9. Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Should’ve Aimed For My Heart
Maeve
I follow him through the fields this time, my bare feet brushing against the tall grass. Dakar walks a few paces ahead, and I do my best to keep up, even though his stride is so much longer than mine.
I wrap my arms tightly around my middle, still a little sore and achy, but not from the walk. My breasts feel heavy again, but not unbearably so. Not after…after what he did to help me.
I shouldn’t think about it. I shouldn’t feel this way.
He was just being kind, wasn’t he?
The memory makes my cheeks burn. The way he sat behind me, so close. His big hands, strong but gentle. The way my body had reacted. How I shook and bit my lip, trying not to moan as he milked me. I’d been so embarrassed afterward that I couldn’t even look at him.
Now, I can't keep my eyes off him. I catch a glimpse of the tattoos etched across his arms and chest. Maybe symbols of his clan? He also has a long, thick, brutal-looking scar across his shoulder blades, but that isn’t the only one; Dakar is covered in them.
What kind of life has he lived to earn so many scars?
My gaze drifts lower, over the wide expanse of his muscular back, down to the curve of his firm, sculpted rear that’s now covered by the leather kilt slung low across his hips.
Heat curls in my belly before I can stop it.
His legs are thick and powerful, every step flexing muscle beneath dark, smooth fur.
And then…his hooves. So different from my soft, human-like feet.
A sweet ache stirs between my thighs, and I'm ashamed of myself. It’s wrong for me to have these types of thoughts. I’ve been taken from my village. He’s a warlord, a Minotaur, everything I’ve been warned about since childhood, but…
Gods help me, I wanted him back in the cave.
Ahead of me, he clears his throat, and I jerk my gaze away from his backside, mortified. Has he noticed me staring? No, he can’t have. My cheeks blaze with heat regardless.
The tall grasses part, revealing the spring, and it’s like something out of a fairytale.
The water is so clear I can see the smooth stones beneath the surface and tiny, colorful fish darting from beneath the lily pads.
Wildflowers are in full bloom along the banks, swaying gently in the breeze.
Nearby, water trickles down a rock face in a soft, musical rhythm. It’s beautiful.
Dakar turns to face me. “You can bathe here,” he says, not quite meeting my gaze. “I’ll wait on the bank.”
His jaw is tight, his tail twitching once. He looks flustered and almost…nervous.
It’s oddly comforting, seeing this powerful, terrifying male unsure of himself. Like maybe I’m not the only one who is confused.
I wrap my arms around myself and nod. “Thank you,” I whisper.
He gives a short, sharp nod and turns away to give me privacy.
The water is cold and crisp as I splash it over my arms and face, but my skin still feels hot. I glance back at Dakar, standing just beyond the trees. He’s still facing away, arms crossed, the muscles in his back shifting slightly as he shifts his hooves. His tail flicks back and forth.
I slip off the oversized tunic he gave me, teeth tugging at my lip as I ease into the spring. The freezing water climbs up my legs, to my waist, then chest, drawing a gasp from me.
I run my hands over my skin, trying to be quick and modest, but even I can’t ignore the way my breasts are aching again. My own body is betraying me. I let out a soft, frustrated sound, barely louder than the trickling of the spring.
“Are you alright?” he asks, he's still facing away, but I can see his ear swivel back toward me.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
He turns, looking at me over his shoulder. His golden eyes meet mine. He doesn’t leer or smirk or make a lewd joke like I expect him to. Instead, gives me a look as if he doesn’t believe me.
“I can help you again,” he says, his hooves crunching gently through the grass as he steps closer. “If you’ll let me.”
My heart thunders. I should say no. I should tell him to stay back. But instead, my lips part, and the softest word slips out before my thoughts even have a chance to scold me.
“Okay.”
The look in his eyes sends a flutter through my chest. He steps into the spring, and the water barely touches his waist at the deepest part.
I try not to stare. Really, I do. But he’s still wearing his kilt, and the fabric floats gently around him, and suddenly I forget how to act normal.
My heart is doing ridiculous things. I look away, pretending to be fascinated by a tiny fish darting past my ankle.
“Turn around, little one.”
I obey, my breath hitching when my back presses flush against his chest. His skin is fever-warm against mine, his body a solid wall of muscle against me.
“There,”he rumbles, his big hands sliding up my ribs before cradling the swollen weight of my breasts.”Let me take care of you.”
A gasp catches in my throat as he lifts them gently, testing their heaviness. His thumbs brush over my nipples, already taut and leaking, and I jerk in his arms.
“Shh,”he soothes, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.“I know it hurts. Just relax.”
I try. Gods, Itry. But when his fingers tighten in a slow, deliberate rhythm, coaxing the first thick beads of milk to the surface, my knees nearly give out.
“That's it, Maeve,”he praises me.“You're doing so well.”
The words send a sharp zing through me, directly to my core. My head falls back against his shoulder, my body pliant in his grasp as he works my nipples. Each firm stroke pulls another pulse of milk from me, the relief so intense it borders onpleasure.
“Fuck,”he rasps, watching the streams trickle down my skin, disappearing into the water below.“You're so perfect.”
A moan slips free before I can stop it. My thighs press together, but it does nothing to ease the throbbing between them. Heknows. I feel the way his breath stutters, the way his hips shift subtly behind me.
I wish he would just reach between my legs and touch me, but he doesn’t. No, he’s ruthlessly focused on my nipples, his hands never straying from their task even as my back arches, and my nails dig into his thighs.
“Almost done,”he murmurs, squeezing the last drops free before swiping his thumb over my dripping nipple and bringing it to my lips.“Taste.”
When I lift my gaze, his amber eyes sear into mine. The heat in them licks over my skin like a flame. I lean in, my eyes locked on his, tongue darting out to lick the sweetness from his finger.
His nostrils flare, and his free hand grips my waist, pulling me closer, erasing the last inch of space between us, and I feel his cock pressing against my backside.
“Good girl,” he purrs.
“Get away from her!”
The voice shouts from the bank. I gasp, instinctively pulling away from Dakar and covering myself, even though I’m still submerged. Three men burst through the brush, mud-streaked, red-faced, wide-eyed. And leading them, somehow impossibly, is—
“Jacob?” I whisper. It’s definitely him. The boy who used to carve me whistles from river reeds. Saved me all the best fruit from his parents' farmstand, who used to stare at me for too long during Elder Thompson's sermons when he thought I wouldn’t notice.
Now, he’s pointing a gun.
At Dakar.
“Maeve,” he barks. “Get out of the water. Now. We’re going home.”
My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. I look between him and Dakar.
Dakar doesn’t even try to move or even blink. He just raises a brow as if Jacob’s holding a broomstick instead of a weapon.
“She’s not going anywhere with you, boy,” he retorts cooly. “Put that down before you shoot yourself in the foot.”
Jacob’s hands tighten on the gun.
“She doesn’t belong to you!” he snaps.
Dakar snorts, glancing down at me with an almost lazy smile. “She does now.”
My heart is thudding so hard, I feel as if it’s going to burst from my chest. Jacob looks torn between fear and fury, and the two men flanking him exchange nervous glances.
I recognize them both as well. Aaron, who used to shoe horses with his uncle near the stables, and Eli, the tanner’s son, who always smelled like smoke and hide.
I never knew them well, just names and faces from the village.
In Havenmoore, the smallest thing you did became the business of the entire town in no time.
But now, standing here like this, they almost feel like strangers.
Dakar rolls his shoulders, his wet muscles glistening in the sunlight. He’s massive in comparison. “I’ll give you this one chance to walk away. You’ve seen she’s unharmed. You’ve delivered your little speech. Now run along and go play hero somewhere else.”
Jacob’s eyes flicker to me. “Maeve, you don’t have to stay with him. He’s a beast! You know what he’s done!”
I do, but I can't seem to speak.
Dakar sighs like he’s already bored.
“We’re not just here for you, Maeve. We’re going to rescue the other Hucows too.”
Shame floods me. The other girls. Beatrice and Annie. I hadn't thought of them, not even once. My throat tightens with guilt. I’m a terrible friend. What type of person does that make me?
Dakar scoffs. “Rescue? From what, exactly? They’ve already been saved. From you .”
Jacob's lip curls in a sneer, but Dakar ignores him, lifting my chin to look into my eyes. “Tell me, little cow, who is your mother?”
I blink, confused by the question. “I…I don’t know. I don't have parents.”
“And the others?” he presses. “No mothers. Fathers?”
My mind is whirling. I don’t understand why he’s asking me this. None of the girls in Havenmoor ever spoke of family. There were caretakers. Keepers. But not parents.
“No,” I whisper.
Dakar nods, encouraging me. “Why do you think that is?”
I fumble for the words. “We’re…protected. The humans protected us.”
“Or maybe,” he says softly, “you needed protection from humans.”
“Shut up!” Jacob snarls, raising the gun higher. “Stop talking to her like that! Maeve, get out of the water. Now!”
Dakar ignores him. “Let me explain something to you,” he says, entirely too calm for someone with a gun being pointed at him.
“For generations, humans have stolen calves from their cradles. Raised them to produce milk like livestock. All while feeding them lies and calling it safety.” His gaze falls on me again.
“Tell me, Maeve. When a Hucow mates with a human…what kind of children are born?”
The question sends a jolt through me. “Human,” I whisper.
He nods. “That’s right. Because calves only come from bulls. Bulls like me.” He gives me a small smile, bringing my hands to his chest.
“Your kind were never meant to be mated to weak human men who see you as nothing but breeding stock. You were meant to be worshiped. Fought for. Claimed by a Bull.”
“That’s enough!” Jacob screams. “She’s coming with us!”
The crack of the gunshot splits the air.
Dakar jerks back, his hands letting go of mine. My scream rips free as blood blooms across his shoulder.
He looks down with a blank expression. He lifts up his arm and flexes his fingers. The wound is already weeping red down the muscle of his bicep, but he doesn’t even flinch as he wipes at the dripping blood.
Jacob is fumbling with the gun, trying to reload. Dakar sighs.
“Should’ve aimed for my heart, boy,” he says calmly, wading out of the water and stepping onto the bank. “That is, if you can find it. Maeve certainly has.” He throws a wink over his shoulder at me, and I gape at him. I can’t believe he’s still making jokes right now.
The other two men behind Jacob shift nervously, backing up, but Dakar’s full attention is locked on the farm boy. As he emerges from the spring, water cascading off his bare torso, he looks so powerful, like even the gods themselves wouldn’t be able to force him to kneel.
“I was trying to be civil,” he tells them, “but you shot me, and that’s rude.”
Jacob raises the gun again, but Dakar moves faster. He rips the weapon from Jacob’s hands like it’s nothing and swings the butt of it straight into his jaw. I raise my hands to my mouth when I hear the crack of impact, and Jacob crumples into the grass with a grunt.
Then, Dakar takes the rifle in both hands, his muscles tense, and he bends the weapon in half as if it’s nothing.
The other men cry out, Aaron rushing forward with his pitchfork. Dakar catches it mid-swing, wrenches it free, and snaps it clean across his knee.
Jacob scrambles back, dazed, a cut blooming on his lip. “You’re a fucking monster!”
“I’m a bull, ” Dakar snarls. “And she’s mine. ”
Aaron makes a run for it. Dakar lets him. Eli hesitates until Dakar takes one step toward him.
“ Boo .”
He bolts after his friend.
Dakar turns back to Jacob. “Run along, little farm boy. Maeve belongs to me now. Next time you come back for her, bring an army, or a coffin.”
Jacob glares at him, and then back at me, spitting blood on the ground before scrambling to his feet. Then he limps away, cursing under his breath.
Dakar turns toward me, his expression softening. He looks down at the bullet wound and shrugs one shoulder.
“Well,” he says, dragging a hand through his wet hair, “that was easy.”