Chapter 24

Emjay

For over a month, I’ve sat in my car parked outside the bar where I’d last seen my babies.

I stopped sensing them over two weeks ago.

I should have walked inside the second my connection to them snapped.

The terror I’ve labored under for over thirty years crippled me. Even as I stand outside with my hand on the door, my feet refuse to go any farther.

My favorite self-help podcaster tells her audience on every episode, “It’s okay to do it afraid. Don’t wait until the fear subsides. Push past whatever it is you fear and do what you need to do—afraid.”

Deep breath in. One-two-three. Deep breath out. One-two-three. Rinse and repeat.

Someone on the other side of the door I’ve yet to let go of pulls it inward, along with my trembling form.

Momentarily, the thoughts of my daughters fade away as the pain of having my heart shoved back into my chest nearly drops me on my arse. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. My call to my mate that my mother used a witch to rip from my soul all those years ago echoes in my heart again. A gift I thought was lost to me forever.

Years of practice keep me on my feet. Even though I have no doubt, he’ll catch me if I fall.

My mate stands with his back to me. The one my heart called out for decades ago. It takes less than a second for the power of our bond to hit him with the same force. He turns my way.

His lack of practice at forcing strength behind every move is clear when he falls to his knees at my feet—powerless.

This man is a striking figure whose true age defies the passage of time. His chestnut hair, clean-cut and styled into waves, frames his face in a way that accentuates his flawless features. The waves seamlessly merge into a neatly trimmed beard. The precise line along his cheekbones adds a touch of refinement to his rugged appearance.

His chiseled jawline speaks of his strength, mirrored by the confidence in his piercing gaze. A pointed nose adds to the angular symmetry of his face, giving him an air of authority and charisma.

The sleeves of his shirt hug his biceps, hinting at a force that lays beneath the fabric. Despite his age, he looks remarkably youthful, his vitality evident in his muscles.

I could lose myself in the intensity of his golden eyes.

Yet, there’re signs of a life well-lived etched into his appearance. Grease stains outline his trimmed nails and traces the creases of his worn hands—evidence of hard work and dedication. And despite the ruggedness in his appearance, a gentleness shines in his smile.

As I look at him, the longing I buried all those years ago stirs within me. My desire for the reassurance and stability that his presence promises springs to life.

His hands, weathered yet strong, are hands I need holding me. Hands that have the power to help me navigate the memories that threaten to engulf my every waking moment.

In him, I see a beacon of hope in a world that’s betrayed me too many times.

Only seconds have passed, but it feels like an eternity. He grabs my hand and croaks one word. “Mate.”

That word is all I need to shake myself from this fairytale that I don’t have time for.

“Idiot. Get up. I don’t have time for you. Where are they? Do you know where they are?” I must make him understand.

I notice his eyes roam as if unwillingly. I pivot to see what pulls his gaze from mine.

“Why don’t we have a seat while we wait for someone who can help you find them?” He puts his arm around me and coaxes me to a table.

“We must find them. Warn them. He knows.”

“Trust me, mate. We will. I’m Damian. Might I know your name?”

Damian. My Damian.

“Stop with this mate stuff. My daughters’ lives are at stake. Bring them to me.”

I sit because he gives me no other choice.

It feels as if Damian is purposely keeping me distracted. I’ll play along temporarily before all the hurt and rage buried inside flies out of me in his direction. Mate or not.

“Are you hungry?” Damian waves over a heifer waiting tables.

The men forbid the females in our herd from leaving the labyrinth and ensured that none of us ever worked outside of the home.

“My girls. Please.” I choke back tears.

He pushes the hair back that I keep arranging over my face to hide my scar. “Trust me.”

I huff and smooth my hair back down.

Damian grabs my wrist before I can accomplish my task. The gentleness in his touch is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. “I thought you were dead. I’ve wondered about this face every day. Please don’t take this from me.”

I sink back against the booth. His arm slides around me. As surely as an apple falls from a tree and hits the ground, my head falls against his body.

I have no other choice but to trust him.

“Emjay.”

“MJ? Is that your name?”

I nod without lifting my head.

“What do the M and the J stand for?”

“It’s not initials. It’s E-M-J-A-Y. Emjay.”

“Cool. I like it.”

I smile. I picked the name myself after I ran away. A story for another day.

We sit in silence for a while, both content to have found what we’d lost.

An older woman who appears to have stepped off a bus returning from Woodstock takes a seat across from us. The man who joins her appears stuck in the same era. He doesn’t even seem to notice Damian and me as he stares at her.

“Willow, nice to see you,” Damian acknowledges.

She waves him off and points at me. “You, tell me why I should allow you to see these girls.”

Damian chuffs at the woman despite the obvious friendship they share.

“What do you want to know? I’ll tell you anything.” She terrifies me, especially if she’s what I think she is.

Willow holds her hands out in front of her. Trembling, I place mine on top of hers. I’ll do anything, even trust a witch, to see my girls. To warn them. Even if they never forgive me.

Definitely a witch. Her eyes roll back as she grips my fingers until the bones rub against one another.

She lets go before breaking them in two. Her eyes return to normal and lock onto mine. “I’m satisfied. I’ll need a drop of your blood,” she says.

The man beside her hands her a knife.

Damian’s chuffs turn to growls.

Willow accepts the knife but thinks twice and hands it over to Damian. “Just a small prick on the tip of her finger to add to their charms. It won’t kill her.”

Reluctantly, he accepts the knife. “May I?”

I’m not used to someone asking permission instead of taking. I place my hand on the table in front of him. With a tenderness like I’ve never experienced, he holds my appendage before pricking my finger with the tip of the knife.

Willow hands Damian a small tube. “Just a couple of drops.”

He squeezes only what she asked for into the vial before sucking the tip of my finger into his mouth, followed by a kiss. Like I’ve seen on television when kids asked their mothers to kiss their booboo to make it better. I release the air his lips trapped in my lungs once he laid my hand in my lap.

“We’ll be right back,” Willow says while she and the man who no one’s bothered introducing leave the table.

Damian squeezes my hand under the table. “Are you okay?”

A tear rolls down my cheek. I look into eyes that already hold love for me—a love I’m afraid to embrace—and nod.

Damian stands and holds out his hand. “This way.”

I accept his help. He escorts me to a corner behind where we’d been sitting. My eyebrows furrow as I watch Willow talk to the air.

“Your daughters and their mates are with Willow. She’s removing the barrier, keeping you from seeing them. They encountered another Minotaur who claims one of them is his betrothed. The man mentioned their father and his promise that he could have one of them. After that, Anjal and Jayce—their mates—took them to Willow for protection.”

“You knew they were here the whole time.” I pull away from his touch with that knowledge.

Undeterred, he slides his arm around my waist and brings me in closer. “I had no doubts that you would pass with Willow, but would you not have me protect them no matter what? Even from you.”

I sigh. He’s right, yet it doesn’t make it any less painful.

I grip the front of Damian’s shirt with anticipation. Fear and hope hang heavy in the air.

I can’t make out what she’s saying to them, as if they’re all in a bubble. With each passing moment, the tension in the air grows thicker, like a veil obscuring the truth that I hoped they’d never learn.

As if emerging from the depths of a dream, my daughters materialize before my eyes, their forms slowly take shape in front of Willow.

At first, they appear as faint outlines, barely visible in the dim atmosphere that surrounds them.

But as the spell unravels, their features come into focus, their presence solidifying with each passing second.

I resist the urge to bury my face in Damian’s shirt to hide from them.

My breath catches in my throat as they stare in my direction. My eyes brim with tears of uncertainty.

After what feels like an eternity of longing, my daughters and two brooding Minotaurs stand within reach. The girls’ faces hold evidence of many tears shed in the last hour.

Damian releases his hold on me and gently pushes me in their direction.

Do I try to hold them? Do I remain aloof and see if they come to me?

As I approach my daughters, my heart pounds with an equal mixture of dread and determination.

I know my fears of what they must feel toward me cannot dictate my actions. My guilt has no place where their safety is concerned. Everything I’ve sacrificed has been for their protection.

The memories of my past trauma claw at the edge of my mind, threatening to overwhelm me, but I inhale deeply while pushing them aside. I have no choice but to focus on the task at hand.

My body stiffens as they move closer. What I have to say will hurt them.

“What are your names?” A question that has burned in my heart from the day I gave them up.