Page 3 of The Minotaur’s Nanny Bride (Minotaur Daddies #2)

3

DEX

I slump against the cool stone wall of my home, sliding down until my massive frame hits the floor with a thud that would normally concern me about disturbing the neighbors. Right now, I couldn't care less. My head drops into my hands, fingers digging into the fur between my horns where a headache pulses like a blacksmith's hammer.

"Waaaaaaaah!"

Ellis's cries pierce the air again, his tiny lungs somehow producing a sound that could wake the dead in the catacombs. I lift my bloodshot green eyes to the cradle where my nephew's tawny fur is slick with sweat, his little body arching and twisting as if possessed.

"Come on, little one," I whisper, my normally booming merchant's voice reduced to a ragged plea. "What do you want from me?"

I've tried everything. The bottle sits rejected on the side table, barely touched. Each time I try to rock him, his cries intensify as if I'm torturing him. Sleep? That's become a distant memory for both of us.

I drag myself up, my seven-and-a-half-foot frame feeling heavier than a wagon of iron. One of the bronze rings on my left horn is loose—I haven't had time to tighten it. My brown fur is matted in places, especially around my chest where Ellis has spit up more milk than he's consumed. There's a sour smell clinging to me that no amount of washing seems to remove.

"Let's try once more," I mutter, reaching into the cradle.

Ellis's gold eyes—so like mine—are swimming with tears. His tiny horns, barely nubs poking through his downy head fur, gleam with moisture. I lift him as gently as my massive hands can manage.

"Shhhh," I try again, patting his back with a fingertip that seems absurdly large against his small frame. "Your uncle's got you."

His response is a hiccupping sob that breaks my heart and my patience simultaneously.

"Gods below," I groan. "I've faced down a band of river pirates with nothing but a broken oar. I once convinced Theron to attend a Spring Festival dance." I look down at the wailing infant. "But you, little one, might be my undoing."

The walls of my house feel like they're closing in. I need air. Maybe that's what Ellis needs too.

"A walk," I decide, grabbing a light blanket to wrap around him. "The evening air might calm us both."

I step outside, the cool evening breeze a blessed relief against my overheated skin. The sun is starting to set, the warm light spilling across the cobblestone streets. For a moment, Ellis's cries soften, and I feel a surge of triumph.

"That's it," I encourage, taking a few steps down the street. "See? Much better out here, isn't it?"

My victory is short-lived. Within moments, Ellis is screaming again, possibly louder than before. A window slams shut across the way. Someone mutters a curse that even I, a former warrior's son, find impressive.

I bounce Ellis gently as we walk, trying to remember the lullaby my mother used to sing. All that comes to mind are ribald drinking songs from the portside taverns.

"Not helpful," I mutter, adjusting Ellis in my arms. His tiny fingers grab at my chest fur and pull, bringing tears to my eyes. "Careful there, strong one."

We make a circuit around the block, then another. My legs ache. My horns throb. My eyes feel like they're filled with sand. Ellis continues to cry, his little body shuddering with each sob.

"What would your mother do?" I ask the stars, not expecting an answer. The question sends a pang through my chest sharper than any physical pain.

It's been one week. One week of this impossible task. One week of being completely, utterly inadequate to the needs of this tiny life in my arms. One week of missing sleep, missing meals, missing the knowledge that should have been passed down but never was.

"I don't know if I can do this," I admit aloud, voice cracking. "I really don't."

I'm about to turn around and head back home, admit defeat, when suddenly, a voice cuts through the fog of my exhaustion. "You look like you're about to drop dead."

I barely lift my head, not even caring who's addressing me. A human woman stands before me, silver-blonde hair catching the last light of day. Her gray eyes assess me with clinical precision, taking in my disheveled appearance, Ellis's tear-stained face, and the general aura of defeat hanging over us both.

"Feels like it," I mumble, not bothering with my usual merchant's charm or social niceties. What's the point? I've failed at the one task that matters.

Without waiting for permission—not that I'm in any position to grant or deny it—she reaches for Ellis with confident hands. I'm too surprised to protest as she gently extracts him from my grip. Part of me wants to snatch him back—he's my responsibility, my blood—but I'm too damn tired to move, and something in me just wants to watch her.

She lifts him to her chest with natural ease, like she's done this a thousand times before. Her humming starts low and sweet, a melody I don't recognize but that somehow feels ancient and right. She sways on the balls of her feet, a gentle, rhythmic motion that has Ellis... quieting?

I stare in disbelief as his wails soften to whimpers, then to sighs. His little golden eyes, perpetually wide and frightened for days, begin to droop. My mouth opens, then closes again. No words come out.

"How...?" I finally manage, gesturing helplessly at the miracle unfolding before me.

The corner of her mouth lifts in a smirk that's somehow both smug and sympathetic. "You're big and scary. I'm soft and warm. He knows the difference."

I should be offended—I've built my merchant reputation on being approachable despite my size—but I'm too grateful for the sudden silence to argue.

"I'm Dex," I offer, straightening my spine with a crackle that makes me wince. "Dex Ironhoof. And that's Ellis." I nod toward my now-peaceful nephew, his tawny fur rising and falling with each tiny breath.

"Maya Silverleaf," she responds, her eyes never leaving Ellis's face. There's something in the way she holds him—professional but tender—that speaks of experience beyond simple intuition.

I exhale sharply, a sound that carries the weight of a week's worth of helplessness. Relief washes over me, but there's something else too. A peculiar flutter in my chest as I watch her—really watch her. The silver-blonde hair cut practically short, the way she balances Ellis's weight without a second thought, the small scar on her right hand that speaks of a story I suddenly want to know.

Without thinking, I blurt out, "Stay."

Her gray eyes snap to mine, widening slightly. "Excuse me?"

Heat rushes to my face, my ears flicking back in embarrassment—a tell I've never been able to control. I clear my throat, suddenly flustered in a way I haven't been since I was a gangly teenager trying to ask a girl to dance.

"I mean—Can you help me? He hasn't slept in a week." I rub the back of my neck, aware that I sound desperate but past caring. "I haven't either, if I'm being honest."

I'm not even sure what I'm asking. For her to walk Ellis around the block? To come home with me and show me what I'm doing wrong? To move in permanently and save us both from my incompetence?

Maya studies me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then her eyes drift down to Ellis, now peacefully asleep against her chest, his tiny fingers curled into the fabric of her tunic. Something shifts in her face—a softening around the eyes, a slight furrow between her brows.

Against what appears to be her better judgment, she gives a slow nod.

A wave of relief crashes over me like a monsoon-season tide, so powerful I nearly stagger. Ellis—silent, peaceful Ellis—nestles against Maya's chest without a single sniffle or sob. The absence of his cries leaves an almost dizzying quiet.

"Follow me," I say, keeping my normally booming voice soft, afraid to disturb the fragile miracle I'm witnessing. "My place is just around the corner. We should—" I gesture vaguely toward the sleeping infant "—continue this somewhere I'm not terrorizing the whole street."

Maya nods, following my lead with Ellis cradled expertly in her arms. The way she holds him—confident but gentle, like she's done this a thousand times before—stirs something in my chest. Something warm and unfamiliar that I immediately try to tamp down. But gods below, when her lips curve upward into a small smile at my comment, I find myself staring.

The silver-blonde of her hair catches the last golden rays of sunset, creating a halo effect that seems almost too perfect to be coincidental. Her gray eyes, practical and direct, soften slightly at the corners when she looks down at Ellis.

I want her to smile again.

I clear my throat, suddenly aware I've been silent too long. My ears flick back again and I hope she doesn't notice. Trade negotiations with the stingiest guild masters don't make me flustered, yet here I am, tongue-tied because a human woman managed to soothe my nephew.

"It's not much," I warn as we approach my home, a solid stone structure with wide doorways built to accommodate minotaur proportions. "Been a bit preoccupied to clean lately."

"If you're apologizing for baby mess, don't bother," Maya responds, her voice rich with amusement. "I've seen worse."

I push the door open with my shoulder, suddenly seeing my home through a stranger's eyes. It's spacious but currently chaotic—a merchant's eye for quality furnishings now buried under an avalanche of baby things. Blankets draped over chairs, bottles in various stages of preparation littering tables, my normally meticulous account books pushed aside to make room for a wooden cradle carved with traditional minotaur symbols.

"Impressive," Maya murmurs, her eyes taking in the space with no judgement. "Give me a second and I'll get him down."

"She works miracles," I tease, and she grins wider this time.

My heart leaps, and I wonder just how exhausted I am if I'm reacting this way. It has to be the lack of sleep—nothing else.