Minotaur: Prayer: The Bestial Tribe Page 6

  She could feel his eyes burning the back of her head, and she straightened her back, reaching for the clump of wax in the pocket of her dress. It had melted slightly in her palm by the time she heard the splash of his hooves emerging from the shadows of her home and plunging into the muck filled water. She stiffened and turned to face him as he headed her way.

  The morning glow misted his frame and revealed him clearly for her perusal.

  He’s clean. She canted her head as he made his way toward her. The minotaur looked far more human now that he wasn’t dirtied from weeks of travel and battle. Her eyes darted from his brutally edged yet strong features, to his huge neck that quickly became thickly honed shoulders, then to his biceps, all covered in scars.

  Some scars were large and wide, while others could only be seen once he’d stopped in front of her. She followed them down over his bare chest and sculpted stomach. There was a scar that started in his pelvic region that trailed below his loincloth. Her eyes stayed there for a moment, curious, then she felt a blush heat her cheeks and she lowered her gaze.

  Her eyes settled on his thick, brown-furred legs and hooves. Hooves that could shatter bones with a single kick.

  He lifted his hand to catch her attention and she drew her eyes back up to his face.

  Her blush grew. “Are you hungering?” she asked quickly.

  His nostrils flared, but to her surprise, there was no burning hatred in his eyes. “Are you offering to share your food?”

  “I am looking out for you.”

  His gaze bored into her. “You command those that cannot be commanded, and you appear to do it well.” He nodded his horns in the direction of a group of thralls. “Do they eat as well under your order?”

  “I asked, I did not order, minotaur, and the thralls do not eat, yet they do not want for anything.”

  “Ah, they want for nothing. A being that has nothing to want, has nothing to live for.”

  Calavia looked at the thralls. “And yet they remain here with me, as they always have and always will.”

  Astegur snorted, drawing her eyes back to his. She realized it was the longest conversation they’d had without resorting to heightened voices and violence.

  “I have thought about your plea,” he said, taking her aback.

  “During the downpour and thunder last evening?”

  His eyes searched her face. “Did the storm frighten you, hag?”

  “No more than if it really was the sound of a centaur army stomping their hooves and shooting spears to take down my home would.”

  He cackled. “Ah, so you were terrified by the rain and the wind and the darkness.”

  She hadn’t been afraid. She had remained awake the entire night, but it wasn’t because of the storm itself or the reminiscent noise it made, it was because of the creatures that dwelled in it, specifically the one that now stood before her. Calavia twisted the wax in her pocket to keep her fingers busy.

  Astegur continued when she remained silent. “Or was it something else that made you feel fear?”

  “I did not feel anything at all,” she snapped. “You said you thought about why I summoned you here.”

  “Your plea.”

  She narrowed her eyes. He was goading her. “Call it what you will.”

  She stepped to the side and around his large, imposing frame, and made her way down the rickety wooden path that led home. She didn’t bother seeing if he followed but looked around for her mother. She had not neared when Calavia was giving orders to the thralls, though that was nothing unusual. Her mother always watched from a distance.

  When she entered her temple and the long path that led to her altar room, she took a quick left instead after the entrance and entered another shadowed hall that led to a series of additional rooms she now used for storage. Several thralls came and went as she walked by.

  She stopped and knelt before a stone hearth and swept the ash inside it to the edge before she placed some of the fresh blisterbark her thralls had sourced for her. Calavia had begun setting the bark in rows to ignite a flame when Astegur pushed her aside and bent low, blowing on the wood and erupting it into a fiery glow.

  “Thank you,” she said as she leaned back, her eyes watering. It was unusual having someone else with her. Most of her visitors were creatures and beings seeking temporary sanctuary that kept to themselves if they did not need something from her directly.

  He retreated as she rose to retrieve some of her prized stash of dried tark meat and added it to a pot full of herbs and local ingredients. Once she was finished, she placed the pot on the hook over the fire, stirring it as she went. Soon, the room filled with an earthy aroma and the air warmed, going into a state of comfort. She felt anything but comfortable in Astegur’s presence.

  Calavia tucked her hands into her dress as she settled back on her knees and finally glanced his way.

  The minotaur wasn’t watching her, as she had thought, but stood by the entrance and stared out, as if he was on guard.

  “You do not need to watch for enemies here. I will know if something approaches that means us harm,” she said.

  He looked back at her. “I mean harm and I am here.”

  She cocked her head and would say otherwise but she knew that would only rile him further, and they were running out of time. “I will let you go if you help me.”

  Astegur pinned her with his dark gaze, his brow furrowing before a burst of smoke left his mouth. “We cannot take on a warband of centaurs on our own.”

  “We don’t need to take out an entire band, we need to take out just enough for them to fear us.”

  “That will never happen, not unless they want a constant threat to their lands.”

  She licked her lips. “What do you mean?”

  He glanced out the doorway once again before joining her within the room. Her belly curled as his muscles strained with the movement, and she twisted her fingers further in her dress.

  “Outside of Prayer, I came across an old centaur campsite that smelled of my brother and his human. Their blood was old but still fresh enough to discern. If what you say is true, that the centaurs were after his human, they’ll not take an insult like that lightly. They will not stop.”

  “How do you know?” she asked.

  “If the same happened to one of my brothers or myself, we would not stop. How long have the centaurs dwelled in the south?”

  Calavia tried to remember when she first encountered them long ago but shook her head. “Sometime after the mist finished swallowing up this swamp, and the barrier lands moved farther east. I stopped tracking time when I stopped aging.”

  “The wall is established far from here. How old are you?”

  She looked down at herself. “Young? I wish I could say. Old? Perhaps parts of me are young while the others have grown old? I do not know. What I do know is that this place is in danger now and that my…my magic is nowhere as strong as I need it to be. Not anymore. It cannot keep me safe from what is about to come. It is why I have summoned you here, why I’m willing to risk everything.”

  It was hard for her to say, but she told him that morsel of truth anyway. Though she was weakening, the power she held was still great—not that she would say that aloud. It wasn’t just the wax. Her power was greatest when her mother was near, when she breathed her magic all over Calavia’s flesh. When her mother infused her with the curse of the mist and buried Calavia’s humanity deep under it.

  But with her mother often hiding these days, that added power had begun to vanish within Calavia, furthermore her wax supplies dwindled more with each passing day...

  Astegur grunted. He had moved and now stood tall beside her. It made her eyes level with his lower legs and she couldn’t help but look at his loincloth, wondering what was hidden beneath, and wondering further why it even mattered to her.

  “You look young. And human.”

  She tensed her fingers. Could he smell her? “Yes.”

  “How have you survived when no
one else in Prayer did?”

  “I do not know,” she lied.

  He crouched, placing his hands on his knees, and looked hard at her. “Yes you do, little hag.”

  “Am I little now?” She turned to the pot, but he caught her hair, bunching it up into his hand and forcing her to face him. A strange sensation shot through her where her hair connected with her scalp, and that sensation traveled down her flesh, making the hairs on her arms and legs rise. She didn’t like it when he controlled her movements, but her body responded otherwise. It confused her, intrigued her.

  He leaned in closer. “How have you survived?”

  “Does it matter so much?”

  His grip on her hair tightened mercilessly, making her neck strain and stretch. “You’re right, it does not matter.”

  Her belly sank, his words hurting her despite her wish for him to back off. He let go of her, furthering her sudden disappointment. Rattled and uncaring that he watched her, she ran her hands up and down her arms where her gooseflesh remained. When the sensation faded, she ran her fingers through her hair and loosened it back up.

  Calavia rolled her neck and checked on the stew. She knew he watched her every move. That he was waiting for her to do something that would increase his distaste of her. She didn’t want him to hate her, but also didn’t want to know him past his abilities and how they would be of use in protecting her. She wanted him for nothing else...at least she hoped she wanted nothing else from him. Calavia kept her gaze away from where his hardened muscles moved and where his scars begged to be explored.

  She found two bone bowls and scooped out stew for both of them, offering him the one with a larger portion. “Here. It’s not much, but it’s warm.”

  The bowl hung between them as she waited for him to accept it. Her mother taught her offering food was akin to camaraderie if both parties were of apt mind, but as the bowl lingered in her hand far longer than she expected, she began to second-guess her actions.

  Do minotaurs share food? Was there something she wasn’t aware of?

  When he finally took the bowl from her, she swallowed, further shaken as his long fingers brushed against her own, returning the warmth to her body.

  “Eat,” he ordered as she continued to stare up at him, pressing her hand into the folds of her skirt and rubbing the feel of his touch out of them. He moved to take the other bowl from her hand and force her, but she turned to the side to stop him, lifting the side of it to her mouth.

  His angry gaze caught her own as she swallowed, and he raised his own bowl and gulped the entire meal in one go.

  Not one trickle of broth escaped his mouth. Her lips parted behind her bowl, shielding her shock.

  “Are you certain they are coming?” he asked.

  “Yes. I can sense their intentions, but I can see them, too.”

  He nodded. “My mother could as well through reading bones. Wax?”

  “Yes, I can use my wax.” She pulled out a small stone’s worth from her pocket.

  “Show me.”

  Calavia finished up her meal and took his empty bowl from him. His fingers did not brush hers, even though she spread hers out to steal another moment of contact with him. She wanted to know if what had happened before would happen again. He denied her the opportunity to explore it, and she frowned before realizing he still watched her.

  The heavy weight of his stare was something she needed to get used to.

  She just prayed that he was not watching her as closely as she feared.

  Chapter Seven

  He followed her into her spell room, or chambers, he was not sure as the central altar he had cracked the night before, with the wax and candles upon it, were the only things within it. The temple was not laid out like he had originally thought. Now that he had the chance to look around, there were multiple rooms off the central corridor beyond the secondary hallway that led to the old kitchens and storage rooms. There was a decaying bathhouse with a partially cracked ceiling which made it the brightest room in the gloomy place, but as they went, he saw the shadows of other rooms hidden behind clusters of hanging vines.

  Unused spaces. Astegur made a note to check them out later. The hag had many secrets and he was determined to figure them out.

  He inhaled as they approached the hag’s altar. Her smell was strongest here. If there was human blood among her supplies, he would know. As the scent of the room filled him, it tickled his nose with pungent herbs and burnt wood. The strange, enticing aroma of human blood was nowhere in the air.

  She moved to the other side of her altar and broke off a clump of wax at her feet. She lit several of her candles next from the sparks of a flint. Her long, dark hair fell into her face as she worked and he had the urge to tug it back. He narrowed his eyes as her hair shifted dangerously close to the flames.

  “What do you want to see?” she asked.

  Astegur pulled his eyes away from her hair to look at the bowl before her and the wax warming within. “Your centaurs.”

  “They are not mine.”

  “What would you call them then?”

  “A nuisance.”

  His tail flicked beneath his loincloth. The hag claimed no other being but her thralls as her own. He did not know why his hands lost some of their tension at her words. “Show me their forces. We need to know what we are dealing with.”

  Calavia peered up at him and shivered but nodded. Her eyes appeared worried and curious all at once. Astegur felt his body stiffen uncomfortably.

  She looked down at her bowl and picked it up to swirl the contents. Once she placed it back down, she grabbed a small blade next to it and pressed it to her palm.

  A quiet hiss filled his ears as crimson blood flowed from her hand. He reached for her wrist before he could stop himself just as the first drops hit the wax below. All thoughts of the incoming threat vanished. Suddenly ravenous, he yanked her hand toward his mouth.

  “What are you doing?” she gasped, but he was already leaning over the altar and licking at her wound feverishly. “What are—”

  He pulled her into him, subduing her movements before she decided to resist him. He needed her blood. Now. It coated his tongue, his cock hardened thickly and pushed against his coverings. Power fused through his veins, and his tendons pulled taut. He forced his shaft hard against the stone altar.

  The tip of a knife pressed into the side of his neck. “Release me, Astegur.”

  Astegur heard the words but his thoughts were on getting more of her inside him. Whether by blood or other means. He flattened his tongue over her palm and lapped. It wasn’t until the knife cut his skin that his senses returned.

  He dropped her hand in surprise and licked his lips as he regained some semblance of control.

  “Your blood.” He hissed, steam pouring out from him again. “It is not…” It wasn’t pure human blood. It was tainted. It even tasted like taint on his tongue. Astegur spat it out but then immediately regretted it, missing the taste as soon as it left him.

  Calavia clutched her hand. “There’s nothing wrong with my blood.”

  His eyes zoomed in on her. His body growing even larger. “It tastes like the curse, and yet—”

  “I am not human!”

  He straightened and looked down at her. “And yet I want more.”

  “You do not want more. It can do nothing for you. You’re still recovering from your wounds and nothing more.” Her voice shook.

  Astegur snarled. She was right. He did not want more. At least that was what he convinced himself of at that moment, but he had never encountered a cursed human nor a witch who captivated him so much.

  The hag was unlike any other living creature in the labyrinth.

  He licked his lips, took a small step back, and waited until she closed the distance and returned to the other side of the altar. “I will not grab you again,” he said. All he wanted to do was grab her again.

  Calavia’s eyes remained on him for a short time before she looked back down at her bowl
and her mouth parted with a gasp.

  “What?” he asked.

  “They’re preparing.”

  Astegur stepped close beside her despite the chaos wrecking his body. He knew her blood was tainted, it even tasted that way, but there was something about it that he could not pinpoint. All he knew was that he wanted more of it, on him, in him, even if it did nothing for him.

  He flexed and clenched his hands, trying to expel the need to grab Calavia and investigate further. He gritted his teeth and forced his body to relax as he looked upon her wax.

  At first, all he saw was the faintly pink hue of her wax, mixed with her blood. He ground his teeth harder, struggling to get a stronger hold of himself, but then the wax changed to show him a field.

  The mist made the image hazy, but the glints of spearheads caught his eye, and before long, more glints appeared. Dozens, possibly a hundred centaurs were gathered, sheathing weapons and packing satchels. Those that had finished, vanished out of sight. The leaders were easily distinguishable by their armor, as they were the only ones wearing protection over their bodies’ weak points. There were only several in the mix with that distinction—armor being a rare and valuable resource in this world, especially armor that fit a centaur.

  As the image shifted, he estimated a hundred, possibly more. His hand gripped his axe handle.

  He had gone up against a scouting party before but never so many centaurs. His shaft hardened to the point of pain with the thrill of bloodlust and impending death. It wasn’t just Calavia’s blood in his mouth that excited him...

  It was the chance to fight an enemy he may not be able to defeat.

  The chance to fight against insurmountable odds. It was a battle none of his brothers could win, but Astegur wasn't his brothers. He had strategy. There was a chance he might not defeat them, it made it a worthy challenge.

  He didn’t know how long he watched the centaurs and studied their weapons, but when he looked up, the hag was staring at him, stoic and quiet, but shaken. She did not look entirely unnerved, but he could tell something was going on behind her weary eyes, something akin to stress and despair.