“This way,” Zaid says at last, pointing down the right pathway. “The center one leads to a dead end, and the left ends at a pit of spikes.”
Krystian reaches into his backpack and digs out a water bottle, extending it for Zaid to take. The wraith does so gratefully and swallows it down.
Everett’s hold loosens, and I take the opportunity to lunge forward and study Zaid intently.
“Are you okay?” I ask somewhat desperately, pushing up on my tiptoes to cup his cheeks.
His warm eyes meet my own, and he gently places his hands over mine. “I’m okay.” A tentative smile pulls up his lips. “I know my limitations.”
That may be true, but I’m beginning to believe all of these guys will break these so-called “limitations” if it means saving me.
I don’t want that.
At all.
The five of us move down the right pathway. I remain beside Zaid, my shoulder brushing his with every step we take. I studyhim out of the corner of my eye, making sure he won’t keel over and die. I have no idea how long these side effects will last.
“I’m fine, sweetheart,” Zaid assures me for the one millionth time. “I promise.”
“Rafe?” I glance over my shoulder at the blood fae, who has fallen slightly behind.
“Truth,” Rafe answers simply.
The tightness in my chest loosens.
Zaid gives my hand a squeeze, though he doesn’t speak again. He doesn’t need to. Just his hand in mine is enough. It’s a revelation and a homecoming all in one.
“This place is fucking creepy,” Krystian laments, his head swiveling in all directions as he searches for threats.
Everett snorts. “It’s a maze designed by a madman and hijacked by a goddess. It’s not supposed to feel like a summer vacation.”
Krystian doesn’t bother to look over his shoulder as he flips the shifter off.
We press deeper into the tunnel, and the world shifts. There’s a pulse underfoot, like a heartbeat. Then?—
A roar splits the air, high and metallic, and the floor shudders beneath us. From the dark, it charges: a monstrosity of brass and iron.
The Minotaur.
No…nottheMinotaur.
A mechanical one.
Its horns gleam under the flickering torchlight, its eyes glowing blood-red.
I’ve never seen anything like this before. It stands nearly ten feet tall, its body forged from riveted bronze plates and brass joints that hiss and vent steam with every movement.
Each hoof slams against the ground with the force of a battering ram, cracking the ancient flagstones beneath. Its torsois vaguely humanoid—massive, broad, and covered in armor etched with arcane glyphs—but its head is unmistakable.
The brutal, crowned skull of a bull, complete with curved iron horns sharp enough to gut a normal human.
Those twin glowing eyes lock onto us, the molten red glare a physical burn against my skin. From its snout, steam billows in rhythmic bursts.
In place of hands, it has gauntleted fists equipped with blades. Six curling metallic claws jut out like steel fingers ready to slice us into macabre confetti.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I breathe.
Athena is truly a twisted bitch if she chose to recreate and upgrade a dead monster.
