“What the fuck is the Labyrinth, and why do you all look like you need to take a shit?” I demand, frowning.
Zaid ruffles his black hair. “Years ago, King Minos commissioned an architect named Daedalus to design a maze capable of keeping the Minotaur contained.”
“TheMinotaur?” I parrot, realizing that Zaid isn’t just talking about any old minotaur.
“The original monster,” Krystian supplies. “He was going on a killing spree, but no one knew how to stop him. This was before the gods intervened, by the way, so the humans and supernaturals were on their own.”
“The Labyrinth was the only thing that could contain the beast,” Everett takes over, his voice subdued. “Athena knew that, so she sent a vision to King Minos.”
“Years later, Theseus entered the Labyrinth and killed the monster,” adds Zaid. “The maze remained empty for years until the gods and goddesses came to earth.”
“Athena decided she was going to take over the Labyrinth herself,” Krystian explains. “She wanted a way to test her devout followers and see if they really walk the path of wisdom. The entire Labyrinth is nothing but a series of tests, riddles, and traps, designed for only the brightest of minds to solve.”
“Well, we’re fucked,” I lament.
I normally consider myself a pretty optimistic person, but I know myself and the guys. We’re not exactly the top brass here, if you know what I mean. Except for maybe Zaid.
“I’ll do some research on it today,” Zaid says, proving my point that he’s our only hope.
“Can’t Rafe just portal us to the center of the Labyrinth?” I turn pleading eyes on the blood fae, who watches me impassively.
“No,” he answers simply.
“Magical wards surround the entire area,” Krystian explains.
“Of course they do,” I grumble.
Why can’t any of this be easy?
“And we’re sure that Athena is our only option?” Everett directs the question at Zaid, who considers it for a long moment.
The wraith nods. “Unfortunately.”
“Then I suppose we have no choice.” Everett pinches the bridge of his nose as if attempting to fend off an encroaching headache. “We’ll head to one of our safe houses and come up with a plan. We’ll leave first thing tomorrow.”
Panic prickles my skin, though I try to keep my expression clear.
I know we need time to dissect all of this new information and come up with a plan, but…tomorrow? We need to wait until tomorrow? A part of me fears I won’t have that long, that any second, that incessant tugging will erupt in my chest and transport me back into my prison cell.
I scratch at the inside of my wrist, tension flaring inside of me.
The others remain oblivious to my internal turmoil as they finalize the plan, and a second later, a portal appears.
This time, I don’t hesitate to walk through—especially now that I know my insides won’t be rearranged.
We materialize in a tiny bungalow.
Sunlight pours through wide-paned windows, casting golden lines across the polished hardwood floors.
The living room is cozy, anchored by a brick fireplace darkened with age, its mantel cluttered with framed photos of the sea. Built-in bookshelves flank the hearth, and I wonder how many of these books belong to Zaid. I imagine most of them.
An archway leads to a dining nook, where a modest oak table sits beneath a hanging light. Beyond that, I can make out a compact kitchen, designed for functionality over extravagance. The vintage countertops and cabinets are painted the color of early spring leaves, chipped slightly at the edges.
Down a short hallway in the living room, doors lead to five different rooms. Probably four bedrooms and a bathroom.
It’s cute and cozy and the exact opposite I would’ve expected from the guys.
“You live here?” I ask, gawking.
