8. Laia

8

LAIA

I crouch by the fire, my hands busy slicing herbs I found earlier in the forest. The smell of fresh thyme and mint fills the air, mingling with the smoke from the cooking meat. I stir the pot, watching the broth bubble, my mind drifting back to the night five days ago—to Thalos’s touch and his commanding presence.

My body shivers as I recall what happened inside his cave. I push the thoughts away as I notice Kael from a distance. I wave at him, gratitude filling my heart.

Kael's care has worked wonders; my wounds are nearly healed. Over the past five days, I’ve found ways to be useful around the lair—cleaning, cooking, doing anything to prove my worth. Fortunately, they seem to like my cooking. It's... pretty normal.

The broth bubbles more vigorously now, and I add a handful of sliced herbs into the pot. The aroma intensifies, and I take a moment to savor it. Normality is a strange concept here. Yet, in these small tasks—preparing meals, keeping their space clean—I find a sliver of peace.

But a hollow ache lingers in my chest, a reminder of what I’ve given up. My body, my freedom... all traded for survival. Is this who I’ve become? My hands grip the wooden spoon tightly, knuckles whitening with the strain.

A woman who trades her body just to keep breathing? What was the difference between this and Eryndor?

The memory of Eryndor’s cruelty flashes in my mind—his cold hands on my skin, his brutal smile as he inflicted pain. I shudder, shaking myself free of the thoughts. He drained my friend’s blood without a flicker of remorse, and when I refused to kill for him, he beat me until I could barely stand.

His cruel laughter echos in my ears as if he’s just beside me. My body jolts in fear, and cold sweat drips from my forehead.

Clenching my hands, I tell myself I’m not that girl anymore. I’m not a victim. This is the difference between Eryndor and the minotaurs.

Here, I made a choice.

I glance around the lair, at the rough stone walls and the flickering firelight casting shadows on their faces. This place is vastly different from Eryndor’s mansion. This rough lair is the closest place I can call home.

My gaze locks with Thalos’ dark eyes. He follows my movements from across the room, always assessing and always watching. His presence is a constant reminder of my bargain.

Amongst these minotaurs, each day brings its own battles—small victories like cooking a meal they enjoy or cleaning without complaint.

The broth simmers gently now, filling the air with warmth and comfort that feels foreign yet welcome. I stir it once more before ladling some into bowls for them.

The minotaurs sit nearby, their massive forms casting long shadows against the cave walls as they talk in low voices. Thalos watches me with those penetrating eyes, always observing, always calculating.

Irix sprawls lazily by the fire, his muscular frame relaxed but ready to spring into action at any moment. Kael, quieter than the others, sharpens his knife in the corner, the rhythmic scrape of metal on stone filling the space.

I walk over to Thalos first, handing him a bowl. His fingers brush mine as he takes it, a fleeting contact that sends a shiver down my spine. He nods in acknowledgment but says nothing. I move on to Irix, who grins up at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"What's this?" he asks, sniffing the bowl.

"Something to warm you up," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.

Irix chuckles. "You might be more useful than we thought."

Kael accepts his bowl with a quiet "Thank you," his soft blue eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before he returns to his task.

I return to the pot, filling a bowl for myself, and sit down by the fire. The heat from the flames warms my skin, a stark contrast to the coldness that seems to seep into my bones whenever I think about Eryndor.

"You've done well," Thalos says suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice is low and authoritative.

I glance up at him, surprised. "Thanks."

He nods again, more to himself than to me. "Keep it up."

The simple praise sends a wave of relief through me. It's not much, but it's something—a small step toward earning their trust.

As I sip the broth, I can't help but feel a strange sense of belonging here. It's not home; it will never. But it's safer than anything I've known in years.

Thalos's eyes are still on me, calculating as always. But there's something else there too—something softer, almost approving. It's fleeting and disappears as quickly as it came, but it's enough to keep me going.

I'm not just a prisoner here; I'm becoming part of their world. I've cleaned their lair, gathered plants to make it more livable, and now I'm cooking for them—showing them that I'm more than just a desperate woman running from her past.

Irix stretches out his hand, bowl empty, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “More,” he says, voice a teasing rumble. “Starting to feel like home.”

I force a smile, though my heart feels like lead. This dark, dangerous place isn’t home yet. There’s an odd sense of belonging creeping into my bones. I ladle another portion into his bowl, my hands steady despite the whirlwind of thoughts.

“Thank you,” I say, keeping my tone light.

Irix’s grin widens; that predatory edge is always present. “You’re learning,” he says, almost approving. He takes a deep breath, savoring the aroma before diving back in.

A small smile forms on my lips as I slowly gain their trust. But the ache remains. The loss of freedom weighs heavily on me.

Irix catches my eye again and raises his bowl in a mock toast. “Here’s to our new cook,” he says with a laugh.

Thalos grunts in response, barely acknowledging the exchange.

Kael looks up from his task and offers me a small nod of encouragement. It’s a silent message: You’re doing well.

For all their rough edges and danger, these minotaurs have given me a chance—a chance to prove myself beyond my past.

I return to my spot by the fire, taking comfort in its warmth. Home may be an impossible dream here in Protheka’s wilds, but for now... this will have to do.

________________