Kim Harrison - Hotter Than Hell

What little I can see of it. The mask is as horrific as my fingers told me it would be, though it covers only the upper half of his head; the bridge of his nose and scalp. All bone and fur, with giant horns stretching like arms in the air. I can see the straps holding it in place, cutting into his skin.

I also see his eyes. I move close, staring. Blue, I think, though it is impossible to say. Just that there is a soul in them, a soul I have only heard and felt until now, and I want more of it, so much more. I want to look into his eyes and hear him speak. I want to know what he sees when he gazes at my face, what he feels when he touches me, when he is inside me.

The Minotaur moves, and that is enough to break the spell. I look down at the source of light in his hands, and find a round mirror, complete with silver frame and handle. Light flees the glass, flickering wildly, and when the Minotaur tilts it toward me I see another world—blue sky, trees, mountains bathed in snow and sun.

“I found it years ago,” says the Minotaur softly. “I used it to see the worlds beyond the labyrinth. And there are many. Worlds upon worlds, gathered like beating hearts, warm and fine.”

I stare at the mirror. “You left me in the dark on purpose.”

The Minotaur glances away. “I thought you would fear me, otherwise.”

“You could have tried.”

“No. I did not dare.”

I fight for words. “You thought I would be disgusted, didn’t you?”

He goes very still. “And are you?”

“You can ask me that? After everything?”

He opens his mouth—stops—and his eyes turn somber. “Forgive me.”

I sway close, but do not say what I feel— you do not need to fear me, only trust me, please, before I lose my nerve in the light —and instead point at the mirror. “Is that how you watched me?”

“Yes.” The Minotaur tears his gaze from my face and holds up the mirror. An eagle soars; I hear music from beyond the glass. A flute, lilting and delicate. The image shifts; suddenly there is darkness again, cut with electric beams and men in uniforms standing over a sleeping bag. I watch them nudge my belongings with the tips of their shoes, and feel in my heart a pang.

“I could send you home again,” says the Minotaur quietly. “You are not of this place—not yet—and as such you are permitted to leave. The labyrinth does not hold every heart.”

“Doesn’t it?” I look him in the eyes. “How did you bring me here?”

“I willed it.” He holds my gaze with a heat that reminds me of his hands on my body.

“To free you from the labyrinth? You could have found another.”

“You and no other,” he says firmly. “There was never any choice. Not for me, once I found you.”

He has already said as much, but those are not words I tire of hearing. I touch his waist and slide close, until I must crane my neck to look at him. His jaw is strong, his skin smooth. And his eyes, caught behind the mask of bone, are most certainly blue.

I kiss the Minotaur. His arms wrap around my body, pulling me off the ground, and as my feet dangle and the furs drop away I realize something awful: I cannot imagine being without him. The Minotaur is part of me now. And I am part of him.

A scream cuts the air. We both flinch.

“Don’t send me away,” I say. “Promise.”

He gives me a hard look. “If you are truly set on helping me, we must go now.”

I say nothing—just nod—and the Minotaur presses his lips against my forehead—one quick hard kiss, full of something more than mere desire. He takes the mirror in one hand, grabs me with the other, and we run. I have no clothes, but forget to care as the air behind us cracks like a whip. Distant, but close enough. I remember how fast the harpies move.

“What do I have to do?” My voice is breathless. I almost trip and the Minotaur hauls me close. He says nothing and I ask again, tugging on his arm. His jaw tightens, and for a moment I see him as others might: the cruel mask, the horns, the giant body hard with muscle. Dangerous and powerful. A beast.

“I must have a champion,” he rumbles, and his voice returns my heart and mind to its proper place. “I, who have slain so many.”

“A champion,” I say, but there is little time for more. The harpies grow louder, their shrieks violent and sickening. I fight the urge to gag, struggling to focus only on the Minotaur and myself.

He slows, and by the light of the mirror I see a familiar sight: the door of bones through which I entered the labyrinth, my first time summoned by the Minotaur. The skulls grin, bones polished and white, but as I near I see dark liquid trickle from the sockets of their eyes, and I know in my gut it is blood. The Minotaur’s own eyes are hard as flint as he looks at the bones. His mouth tightens into a thin white line.

“Beyond that door is the site of the gate the old king used to usher in his sacrifices. It is the gate through which I entered, and it is the only gate through which I can leave.”

“I thought you said it was sealed.”

“Sealed, yes. But the labyrinth is not bound by doors. Nor would I be bound, if the curse upon me was lifted.”

The harpies are nearing. I glance over my shoulder into the darkness and the Minotaur says, “Also trapped, put here by magic through the wiles of some ancient priest. Perhaps another legend, in your time.”

“Can they be killed?”

The Minotaur shakes his head. “Harpies are immortal. So much in the labyrinth is.”

I reach for the door. The Minotaur stops my hand. “One last chance. You could go, if you want. Back to your home.”

“I have no home,” I tell him, and haul open the door. Just in time; screams split the darkness and I glimpse red eyes, glowing like pincers left too long in flame. I dart into the room—the Minotaur follows—and together we close the door, leaning hard against it. Bodies slam into the barrier; my entire body shakes with the impact. Beneath my ear I hear faint laughter, more than one voice. The skulls on this side of the door are also leaking blood. My skin is smeared with it.

“So comes the Minotaur at last,” they whisper; like ghosts, mouths unmoving. I back away, staring, and again hear laughter, faint voices drifting high and lilting.

“Oh,” they whisper, and I feel the dead staring, staring so hard. “Oh, a woman now, heart so full. Not like the others, Minotaur. Not like them, those screaming butterflies in the oubliette.”

“Enough,” says the Minotaur. “You know why we are here.”

“The king’s gift,” they murmur. “Ah, girl. You are dead as you stand. There is no heart full enough for this man. No woman brave enough to hold a Minotaur.”

I do not understand. I glance at the Minotaur and find him pale, mouth drawn tight.

“No,” I say, knowing well enough that look on his face, the defeat. “No, whatever it is I have to do, I am strong enough.” I step up to the door and look straight into the eyes of a skull. “Tell me what I have to do to free him.”

“You must hold him,” they say.

“No,” protests the Minotaur. “There is more.”

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.