in a guy who looks after his health.”

The lady doth protest too much,I think, but I keep that thought to myself. Instead, I ask casually “How long have you known him?”

“Since he first came to work in the Labyrinth. Five or so years, I guess.”

“Do you know how he got all those scars?”

“Only by hearsay. Apparently he got roughed up, big time.”

“By whom?”

“A gang on level three.”

“Gang?”

“Wolf packs hang out in gangs down there. Wouldn’t surprise me if it was Jax’s fault. He probably tried to nick a psychotic wolf’s cigarettes. He walks a fine line.”

“I get that impression.”

“Yeah, well,” Tippy sniffs. “If I’d treated his injuries, they’d hardly show by now.” I fall silent, thinking about those raised welts on his neck. Wolves on level three. They were probably bite marks after all.

Tippy stirs the yellow potion. “I’ll add some johoma nectar to make it taste better, shall I?”

I have no idea what that is, but it sounds okay. “Great idea.”

My ears prick to a low rumbling sound, a kind of bellow crossed with a low moan that makes the door lintels shudder.

It’s certainly not Arlo. I know every sound that guy makes by now.

Tippy rolls her eyes. “There she goes. Such a drama queen, that Clarisse.”

“Just before you joined us, she announced she was pregnant,” I say.

Tippy’s eyes widen. “Not Again. Arlo will be so mad.”

A second later there’s the sound of the door slamming. Then silence.

Soon after, Arlo appears in the kitchen doorway looking fraught, his scruff a mess and his eyes wild.

“She’s gone.”

“We gathered,” Tippy says drily. “Did you agree to fork out for this one?”

He shakes his head and his gaze locks with mine.

“No. No, I didn’t.” We stare at each other and my heart lurches, my pulse quickening with the intensity in Arlo’s dark eyes.

“Sammy, could we have a word?” he husks.

Arlo takes my arm, marches me to the snug and sits me down.

I watch, a little bemused, as he paces up and down, hands in his jeans pockets.

Finally, he bursts out, “The reason I’m not helping my sister is not because I’m callous.”

“I know that,” I say gently. “It must be so frustrating that she doesn’t take responsibility for her kids. Or get the father to.”

“Well, this time, I’ve thrown that back on her. And him. Whoever he is.” He keeps striding up and down, his tail swishing. Finally, he stops and turns to me, his eyes full of passion.