Page 9 of Minding the Minotaur (Monsters of the Labyrinth #1)

A RLO

I sit on my king-size bed with its quilted silk bedspread, in the home I built with my hard-earned coin.

It’s not grand, but it’s luxury by Labyrinth standards.

It’s set back into the rock wall, like every home here, but it’s insulated against the damp and cold.

It’s got three bedrooms, two bathrooms. A snug, a book-lined study, a small gymnasium, and a tiny garden out to the side.

And a small clump of ivy crawling up the porch.

(It’s unbelievably hard to grow green stuff down here!)

All paid for with my own sweat and semen. Money I’ve literally jacked off for once a week for the past five years.

I’ve always been so proud of this place.

But now, none of it feels good anymore.

Because outside, Len, the odd-job lizard man, is erecting bars on the windows. Locks on the doors.

I bellow mournfully, curling into the silk eiderdown, my horns catching on the fine material.

I feel so fucking dejected. Humiliated. Alone .

Otis left me here early this morning, and locked the door.

Said he was going to meet the applicant for the job of my minder.

He still hasn’t confirmed where they’re coming from, but I’m not fucking stupid.

I know it can only be a peripheral, a freaking lowlife human.

No self-respecting monster—not even an ogre—would do this to a fellow monster.

Holy gods of the Labyrinth, save me.

And to think I fooled myself that I was upwardly mobile. As if my buckets of gism were somehow going to project me out of the Labyrinth.

I’ve done everything right. Paid my taxes, supported my parents—even my sister, Clarisse, with her proclivity for breeding with every red-blooded minotaur that crosses her path.

Eight younglings now, with no financial support from the bulls who sired them.

Nope, it’s me who pays for their freaking education.

Me. Golden boy, Arlo Ungula.

But now, with my stupid escapades, I’ve landed myself in a pile of shit.

I can only hope that Otis keeps it quiet.

I rack my brains, trying to work out how to explain to my friends, my family, why I won’t be around.

Why I’m not going to Digger’s Diner and hanging out with Brody and Kazmo and Silas, my three shifter best mates, every Friday playing poker.

They’re bound to find out, and that will be embarrassing. Shameful.

How do you hold your head up, look other monsters in the eye, after incarceration? I have no answers, because since the Covenant, it’s never happened. We don’t lock up our own.

Until now, that is.

My ears prick to the sound of a jeep drawing up outside, voices floating through the window from the street.

I hear the deep rumble of a baritone, unmistakably Otis, the tunneled-out street magnifying the sound. My ears twitch to a higher frequency sound. A melodic voice. Female.

Female ?

Human?

A tingle spreads down my spine.

Otis speaks again, and the female lets out a sweet, slightly nervous giggle. I flick back my ears and listen harder.

Gods—yes. That intonation, higher and softer than any monster. It has to be a human.

I bound off the bed, stride over to the window and, craning my neck, peer sideways at the front porch. I catch a glimpse of Otis’s broad shoulder and next to him, a much smaller figure, with a long blonde ponytail down her back and a curvy butt in navy blue pants.

I nearly swallow my tongue trying not to bellow with excitement.

It’s her, I’m certain.

Shit. What are the odds?

I pace up and down the room, ears flicking, tail swishing.

Maybe she found me telepathically. Maybe the bond between us was so strong that it’s transcended her world and mine… My thoughts bounce around inside my skull like ping-pong balls.

I even start biting my nails, something I haven’t done since I was a youngling.

I hear the front door close with a thud.

“Put your bag down and I’ll introduce you. He’s in the room to your left.” Otis’s voice echoes. “He’s not aggressive, just foolish.”

Foolish. Thanks a lot, Otis.

A muffled response follows, and even though I can’t make out the words, that voice does weird and wonderful things to my insides.

I start pawing at the thick pile of the carpet with a hoof.

Smooth my hands over my horns. Dang, I should have oiled them, would have if I’d known.

I comb through the ruffled fur around my neck with shaking fingers.

There’s no time to check my appearance in the bathroom mirror.

I’ve barely slept, so I probably look like shit warmed up.

I stand tall, brace my huge shoulders, and widen my stance, hands behind my back.

The key grates in the lock. I train my unblinking gaze on the door as it opens.

There stands Otis, predictably frowning, and next to him, so small and deliciously soft and curvy, her skin like a ripe peach—it’s her …

My human. Sure, her beautiful hair is obscured by an ugly cap, but those big baby blues, that wide sensual mouth, her cute round cheeks…

unmistakable. My heart hammers against my ribs and I execute a strange little backward, forward shuffle on my hooves, totally unable to look her in the eyes, I’m so ecstatic.

Otis mistakes my silence for churlishness. “This is your guard, Arlo. At least be polite.”

Meanwhile, my sweet human’s eyes have sprung wide as saucers, her cheeks have turned beet red, and her mouth is opening and shutting on thin air.

And then I realize…

She had no idea she was guarding me.

Disappointment whooshes through me. I thought that some magical thread had brought her to me. That we were fated to be together.

Arlo, you fucking dumb fuck.

Still unable to speak, my shoulders slump with dejection.

“Arlo, this is Samantha Buggins,” Otis says impatiently. “You don’t have to like her, but you do have to be civil.”

Otis mutters an apology on my behalf to my human. No point calling her mine though, is there? She’s just here to do a job.

Meanwhile, she seems to have composed herself a darn sight better than I have.

She strides over, sticking one hand out in a formal greeting. “Howdy, Arlo, nice to meet you. ”

I look into her eyes, but they seem masked, like clouds have obscured a clear blue sky.

Her smile is all professional politeness.

I grunt out a greeting, reach out and take her hand in mine, trying not to notice how soft and warm it is.

As her fingers flutter, I have an image of that same hand stroking my cock.

Already I can feel the fucker tightening my pants.

Why is my brain torturing me like this?

I drop her hand like a hot cake, back away. I can’t have her see the lust and pain in my eyes. Instead, I stare at the ground, my heart pounding in my chest, feeling like I’m about to have a panic attack.

If I can’t take this proximity to her for one minute, how will I manage four weeks of it?

This is fucking insane. I can’t have her guarding me . I will go insane.

I need to come clean to Otis. Let him know that I met her the last time I traveled to Sparkle. Except then he’ll think her being here is suspicious. He might think she’s a spy.

Fuck, maybe she is a spy? Holy hell’ s demons, I don’t know what to believe.

“Otis, mate,” I grunt out. “This human?—”

Otis raises an eyebrow.

I feel Samantha’s eyes boring into me. I glance quickly at her and see that her eyes have softened. They seem almost to be pleading with me. I realize she doesn’t want him to know we’ve met before.

Suppose she’s here because she needs to escape from Sparkle?

After all, she was pretty unhappy when I first met her.

If I say anything at all, it could drop her in the shit.

I have so many questions, and no answers right now.

And I realize the only way to find out the truth is to be left alone with her. To talk to her.

Luckily, Otis misjudges my discomfort. “No good turning up your snout at a human,” he growls. “Samantha is in charge of you, so suck it up. ”

My brain kindly produces another X-rated image of Samantha standing over me with a whip.

Never been into submissive stuff before, but hell…

with Samantha… gods only knows where I’d be prepared to go.

“Er, my bad—” I gulp trying to say her name.

It suits her so well. “Nice to meet you, Samantha,” I finally get out in a strangled voice.

She smiles, and I smile back. My insides turn to liquid and my stupid face goes hot, right up to the tips of my ears. Her scent tickles my nostrils, just the way it did in the parking lot, and my libido refuses to back down.

All the dirty, wicked things I want to do to her crowd into my head, and I almost gag on the saliva that fills my mouth as I stare at her, completely fucking love struck.

There’s an awkward moment of silence before Otis says, “I’m going to show Samantha around, give her a debrief.”

I nod, stepping forward eagerly, ready to follow them out, but Otis shoots out a palm. “Not you. You stay here.”

His big fist shoves me back into the room.

I watch helplessly as they leave, my eyes magnetized to Samantha’s perfect ass.

Then Otis slams the door, and I hear the key grind in the lock.