Page 29 of Minding the Minotaur (Monsters of the Labyrinth #1)

A RLO

“Here’s your green smoothie.” Tippy plonks it down next to the one she brought me earlier, which I still haven’t touched.

I grunt.

It’s the same every day.

I skulk around, not even bothering to dress. Tippy comes in, all bright and breezy, pulls back the curtains, and bullies me out of bed. The she puts that fucking glass of sludge on the bedside table for me to drink.

I don’t.

Three hours later, she comes back and replaces it with another glass of sludge.

Mostly, she leaves without saying anything, but today she’s being difficult. I guess it has been three weeks since Sammy was taken away for treatment. But until I know if she’s conscious, I can’t rouse myself from this deep despair.

“Okay. Enough of this Arlo. You moping around won’t help Sammy get well.” Tippy glares at me, hands on her hips and her ears twitching. “And you’ll get sick if you don’t eat.”

“I do eat,” I protest.

“Yeah, Chukka sticks. Which have the same nutritional composition as cardboard.”

I shrug. “Cardboard’s good,” I mutter. I don’t care. I haven’t been to the clinic since Sammy got sick. I don’t have the woman I love by my side. Who cares if my sperm turns into useless froth, or if I don’t even produce at all? I certainly have lost my libido of late.

Tippy huffs loudly. “Right, that’s it, I’m calling Otis to talk some sense into you.” And she stomps out.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath. Otis is the last person I want to see.

I go to the door and call out, “Great smoothie,” in the hope that will stop her. “Off to do a workout,” I lie.

Tippy doesn’t answer. I’m sure she doesn’t believe me, and I’m equally sure she’s still going to call Otis.

I go back, pick up the smoothie, head into the bathroom and dump it down the sink.

Some twenty minutes later, when Otis arrives, I’ve managed to move to the snug and am watching a monster cartoon. I refuse to play one of the pirated human movies in my video collection. Because if a single one of those human actors dared to cry, it would break me. Completely fucking break me.

Otis is clearly unimpressed with my unwashed, undressed, scruffy appearance. He surveys me with a grim look on his face.

“Time you pulled yourself together,” he snaps, then starts clearing up the mess I’ve left around the sofa.

That’s ripe, coming from him. There’s always a pile of shit on his desk, boards and wires and switches, mixed in with paperwork from his sheriff duties.

He truly is one of the messiest guys I know .

“Unless you’ve got news about Samantha, you can fuck off,” I growl.

“Mr. Congeniality again today, I see,” Otis growls back.

“Fuck—offffffff.”

Otis crumples the wrappers in his big hand. “You’re not on house arrest anymore. You should go outside, get some air.”

“What for?”

“For all the gods’ sakes,” Otis sighs heavily. “This pining needs to stop, Arlo.”

“When I know she’s alive.”

“The last word from Jax was that she is.”

“And you trust that ferret human?”

“Yes, I do. He got her into hospital.” He stands with his hands on his hips, surveying me, but not unkindly. “If you went to work, maybe you’d feel better.”

“I’m done with that.”

“Not yet you’re not. You need to keep going to the clinic, Arlo. “

“Are you implying that would be for my own good? Because I literally don’t give a flying fuck. Or is there some other reason?”

Otis pauses, long enough for me to smell a rat. “What’s it to you whether I shoot my cum into a glass bottle,” I challenge.

He doesn’t answer. I scowl at him. “There’s something else, something you’re not telling me.”

Otis sits down in the chair opposite me, takes off his sheriff’s hat and smooths down his spiky green hair.

“Arlo, the humans are up to more than just increasing their fertility.”

“Like what?”

Otis huffs out a heavy sigh. “We’ve been monitoring some worrying activity, particularly in manufacturing on level seven. ”

A sliver of unease slides down my spine. I remember Clarisse’s words to me the day she told me she was pregnant, about the increased munitions production. In my despair over Sammy, I’d clean forgotten about that.

“What kind of manufacturing?” I ask.

“Ammunition. And gas masks. And on level eight, vehicles—and we’re not talking Sparkle cars, we’re talking tanks, armored cars. With that and the fertility program… We’re starting to pull the threads together into a bigger picture.”

Otis hunkers down, elbows on knees. “If you stop producing now, it will look suspicious. And then with a human female turning up unconscious in their hospital—well, a few tests could prove certain mating practices took place.”

I blush right up to the tips of my horns. “Nothing happened between us,” I lie.

Otis’s mouth twists. “Yeah, right. I wasn’t fucking born yesterday.”

“It was only the once,” I mumble, blushing madly beneath my scruff.

That was kind of true. Okay, not really.

“Whatever.” Arlo passes off the most important event of my life with a cursory wave of the hand.

“While she was unconscious, they probably ran a battery of tests. You going missing in action from their program at exactly the same time is not a good look. We need to maintain the status quo while we work out their game.”

“Fuck the status quo. Sammy’s life is on the line here.”

Otis glowers at me. “Are you capable of seeing a bigger picture than your own selfish needs?”

I balk at that. “Are you capable of seeing a bigger picture called love? I’m in love with Sammy. L-O-V-E love. Do you even understand what that word means?”

Otis jumps up and starts pacing. “I had a partner once, I do know about feelings.”

“Yeah, right. You’re like a fucking green machine. All you think about is picking apart bits of metal and wire and putting them back together. Scribbling numbers on pieces of paper and piling up useless junk all over your fucking desk.”

“And simultaneously run the whole of law enforcement.” Otis’s jaw juts ominously.

“Well, good on you mate, doing your duty like the perfect fucking orc you are. Makes you happy, does it?”

“Yes, actually.” He scowls. “Duty is more important to me than a fleeting infatuation.”

My nostrils flare. “Infatuation? Fuck you, Otis Cane. You wouldn’t know love if it hit you between your fucking red eyeballs.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that duty is love, Arlo? Have you thought of that? Love for the greater good.”

We’re both standing now, my tail lashing from side to side. “I’m getting that fucking cape and I’m going to rescue her.”

“Oh yeah, great, you thick-headed oaf. If she’s still in a coma she’ll die if you bring her back down here.”

“I’ll save her—my love will.” It’s a dumb thing to say, the stuff of fairytales, but I want so badly to believe it.

“You try it, Arlo and I’ll put you back on house arrest.”

“Who’s going to guard me? Tippy?”

He growls, and I growl louder. Fists raised, we circle each other. I’ve never had a fight with Otis before, but right now I want to bop that orc so hard on his wide green nose that he sees stars.

Otis’s eyes flame bright red. He’s as livid as I am.

“Go on then, you green bastard, just try and stop me.” I start shadow boxing around him.

Otis takes off his jacket, rolls up his sleeves. Years ago, this was how you settled a score. In a ring in the dust. They still do it this way on the lower levels.

And, very occasionally, like now, on level one .

I throw a punch, but Otis’s head jerks back and I miss him.

We dance around each other, my hooves scuffing up the rug.

I lay another punch, and this time my fist grazes the side of his cheek. He grunts, then lands one straight on my snout.

My head kicks back. I bellow in outrage and reach for my nose. Blood appears on my hand.

“Bastard!” I shout, getting ready for a karate kick.

But either Otis trips me, or I trip on the crumpled carpet, because the next thing I know I’m hurtling across the room—just as the door opens.

I manage to scupper to a stop, splaying my hooves to act as brakes. And find myself staring into a pair of amused green eyes.

“Well, this looks like fun,” drawls a familiar voice.

My nostrils scent the aroma of tobacco mixed with mint.

It’s fucking Jax.