Chapter 4
Asterion
Arodent of some kind has gotten trapped in the labyrinth. Again. I snort in agitation, lifting my muzzle to the air. The foreign smell reaches my nostrils all the way to my home in the center of the labyrinth.
“It better not be a rat,” I grumble mostly to myself, turning away from my vegetable garden to set my watering shell to the side. The island is always listening, though.
The last time a rat found its way this deep into the labyrinth, I was overrun with the flea-infested devils before I even realized.
They destroyed what little fruit and vegetables I had grown down here and shit in every crevice of my home.
The only positive thing was that after I caught each one of them, I had flame-grilled rats for supper for weeks after.
I stomp out of the small vegetable patch and head into the tunnels to flush out whatever it might be. I really hope it is a rabbit. That would make a tasty stew paired with the potatoes I have grown.
Using my muzzle to guide me, I sniff around twists and turns. I could walk this labyrinth with my eyes closed, and I am surprised I have not come upon the animal quivering in a corner somewhere. Perhaps it is a clever little rabbit. It will be more satisfying when I catch it.
I tilt my head at the sound of soft footsteps and the smell of the sea and sand, edged with something sweet, drifting through the tunnels.
Surely it is not a gull that has weaved its way this deep beneath the mountain.
No matter. Gull stew will taste just as good as rabbit stew.
Perhaps I will use a sprig of thyme, a little sea salt to bring out the taste of the bird meat, and I believe I have some lemons left from the orchard above.
I salivate at the idea of a delicious meal as I continue to follow my senses, all on high alert, through the winding maze.
Glow worms light my way despite being able to see perfectly well in the dark after having spent a millennium amongst it.
I round a corner, almost tripping over a rag left right in the middle of the path when it tangles around my feet.
I grunt, picking up the dark, crusty cloth between two fingers, and hold it in the air in front of me.
Turning it each way, I cannot make heads nor tails of it.
Where did it come from? Whose is it? What is it?
Bringing it to my muzzle, I inhale deeply, sniffing past the surface scents of the sand and sea to the barely there scent of strawberries and something richer beneath.
Pulling back, I eye the cloth distrustfully.
It reminds me of spring; of perfumed gardens overflowing with fruit, and fucking.
Why would this abandoned piece of cloth smell like the things I long for?
I bring it back to my face and bury my nose in the stiff material.
My vision brightens when the scent fills my lungs again, as if someone has peeled back the dirt above us to let the sunshine down.
My cock hardens, the length protruding from beneath my loincloth, the knot at its base taut and aching.
My fist finds its way around my knot, gripping tightly, and before I can comprehend what I am doing, I come with a bellow and the scent of strawberries in my nostrils.
My seed spurts onto my loincloth and the cave floor.
I stare at it in shock, disgusted at the complete and utter lack of self-control I just exhibited, and thankful there is no one to see my shame painted on the floor.
The scent still lingers in my nose as I clean up my mess with the discarded rag.
I throw it back where I found it, then hesitate, overcome with a possessive need to take it.
Turning back, I swipe it off the stone floor with a grunt.
The instinct does not make sense to me, and yet I cannot let it go. It is as if all sense has left my body.
Returning to the task at hand, I scent the air for my prey, pretending as if nothing has happened despite the seed-soaked cloth bunched tight in my fist. The ground beneath me trembles with each pounding step I take, my pace increasing as my frustration peaks.
At myself, or at the little rabbit hiding in my den, I do not know, nor do I wish to inspect my feelings so closely.
We are close to my bathing chambers, the scent of my prey intensifying as I draw nearer.
My pulse thrums beneath my skin in anticipation of the hunt; the chase that will ensue before I snap that little rabbit’s neck.
I roll my shoulders, loosening the tension that has settled there, and slip around the corner.
Mist hangs in the humid air of the dimly lit cavern, slicking the stone floor and walls with condensation.
The steady drip of water from the tip of a stalactite above the hot spring is the only sound to break the silence as each drop hits the surface.
There is no scuttling of rats or clicking of a gull’s nails against the stone.
Not even the thumping of little rabbit feet.
I huff in annoyance, turning to leave my bathing chambers to continue the hunt, despite my certainty that the rodent is here, somewhere.
A faint pop echoes out amongst the silence. Pop, pop, pop.
I turn toward the noise, bubbles rising and bursting on the surface of the previously still hot spring. Steam billows from my nostrils as I approach on silent footsteps. A flash of white in the water catches my eye. Has the rabbit fallen in?
“Not so clever, then.”
A snort of annoyance leaves me as I reach into the hot spring, grabbing a fistful of the rabbit’s fur and yanking it out of the water.
It is much heavier than I anticipated, and I must drop the seed-covered rag at my feet so I can use both hands.
Something wraps around my wrist as its head breaks the surface.
A girl clings to my arm, writhing and thrashing as my fingers grip the fabric of her shirt, a look of fury on her face.
Rotten strawberries assault my nose as she squawks at me, her voice high and thin, laced with an undercurrent of panic, but I do not understand the words.
Short legs swing out, water spraying out in an arc as a hard foot connects with my gut.
I let out a huff of air as I let the fabric go, leaving her dangling from my forearm in an attempt not to fall.
Her kick unbalances us, and I stumble over the edge, following the girl as we tip into the water.
At the last minute, I twist so that we hit the water side by side in a bid to avoid falling on her.
Limbs tangle as the warmth engulfs us. Another hard kick, this time to my ribs, as the girl uses my body to push herself toward the surface.
I growl. Petty instinct has me reaching out to grab her ankle, pulling her back under right as her head breaks the surface with a gasp.
I stand, water dripping from my horns and snout, my fur soaked through to my skin.
The spring barely reaches my chest, yet the girl seems to be struggling to reach the surface, her clothing and wickedly hard feet waterlogged.
I have no idea how this small human managed to find her way here, let alone inside my labyrinth, but I suppose I cannot let her drown.
I reach down, hands encircling a frame that seems so frail I could snap her in half by mere accident and throw her over my shoulder.
She lets out a yelp followed by coughing as her stomach makes contact with my shoulder.
I huff, payback for that sharp kick. She wriggles in my grip as I step out of the hot spring, water pooling beneath my feet.
“Let me go!” The small girl flails and grunts under my grip.
Burning sears between my shoulder blades, and I bellow, dropping the girl on the wet stone. Air escapes her with a whoosh on impact. I spin, my arms trying to reach the spot on my back from which the pain resonates, but I cannot reach it.
“What did you do?” I growl, rounding on her as she scuttles backwards on her hands and feet.
Her bottom lip trembles, and she looks no more than a child at that moment. I take a deep breath to calm the building rage inside me.
“What did you do?” I bite out.
“I st-tabbed you.”
“You stabbed me,” I deadpan, struggling to believe this slip of a human stabbed me.
She nods frantically.
“Take. It. Out,” I growl, my voice low and gravelly.
I give her my back, confident that she is scared enough to obey. Wet, shaking hands touch the heat of my skin, before another slice of pain as she removes the knife from between my shoulder blades.
I turn sharply with a hiss. Her hand is poised in front of her, ready to strike me again, the small blade in her hand dripping crimson with my blood.
I grab her wrist with a snort, hot air billowing in her face as I yank her toward me.
The blade falls to the stone with a clatter as I bend to meet her.
Glaring at her pale skin, soggy strands of violet hair stuck to her face, and big brown eyes, her scent hits me.
I press my snout against the crook of her neck, inhaling her. Strawberries.
I push her away from me in disgust, and she stumbles.
“A little rabbit.” I grunt. “More like a fucking viper.”
And my mate.