Kept By Her Obsessed Minotaurs

20. Mara

20

MARA

M y head throbs mercilessly, each pulse a hammer against my skull. The air here is heavy and laced with the earthy aroma of old wood. I blink and my vision swims into focus. Shadows dance across the walls cast by the flickering light of a single torch.

I'm in a warehouse somewhere. The space around me is vast and echoing with the whispers of my own ragged breaths. The rope around my wrists is cruel and unyielding, cutting into my skin. I still, listening to the voices that carry through the dimness.

"The bounty's high," one of them says, his voice a gravelly rumble. "Enough to keep our families fed for months."

A chill runs down my spine. I've become a commodity. My heart races and the sound of my own blood roars in my ears. I can't let them hand me over to the dark elves. I won't.

"The dark elves will pay handsomely for her," another voice chimes in. "We just need to keep her alive until the handoff."

Keep me alive? I almost laugh. If they only knew what I've stolen from Wlloza, they'd understand that my life is the least of their concerns.

I test my bonds, wincing as the rope digs deeper. Pain shoots up my arms, but I grit my teeth and bear it. I can't stay here, waiting to be traded like a piece of meat.

"Think, Mara," I mutter to myself. "There has to be a way out of this."

My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and memories, each one fighting for dominance. I remember the look on Calo's face when he realized I had slept with Lazir. The hurt in his eyes is a knife in my heart. I remember Garron's disdain, his unshakeable conviction that I'm nothing but trouble. And Lazir—cold, calculating Lazir, who saw through my facade but still desired me.

I can't let them find me like this. I won't be the damsel in distress.

I force myself to take slow, deep breaths, trying to quell the panic that threatens to overwhelm me. I need to be smart. I need to be cunning. I need to survive.

The coarse ropes chafe against my raw skin on my wrists, but I can't stop, not now. The knot is stubborn, refusing to yield to my desperate tugs. My fingers are numb, yet I feel every abrasion, every sting of protest from my overtaxed muscles. The men's voices are a distant echo, their words a chilling reminder of my predicament.

I can't let them take me back to Wlloza. The thought of his cold, calculating eyes on me again sends a shiver down my spine. I bite my lip, the pain a sharp counterpoint to the adrenaline coursing through my veins. The taste of iron fills my mouth, grounding me, focusing my scattered thoughts.

Finally, the rope gives way, slipping loose with a suddenness that nearly sends me sprawling. I ignore the blood that trickles down my wrists. I'm free.

The heavy thud of boots on wooden planks sends my heart into a frantic rhythm. I force myself to breathe, to lie still, as the men enter the room. Their shadows loom over me, and I can smell the sour tang of their sweat.

"Still out cold," one of them grumbles, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through the stillness.

"Good. Less trouble for us," the other responds, his laughter a harsh, grating sound that makes my skin crawl.

I'm anything but unconscious, my senses heightened by fear and the primal need to survive. My fingers brush against something solid—a wooden chair leg. It's cold and smooth under my touch, a lifeline in my desperate situation.

As I curl my fingers around it, my pulse thunders in my ears, a deafening roar that drowns out everything else. In one swift motion, I'm on my feet, the chair raised high. The wood connects with the first man's head with a sickening crack, and he crumples.

The second man turns, his eyes wide with shock and fear. I don't hesitate, don't give him a chance to react. I lunge forward, swinging the remnants of the chair like a club. It hits him square in the gut, and he doubles over with a pained grunt.

I don't wait to see if they'll recover. I can't. Every second counts. My bare feet slap against the dirty floor, the sound loud in the cavernous space. I reach the door, my hand closing around the cold, metal handle. I pause, listening for signs of pursuit, but all I hear is the frantic pounding of my own heart.

I push the door open a crack, peering into the gloom beyond. The alley outside is shrouded in shadows, the moonlight a faint silver glow that barely penetrates the darkness.

The cool night air hits me like a slap as I burst outside, but my freedom is short-lived. Three more men block my path down the alley, their faces twisted with cruel smiles. “Not so fast,” one of them sneers, lunging at me.

I fight like a cornered animal, my nails clawing and my feet kicking. I land a solid blow to one man’s groin, sending him to his knees. Another grabs me from behind, his arms locking around my torso. I thrash wildly, my elbow connecting with his nose in a sickening crunch. But the third man tackles me, slamming me to the ground. Dirt fills my mouth as I struggle beneath his weight.

A shadow suddenly looms over us, and a low, guttural growl reverberates through the alley. The men freeze, their heads snapping toward the sound. Garron steps closer, his massive frame filling the space. His eyes are dark, his expression murderous. His heavy boots crunch against the cobblestone as he strides forward.

“Get your hands off her,” he growls, his voice low and deadly.

The first man barely has time to react before Garron’s fist connects with his skull. The crunch of bone echoes through the alleyway as blood splatters across the wall. The second man lunges at him, but Garron grabs him by the throat, lifting him off the ground with terrifying ease. The man’s legs kick wildly before Garron slams him into the ground, leaving him motionless.

I stare, frozen in shock, as Garron dispatches the third man with a brutal swing of his axe. The blade arcs through the air, cutting cleanly through flesh and bone.

“Get up,” Garron snarls, not sparing me a glance as he wipes the blood from his axe. “We’re leaving.”

My legs shake as I scramble to my feet, following him out of the alleyway. Just as we step into the main street, a low, melodic voice cuts through the silence.

“Going somewhere?”

Garron stops abruptly, his body tense. Dark elves emerge from the shadows, their eyes glowing faintly in the moonlight. Their weapons glint ominously, curved blades and longbows at the ready. My chest tightens as we’re surrounded. Garron’s hand tightens on his axe, his knuckles turning white.

The leader of the dark elves steps forward, his smirk a stark contrast to the fear he instills in my heart. He’s tall and slender, with sharp features that speak of a cruel elegance. His armor is a sleek, dark material that absorbs the moonlight, making him appear almost ethereal.

“You didn’t really think you could escape, did you?” he croons, his gaze sweeping over me with a predatory hunger.

Garron positions himself between me and the dark elves, his posture radiating defiance. “You’ll have to go through me,” he rumbles, his voice a low threat.