Kept By Her Obsessed Minotaurs

14. Lazir

14

LAZIR

T he forest clearing becomes a whirlwind of chaos and death. The campfire’s glow casts long, dancing shadows across the faces of our dark elf enemies. My twin blades sing a deadly melody as they slice through the air, cutting down dark elf after dark elf with ruthless precision. Their blood paints the ground. It's a crimson testament to my fury and the sheer, brutal skill honed from years of survival and loss.

A particularly bold elf lunges for Calo, his sword arcing toward my companion’s exposed side. Without hesitation, I hurl one of my blades, watching with grim satisfaction as it embeds in the attacker’s chest. The dark elf’s eyes widen in shock, his sword clattering to the ground as he crumples.

Calo whirls around, following my gaze to the fallen elf. His eyes meet mine, gratitude and resolve mingling in his expression. We share a nod, a silent acknowledgment of our bond—one forged in battle, hardship, and the unspoken understanding that we are brothers in arms.

Calo scoops Mara into his arms, throwing her over his shoulder with a protective growl. "Stay safe," he murmurs before darting into the darkness of the forest, leaving Garron and me to face the tide of enemies.

Garron grunts, pressing a hand to the arrow still lodged in his shoulder. "Good. She's finally away from this. Now we can fight properly." His voice is strained, but there's a savage edge to it that matches the feral grin spreading across my face.

I charge into the fray once more, my remaining blade a blur as it carves a path of destruction through the ranks of dark elves. My heart thunders in my chest, a primal rhythm that fuels my movements. I am death incarnate, a relentless force of nature that will not be denied.

"Let them come," I snarl, my voice carrying over the clash of steel and the cries of the dying. "I will send them all to meet their dark gods."

A dark elf with a scarred face and eyes filled with hate charges at me, his sword raised high. I meet his attack with a brutal counterstrike, my blade slicing through his midsection. He falls with a gurgling scream, his lifeblood seeping into the earth.

Garron fights beside me, his axe cleaving through the enemy lines despite his injury. We move as one, a dance of death and survival that has been etched into our very souls.

"To think they believed they could best us," Garron sneers, his eyes alight with the thrill of battle. "Fools."

I laugh, the sound dark and thrilling. "They underestimated us. Their mistake," I snarl.

Another dark elf attacks, and I parry his thrust, driving my blade through his heart. As I pull my sword free, I catch sight of Calo's retreating form disappearing into the forest, Mara safe in his care. A twinge of something unexpected—concern, perhaps— tugs at me, but I push it aside. There is no room for distraction on the battlefield.

The fight rages on, and I lose myself in the rhythm of combat. Each enemy that falls before me is a testament to my strength, my skill, my unyielding will to survive. I am an alpha male, a minotaur warrior born and bred for moments like this.

My blades drip with the dark elves' blood as the last of their warriors falls. The clearing is silent, save for the crackling of the dying fire and the ragged breaths of the few survivors. I tower over the fallen, my chest heaving, muscles thrumming with the aftermath of battle.

Suddenly, a pathetic whimper draws my attention. A dark elf, barely more than a boy, cringes at my feet. His eyes are wide with terror, and the acrid stench of urine wafts from him.

"Please," the young dark elf stammers, his voice quivering. "I beg you, spare my life, and my uncle Wlloza will reward you handsomely. He'll pay for my return, and for the slave woman."

I scoff at his plea. "Your uncle's gold?" I sneer. "It belongs to us now."

The boy shakes his head, his expression twisted in confusion. "Not gold," he insists, his words coming out in a rush. "Mara... she has stolen something far more valuable. My uncle... he needs it back."

Garron and I exchange a glance. The little human has been keeping secrets. This should be interesting.

Before the boy can elaborate, his body convulses, a guttural sound tearing from his throat. Black blood spews from his mouth, staining the ground. A slow, knowing smile spreads across my face. It seems Wlloza left nothing to chance.

"He's been poisoned," I state matter-of-factly, nudging the boy's lifeless body with the tip of my boot. "A fail-safe to prevent him from talking."

Garron grunts in agreement, his hand still clutching the wound on his shoulder. "He's of no use to us dead. We'll have to get the truth from Mara," he rumbles.

I nod as I sheathe my blades, the weight of the night's events settling on my shoulders. We've won this battle, but the war is far from over. Mara's mysterious past is a puzzle we've yet to solve, and I can't shake the feeling that we're walking into a trap of our own making.

But for now, we have a breather—a moment to regroup and plan our next move. I turn my gaze to the darkened forest, where Calo has taken Mara for safekeeping.

"We need to speak with Mara," I say, my voice low and urgent. "Let's find out exactly what we've gotten ourselves into. But first, we really need to tend to your injury."

I turn and approach Garron, gripping the arrow shaft protruding from his shoulder. "This will hurt," I mutter.

"Just do it," Garron growls through clenched teeth.

With one swift motion, I yank the arrow free. Blood wells up from the wound, dark and thick. Garron doesn't make a sound, but his muscles tense beneath my touch.

I clean the wound with water from my jug, studying the jagged edges where the arrowhead tore through flesh. Garron's lucky – it missed anything vital.

"Hold still," I order, pressing a clean cloth against the wound. My mind wanders to the boy's last words. What could Mara have stolen that would make Wlloza resort to such measures? Gold is one thing, but this...this feels different.

"You're thinking too loud," Garron mutters.

"The boy was killed before he could talk." I wrap a bandage around his shoulder, pulling it tight. "That means whatever Mara took is worth more than his life."

"Or worth keeping secret," Garron says in a low voice.

I tie off the bandage with practiced efficiency. The human female is proving more intriguing by the moment. First the treasury tale, now this. Every instinct tells me she's hiding something bigger than gold.

"We need answers," I say, wiping blood from my hands. "But we have to be careful how we get them."

Garron flexes his shoulder, testing the bandage. "Why? Just grab her and make her talk," he growls low.

"Because brute force won't work with this one," I reply firmly. I gather my supplies, movements sharp and precise. "She's clever. If we push too hard, she'll find a way to slip through our fingers."

"Since when did you become so tactical about interrogation?" he asks skeptically.

"Since Mara became more valuable than we initially thought," I reply. "Whatever she stole, it's important enough that Wlloza would rather kill his own blood than let the secret out."