Page 13 of The Minotaur’s Nanny Bride (Minotaur Daddies #2)

13

DEX

T he house is silent except for the rhythmic creak of the rocking chair. I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching as Maya cradles Ellis, her thumb stroking his tiny back. The soft glow from the fireplace bathes her in warm light, making her silver-blonde hair look almost golden. She doesn't know I'm watching—at least, not at first.

Gods, it's the first time Ellis hasn't been screaming in what feels like days. It's been a rough few days, and neither of us have been sure why.

My shoulders are still tense from the hours of walking and bouncing and pleading with a child who can't understand me. But Maya? She just picked him up and he settled right into her arms like he was meant to be there.

She hums some tune I don't recognize, something soft and melodic. Her lips barely move, but I can see the corner of them turned up in a small smile. Practical Maya with her no-nonsense attitude, melting for a tiny minotaur with barely-there horns.

"Come on, little one," she whispers to Ellis. "Your uncle needs a break from your lungs. I know you miss her. I know."

The tenderness in her voice catches me off guard. I've been so caught up in the logistics—the feeding, the changing, the not sleeping—that I haven't allowed myself to think about what Ellis must be feeling. How terrifying it must be to suddenly lose the person who was your entire world.

Ellis makes a small noise, not quite a cry, just a confirmation that he's listening. Maya adjusts her hold, moving him so his head rests against her heart. Her scar—that jagged line across her right hand—stands out as she supports his weight. Battle scars from the herb trade, she called it jokingly the first day. Only learned later it came from saving a minotaur child from a workshop fire. She never mentioned being disowned for it.

"There's a big world out here," Maya continues, "and it's scary sometimes. But your uncle Dex? He's loud and obnoxious and thinks he's funnier than he is, but he's got a good heart. He's going to keep you safe."

I should be offended, but honestly, it's the nicest thing anyone's said about me all week. Even if she doesn't know I'm hearing it.

The firelight dances across her face, highlighting the determined set of her jaw that somehow doesn't detract from her beauty. She's not conventionally pretty in the way that minotaur women are—all curves and softness. Maya's angles and purpose, her silver-blonde hair cropped short for practicality rather than style. And yet, it all draws me in. She looks stunning, even tired from helping with my nephew, like she always does.

My family would have hated her. Not because she's human—though there's that—but because she doesn't pretend. Doesn't soften her edges. Mother always insisted women should be seen, admired, and controlled. Maya looks like she's never been controlled a day in her life. And I don't want it any other way.

I shift my weight, and the floorboard betrays me with a creak. Maya looks up, her gray eyes finding mine instantly. For a moment, neither of us moves. Ellis sleeps on, oblivious to the strange tension suddenly filling the room.

I should look away. I should leave. But I don't.

"How long have you been standing there?" she asks, her voice quiet but direct.

"Long enough to learn I'm loud and obnoxious."

A small smile tugs at her lips. "And that you think you're funnier than you are."

"That part's slander," I say, finally pushing off the doorframe. "I'm exactly as funny as I think I am."

She makes a noise that's half-snort, half-laugh, careful not to disturb Ellis. "Keep telling yourself that, merchant."

Something tightens in my chest—an unfamiliar feeling I can't quite place. Or maybe one I don't want to name. It's been a long time since anyone looked at me and saw more than horns and height, more than merchant or bachelor or scandal. Maya sees right through my carefully constructed jovial facade to the man underneath, and I'm not sure if that terrifies or fascinates me.

Maya stands slowly, placing Ellis down carefully before turning to face me. The room feels smaller, the air heavier with each breath. She approaches with that purposeful stride of hers—direct, like everything else about her. Her footsteps whisper against the floorboards, somehow both cautious and certain.

I don't step back as she stops just inches from me. Close enough that I can smell the faint herbal scent that clings to her—zabilla and rirzed, earthy and sweet. Close enough that I have to look down to meet her eyes, those storm-gray eyes that never flinch, never waver.

Her gaze flickers down to my mouth for half a second—just long enough for me to notice, just long enough to make my breath hitch. The fire pops behind her, sending shadows dancing across her face, highlighting the curve of her cheek, the determined set of her jaw.

I could kiss her. By the Lady, I want to. Want to bend down and close that small distance between us, taste whatever witty retort she's holding behind those lips. My heart hammers against my ribs like I'm some green youth, not a merchant who's haggled with the finest traders in Karona. But Maya doesn't haggle. She states her price and expects you to meet it or walk away.

My fists clench at my sides, the rings on my fingers suddenly too tight, too constricting. What am I doing? She's here to help with Ellis, not to entertain whatever madness has taken hold of me. I've seen what happens when business mixes with pleasure—seen good partnerships crumble when feelings get involved. I built my trading house on reliable partnerships, on trust and good faith dealings. Not on impulse.

And besides, she deserves better than a minotaur merchant with too many responsibilities and a newborn nephew he can barely keep alive without her help. We're from different worlds—literally different species. My world is ledgers and trade routes and hard-won respect despite my middle-class status. Hers is herbs and healing and fighting against prejudice.

I force myself to step back, the floorboard creaking under my weight like an accusation.

"You should get some rest," I say, my voice rougher than I intended. "Ellis will probably be up before sunrise. He seems to sense whenever I'm about to fall into a deep sleep."

The joke falls flat, hanging awkwardly between us. Maya watches me, something unreadable in her expression. Not anger, not disappointment—something more complex, something that reminds me of how she looks when she's examining a new herb, trying to determine its properties.

"Goodnight, Dex." Her voice is steady, but there's something beneath it. Something that makes my chest ache as I turn and walk away. Something that sounds almost like understanding.

I move through the hallway with less grace than usual, my shoulder bumping against the wall. The house suddenly feels too confined for my seven and a half foot frame, the ceiling too low, the walls too close. Or maybe it's just me that doesn't fit in this moment.

I pause outside my bedroom door, horn rings catching the dim light of the oil lamps. Beyond the walls, the night air carries the distant sounds of the city—not quite asleep, never quite silent. That's what I love about Karona. It's always moving, always trading, always making deals and breaking them and making new ones.

Maybe that's all this is. A business arrangement getting complicated because we're both tired and she's beautiful and I'm... I'm a fool who should know better. A fool who nearly kissed the only person keeping his nephew alive and happy.

Smart merchants know when to walk away from a bad deal. Even smarter ones know when to walk away from a deal that's too good to be true.

I slip outside through the kitchen door, careful not to let it bang shut behind me. The night air hits my face like a wet cloth—humid and heavy with the promise of rain. Typical Karona summer. I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with the scent of salt from the harbor and the ever-present aroma of spices from the market quarter. Even at night, the city carries its distinctive perfume.

My hooves click against the cobblestones as I make my way to the small courtyard garden. It's nothing elaborate—just a patch of green with a stone bench beneath a tiphe tree—but it's mine. A quiet place where trade negotiations and ledgers don't follow me. Tonight, though, ledgers would be a welcome distraction from the chaos in my head.

I drop onto the bench, the stone cool against my thighs. The bronze rings adorning my horns catch the moonlight, casting tiny reflections onto the garden wall. My mother insisted on the rings when I was younger—"A mark of distinguished heritage ," she'd said, even as she lamented my choice to become a merchant. " At least you'll look like a proper vakkak, even if you refuse to act like one ."

The memory brings a wry smile to my face. She never understood why I chose commerce over combat. Why I preferred to battle with my mind rather than my body, despite being built like a warrior—massive even for a minotaur, with shoulders broad enough to carry crates that would take two humans to lift.

My fingers trace the curved edge of one horn, the metal rings smooth and familiar. What would Mother think of me now? Sitting in a garden, mooning over a human woman like some lovesick calf. She'd be horrified. Father would've been amused, at least. He always did appreciate irony.

"You're a fool, Ironhoof," I mutter to the night air. "A complete and utter fool."

The worst part isn't the physical attraction—though Lady knows that's strong enough. I could handle simple lust. Could chalk it up to proximity and gratitude and the fact that Maya is undeniably beautiful in her practical, no-nonsense way.

No, what terrifies me is how I catch myself imagining her staying. Not just tonight or tomorrow, but next week. Next month. Her silver-blonde hair catching the morning light as she works in this very garden, planting herbs that would make her shop inventory even more impressive. Her dry laughter filling the rooms that have been too quiet since my parents died. Her clever mind challenging mine over dinner conversations that stretch long into the night.

I want her in my bed, yes—the thought alone makes my blood run hotter—but I also want her at my breakfast table. Want to see her roll her eyes at my jokes while fighting a smile. Want to watch her hands, scarred and capable, teaching Ellis about herbs and healing when he's old enough.

I scrub a hand over my face, feeling the rough texture of my fur against my palm. The copper highlights catch the moonlight, reminding me how different we are. Human and minotaur. Healer and merchant. Woman who can walk away and man who's suddenly terrified she will.

A low rumble of thunder rolls across the sky, and I glance up at the gathering clouds. The rain will come soon. I should go inside. But the thought of those walls, of being so close to her while fighting this growing ache in my chest, keeps me rooted to the bench.

"No one's ever going to choose you, not for keeps," I remind myself, echoing the words Arekia said when she left. Her face had been cold, dispassionate as she explained that while I was a suitable match on paper, she couldn't imagine spending her life with someone so... common in his ambitions. Someone who cared more about fair trade than family honor.

I believed her then. Still do, if I'm honest. Maya deserves someone extraordinary. Someone whose idea of rebellion isn't choosing commerce over combat. Someone whose hands aren't stained with ink instead of glory.

The first drops of rain hit my shoulders, cool against my fur. I don't move. Let it come. Maybe it'll wash away this ridiculous hope taking root in my chest—this dangerous, foolish idea that Maya might see something in me worth staying for.

The rain falls harder, plastering my fur to my skin, streaming between my horns and down my face. And still I sit, eyes closed, trying to remember that I'm a merchant. I deal in certainties, in contracts and agreements. Not in maybes. Not in the wild, terrifying gamble of offering my heart to someone who never asked for it.