Kept By Her Obsessed Minotaurs

3. Mara

3

MARA

T he crackling of a fire and the murmur of voices seep into my consciousness, pulling me from the darkness of unconsciousness. My head throbs with each beat of my heart, and my wrists chafe against the rough ropes binding them. I squint against the firelight, my eyes adjusting to the dancing shadows that play across the rugged wilderness surrounding me.

I'm not in the city anymore. The scent of damp earth and pine replaces the stench of refuse and sweat. My captors—minotaurs, from the look of them—sit near the campfire, their massive forms silhouetted against the flickering flames. I remember the cold press of a knife against my throat and the heavy weight of defeat.

I can't afford to be a captive. Not now, not when I'm so close to exacting my revenge. I test the ropes, my fingers fumbling in the dim light. They're tight, but not unbeatable. I grit my teeth, pulling at the knots, each movement sending sharp pains through my wrists.

"Don't bother," a voice rumbles, interrupting my silent struggle. I look up, meeting the gaze of a minotaur I hadn't noticed—younger than the others, with light brown fur and bright green eyes that hold a hint of mischief. "You won't get far."

His words are a challenge, but his tone is almost kind. I glance at the other two minotaurs, their attention seemingly fixed on the fire. The largest of them, with icy blue eyes and a scarred chest, stares into the flames with a distant gaze. The third, leaner and with a worn expression, sharpens a wicked-looking blade, his amber eyes flicking occasionally toward the stars.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady the fear coiling in my chest. My mind races with possibilities, each one more daunting than the last. I don't know their intentions, but I know my own: survival and vengeance.

I stop my futile attempts at escape, instead focusing on the minotaurs. Their conversation drifts over to me, a mix of strategy and grudging respect for their quarry—me. They speak of gold and honor, of a chance to redeem themselves. My capture isn't personal I realize; it's merely a job, a means to an end.

My throat is raw as I bite out the words, glaring at the young minotaur, "I’m already broken. What more can you do to me?"

The young minotaur frowns. He studies me, his gaze tracing the lines of fatigue and defiance etched into my face. With a sigh that seems to carry the weight of the world, he reaches for a knife at his belt. The metallic rasp of the blade leaving its sheath makes my heart skip a beat, but instead of plunging it into my heart, he saws through the ropes binding my wrists.

"You can move around the camp," he says, his voice surprisingly gentle. "But don't try to run."

I stare at him, the implications of his actions sinking in. The ropes fall away, and I rub my chafed skin, wincing at the sting. "You’re letting me go?" I ask skeptically.

He grunts, looking away as he pockets the knife. "No. Just… don’t make this harder than it has to be," he mutters.

I'm on my feet in an instant, the blood rushing to my legs, tingling with the promise of movement. I follow him, my mind whirring with possibilities. This one is soft, I realize, a weak link in their formidable trio.

The other two minotaurs notice my newfound freedom instantly. The large minotaur's voice cuts through the night like a thunderclap, his scowl illuminated by the fire's glow. "What is she doing loose? Tie her up!" he barks.

The young minotaur raises a hand, a silent plea for calm. "Garron, she’s harmless. And she’s hurt," he insists, gesturing to the raw skin around my wrists and the swelling around my ankle.

Garron's icy gaze flickers to me, his skepticism evident. "She's a fugitive, Calo. A thief," he growls.

I square my shoulders, meeting his stare with a defiant one of my own. "I'd do it again if I had the chance," I declare, my voice steady despite the turmoil within.

The third minotaur, chuckles darkly, his amber eyes reflecting the firelight. "Feisty one, aren't you?" he mutters. He sheathes his blade with a flourish, leaning back against a tree trunk. "This should be interesting."

Interesting isn't the word I'd choose. Dangerous, precarious, volatile—those fit better. But I can't deny the spark of hope that kindles within me. They see me as a job, a means to an end, but perhaps I can turn that to my advantage.

I take a cautious step away from Calo, testing the limits of my newfound freedom. Garron's eyes narrow, but he doesn't order me bound again. Instead, he returns his attention to the fire, the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching.

Calo gives me a small, encouraging nod before moving to join his companions. I'm left standing on the outskirts of their circle, the warmth of the fire doing little to dispel the chill that settles over me.

The fire crackles, sending a cascade of sparks up into the night sky. I watch, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts, as the one they call Lazir hands a small vial to Calo. The glass container catches the firelight, casting an amber glow on Lazir's face. For a fleeting moment, his amber eyes soften. It's gone as quickly as it appeared, but I've seen it. A hint of tenderness from the most hardened of the three. Interesting.

Calo, with his energetic demeanor, approaches me. He doesn't look nearly as intimidating as his companions, and I can't help but feel a twinge of relief. "Come," he says, his voice carrying the warmth of the fire. "Let's tend to those wounds."

I follow him to the edge of the camp, away from the prying eyes of Garron and Lazir. The night wraps around us, the whisper of the wind the only sound apart from the distant murmur of the minotaurs' conversation. Calo's hands are surprisingly gentle as he examines the raw skin around my wrists and the swelling on my ankle. He uncorks the vial, and the scent of herbs fills the air, pungent and earthy.

"This might sting," he warns, his voice low. I nod, steeling myself. The medicine feels cool against my injuries, the initial sharp pain quickly giving way to a soothing numbness.

"Thank you," I murmur, offering him a soft smile. It's a tool, this smile, a way to disarm and charm. But as I look into Calo's earnest eyes, I find myself meaning it. There's something about his straightforward kindness that makes me feel... safe. It's a foreign sensation, one I haven't felt in years.

Calo's cheeks darken at my gratitude, and he looks away, focusing intently on his task. "It's nothing," he mumbles. "We're not monsters."

My mind races as I watch him work. This is my chance. Calo is kind, perhaps too kind for his own good. If I can gain his trust, maybe even his sympathy, I might be able to use it to my advantage. Escape is within reach, and I can't afford to let this opportunity slip through my fingers.

I study Calo's profile, the way his brow furrows in concentration. He's younger than the others, more impulsive, I suspect. Garron is the clear leader, a tower of strength and restraint, while Lazir is the cynical warrior. But Calo... Calo could be my ticket to freedom.