Ipush into The Gold Coin and look around the pub for any signs of an annoying minotaur. He’s at a table in the back, pouring over his little notebook. His horns cast a shadow over his chosen work spot. How does he deal with having horns that large? How does he sleep? Then I’m imagining him in bed, lying on his stomach with his very muscular back bare and his horns resting above one of his bent arms. He has one arm slung over a horn in this imagined moment. His lovers could potentially hook a leg over those horns…
I take a deep breath and shove that stupid daydream to the pits of my mind where idiotic ideas go to die. I stalk over to his chair and poke him in the arm.
“Here you go.” Near his steaming cider, I set his stones down carefully so they don’t touch.
His gaze slides up my corseted waist, to my breasts, up my throat, and finally to my face. I tug at my neckline. It’s too hot in this pub. Cyrus needs to tamp down his hearth fire.
“How kind of you to return them,” Argos says. His tone has nothing to do with kindness.
“You can thank our mayor for asking me to return your khymeia stones.”
Recognition flares in his eyes.
“Ah ha!” I whip out my wand and jab his big, meaty arm. “You knew their name. What else are you hiding?” I lean in close and lock my gaze onto his brown eyes. They’re exactly the color of darkwood honey, the stuff I get each year at the witch’s gathering. “I don’t know what you’re lying about, but I can feel the stories you aren’t telling us. They push at my chest like a strong wind. I will get the truth and it won’t go easy for you, Minotaur.”
A sly grin ghosts over his lips, the cupid’s bow at the top becoming more pronounced. The sudden urge to nibble that spot has me leaning even closer. I shake my head and straighten to look down on him.
“Why Tully, you have been thinking of me quite a lot, haven’t you? Did some research on my magic, did you?”
His tone is teasing now and he turns toward me, easing back in his chair and hiking one boot up on the second chair at the table. His tail whips sinuously behind him. I lick my lips, feeling suddenly parched.
“What else would you like to study about me?” he asks in his annoyingly deep voice. “Or are you only interested in my stones?”
He spreads his legs wider, and though his trousers aren’t that tight today, there is no mistake about how well-endowed a male he is. I clear my throat and look for Cyrus, wishing he would come out of the back. I don’t like being alone with Argos. It makes me itchy.
“Where did you get the khymeia stones?” I demand, glaring at the minotaur.
“I only talk to friends and lovers about my personal life. You are a dangerous witch who loathes me, so I’m afraid you fit neither category at present.”
I nearly snap my wand with my tightened grip. “You stole them. From a witch.”
“That’s your theory?”
“It is.”
He frowns. “What data do you have to back that up?”
“Witches created them. Perhaps for clouded ones.”
“What are clouded ones?”
“Witches born of witches who can’t get their magic to work.”
“Perhaps I had a clouded one in my family line?”
“No. I sense zero witch blood in you. I would know. And don’t suggest your family received them later on. Witches wouldn’t give something like this out in this day and age. The khymeia are ancient. Powerful. Dangerous. Unfit for non-magical folk. They should never have been created.”
“I hate to disappoint you, Witch, but I didn’t steal the stones.”
“Why should I believe you?”
He shrugs and lifts his cider with annoyingly calm movements. “I suppose you can’t. For now.”
“For now?”
“Yes. Perhaps later on, you will come to trust me and we can be friends and I’ll tell you everything.”
“I will never be your friend.”
