Hotter Than Hell (10 page)

But I cannot ask, because the Minotaur suddenly screams, back arching so deeply I hear his spine crack like the wings of a harpy. He falls to his knees and the skulls whisper, “Hold him.
Hold him tight.
”

I scramble to the Minotaur and crash into the sand, flinging my arms around his heaving chest. I press my cheek above his pounding heart and hold him with all my strength. He groans my name, but his voice—full of pain—shifts into a howl. I cry out with him, terrified, and then cry out for another reason entirely as the warm skin beneath my hands suddenly becomes fur. The Minotaur writhes; I glimpse his hands, long fingers shedding skin and nail to become claws. I almost forget myself—almost let go—but a voice inside my head whispers,
hold on, hold on,
and I do not loosen my arms.

The Minotaur fights me. He is large and strong, but I squeeze shut my eyes and dig my nails into his back, chanting his name, holding on with all my will. I am afraid of him—afraid for my life—but I think,
faith
, and do not waver.

The fur shifts, gliding into scales. A smaller chest; I almost lose him, but I regain my grip and hear a hiss, feel a tongue rasp against my cheek. The Minotaur struggles, flopping wildly, dragging me down into the sand and rolling on top of me. I cannot breathe, but I wrap my legs around the Minotaur—his entire body, one long tail—and hold my breath, screaming inside my mind.

Another shift—feathers—a body smaller, still—but I grapple and pull and hold—and then again—leather, tough—a beast as big as the room—but I take two handfuls of a mighty ear, shouting as my arms pull and my joints tear. Battered and bruised, I fight to keep him. Fight, too, for my life.

Again and again he shifts—an endless struggle of creatures I cannot name—until, suddenly, it is simply the Minotaur again, the man I know. He slumps within my arms. I do not let go. I am too afraid, and my fear is good. A moment later I feel another transformation steal over the Minotaur. This time, stone. Stone that takes me with him.

I do not understand at first. Only, my body feels heavy, as though gravity is pulling down and down. I hear a scraping sound, like rocks rubbing, and see from the corner of my eye the Minotaur’s skin go gray and hard. I remember the first time seeing him, some ghost light playing tricks, the curve of his shoulder resembling stone. This time it is no illusion.

“Save yourself,” whisper the skulls. “Let go.”

Let go,
my mind echoes, as I watch with horrified fascination as stone crawls up the Minotaur’s body, over my own, encasing both our legs in a dull hard shell. I feel as though I am being dipped in concrete. I feel as though I am dying. I gaze into the Minotaur’s face, looking for some sign of the man I am risking my life for. His eyes are closed. He is unconscious.

“Let go,” whisper the skulls. “Let go and you will be free.”

It is not too late. I could pull away. But I look again at the Minotaur and remember his voice, his touch, the feeling of home in his arms, and I cannot leave him. He is all I have, all I want, and to lose him, to lose that part of myself I have given him when for the first time in my life I
belong
—

The stone creeps. I press as close as I can, hooking my arms around the Minotaur’s neck. I kiss him, hard, and after a moment I feel him stir and kiss me back. I smile against his mouth. Taste tears. Mine.

The Minotaur murmurs something I do not understand. I do not let go. I keep kissing him, even when he begins struggling, protesting, trying to push me away from the contagious gathering of stone. I hang tight, ignoring him. He has been betrayed by magic—both of us have—but I will be his champion to the end.

The stone rises. The Minotaur and I stop moving. We are locked together, and all I can do is tilt my head, to kiss him. I look into his eyes—blue like sky—blue with grief—and try to smile.

“Not what you expected?” I say, and the Minotaur makes a choking sound that I cut off with a kiss. One last kiss.

The stone covers my face. I go blind.

The next time I learn how to see again, I find myself cradled in strong arms. I am being carried. My feet dangle, my head lolls, and I feel sick to my stomach. I struggle to be put down. Just in time. I bend over, gagging, eyes streaming.

Then I remember. I fall to my knees.

A hand touches my shoulder. I turn. Find the Minotaur crouching beside me. He is not wearing the mask.

It startles me. For a moment I do not know him, but then I look into his eyes and they are the same soul, same heart. I touch his mouth with trembling fingertips, and he captures my wrist, holding me gently. His hands are the same, as well. Strong and warm.

“How?” I murmur. “I thought we were dead.”

“We were,” says the Minotaur, a hint of wonder in his voice. “You gave your life for mine.”

I sag against him. We are still naked. I run my hands over his body, searching for injury. Explore his face, studying the unfamiliar lines, the dark curl of his hair. He is a handsome man. But then, I thought so before ever seeing his face. Before he was anything but a presence in the dark.

I trail my fingers down his neck, following the red imprint of the former straps. The Minotaur watches my eyes. There is such tenderness in his face I want to lower my head and weep. I think I might do so anyway.

“How?” I ask again.

“I was a monster,” says the Minotaur, “and the king did not think it possible that anyone would ever care for me. Not enough to do what you did. The fact he even allowed one chance to lift the curse was meant more as punishment than hope. To break me with the futility of my existence. Because who…who would ever love a Minotaur?”

“I do,” I say quietly, and he shuts his eyes, shuddering.

“You had faith,” he whispers. “You believed in me, or else you would not have held me.”

“It was difficult. I thought you would kill me in the process.”

“I almost did.” He opens his eyes. “I became the creatures I transformed into. Only your touch kept me centered. Only you. If you had let go…”

I stop him. I do not want to think about what might have been. I glance around, noticing for the first time that we are in some kind of building. The stones are dark and smooth with age, and there are pillars rising to a vaulted ceiling that is elegant in its massive simplicity. The silence is heavy. We are alone. But there is light—streams of it cutting through holes in the upper segments of the high walls.

I look at the Minotaur. “Where is the labyrinth? How did we escape?”

“The labyrinth is where it always is,” he says gravely. “It is everywhere and nowhere. But we were able to leave because you freed me. And as you know, I have…some skills of my own.”

I shiver. The Minotaur helps me stand. “Come. There are clothes nearby.”

“How do you know?”

“Because this is home.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Home has been empty a long time. There won’t be anything left to find.”

The Minotaur smiles. “We shall see.”

But before we begin walking, I lean in for a kiss. A soft kiss that becomes urgent, fierce. I remember fear, desperation, my decision to die, and such memories will never leave me. They are another darkness, another labyrinth, and I want the Minotaur to steal me away. To save me.

And he does, his own calm face breaking into a mask of grief and desperation. He pushes me up against a pillar, his breathing unsteady, tears shadowing his eyes. He kisses me so deeply I feel him in my soul.

The Minotaur takes me. He is hard and I am ready and he slides so easily into my body I wonder how two people could fit so well and still be separate hearts.

I say as much, later. Later, when my legs are still wrapped around him and we lie on the cold stone floor. The Minotaur smiles. I can still see the outline of the mask, the mighty horns resting like a crown. Fit for a prince, I think. A prince of the labyrinth.

“We are two pieces of a puzzle,” says the Minotaur. “You and I.”

“So where do we go now? What do we do?”

The Minotaur points. I narrow my eyes; a moment later I see the silver mirror resting close by on the stones. Set there earlier, no doubt, when I was ill.

“Anywhere,” he says simply. “We go anywhere.”

I think of my library, my home in the darkness, my routine. My old life, safe and quiet. I am not naïve;
anywhere
will not be easy. But I look at the Minotaur, curled around my body, staring at me with his shining eyes, and I know that he is not naïve, either.

And I would rather face a life with him, no matter the danger or difficulty, than rest easy by myself.

I take his hand. “Have we really left the labyrinth?”

“I think we are making our own,” says the Minotaur. “It will be an adventure.”

“I hope so,” I reply.

And it is.

HE VANISHED IN A WHIRL OF MIST, LEAVING BEHIND
scents of sandalwood and sex on a hot summer’s night.

Ericka Roberts cried out and clenched her bedcovers in both fists as she woke. Perspiration coated her body and the sheets clung to her damp skin. Her breathing was harsh, her heart beating so hard it pounded inside her ears.

These dreams are
killing
me.

For the past week, since she’d arrived at the oceanside condo in San Diego, she’d woken sweating, body aching with need and frustration. In her dreams, her demon lover teased her with his tongue and tasted her until she was on the edge of a climax so powerful she knew it would rock her to her core.

The moment she reached that pinnacle, he would stop. He’d rise, spread her legs with his hips, a sensual expression on his strong features. He’d nudge his cock against her folds and she’d hold her breath in anticipation.

And he would vanish.

The dreams were so intense that each morning she woke up pleasantly sore from his rough attention.

How’s that for a vivid imagination?
She groaned and flung her arm over her eyes. “I’ve entered another dimension, where sane people don’t exist.”

Ericka moved her arm from her eyes and turned onto her side, facing the window. Shadows from palm trees and the first hint of morning sunlight winked through the glass as she faced reality.

Not too far away, the rush and pound of the surf matched the rush of blood in her ears and the pounding of her heart. The scent of sandalwood shifted into salt and brine mixed with the vanilla of candles she’d placed on every available surface of the room.

She attempted to grasp the power of the dream, but it faded through her fingers like tendrils of mist.

Yet
he
was there, never leaving her thoughts.

Ericka blew a strand of red hair out of her eyes and chewed on one of her nails. She slumped in the deck chair, her shorts hiking up her thighs. Her mind was anywhere but on the page on her laptop. Another planet, maybe.

It was nearing sunset. For most of the day she’d been sitting on the porch, trying to work on her nonficfion book that included people describing visits by beings from Otherworldly realms.

“The freaking book,” she grumbled as images of her demon lover refused to leave her mind. “The damned dreams happen because you’re
studying
and
writing
about similar paranormal occurrences.” She glanced at the ocean. “Get a grip.”

This hidden stretch of beach outskirting San Diego was a perfect place to “channel” her writing. The water called to her, calmed her, let her slip into a state of mind where her body no longer existed.

Usually
.

“Okay, that’s enough.” She punched a few keys and exited her doc and her web browser before closing her laptop. “You sure better have a productive day tomorrow.”

When she’d rented the condo in the past, her fingers always flew over the keys of her laptop as she wrote her nonfiction paranormal books. Everything about the supernatural attracted her, but she especially loved her current topic.

Hence the dreams
.

The wind kicked up and pages of one open research book on mythology flipped one after another in a sudden cascade. She reached for the book as the pages stopped at the intro to Incubae and Succubae.

She drew the book closer and studied the picture she’d practically drooled over the first time she’d read the research book. A painting of the backside of a man. With her finger she traced his shoulder-length black hair, muscular back, and tight ass. Her imagination supplied the rest. No doubt he’d be as toned and fit
everywhere
if she could manage a peek at him from the front.

The corner of her mouth curved. When she first looked at the picture, she’d been intrigued by giving up one’s soul for one’s desires.

Ericka rolled her eyes. Between that fascination and the topic of her book, no wonder she’d been experiencing such intense nightly dreams. She’d been reading about Incubae and Succubae until her eyes damned near crossed, and now her imagination had brought a demon lover of her own.

She shook her head, snatched up her books and her laptop, and headed into the condo. After she put them away, she glanced at her cell phone. A tiny red light blinked, indicating she had a message.

Ericka checked the recent callers.
Mom, Mom, and Mom. And oh, Mom
. Being the youngest child of a huge Irish family, Ericka had to suffer through her mother’s constant worrying over nothing and everything.

She smiled when she saw that Julia, her sister and closest friend, had also called. No one in the world knew Ericka like Julia did.

For a moment, Ericka thought about calling her sister and talking about her dreams, but shook her head and set the phone aside. Despite Ericka being well known for her books on paranormal occurrences, Julia refused to believe in anything she couldn’t see for herself. A real skeptic.