Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Those were delicious,” I said, breaking the silence that had settled between us.
I’d already eaten two while trying to process the fact that I was sitting across from an actual, living, breathing minotaur.
A minotaur who bakes.
Rion shifted in his seat, which creaked ominously beneath his massive frame. His large hands—paws?—remained folded on the table, each finger ending in a blunt, dark nail that looked more like a hoof’s edge than a claw. Thank goodness for small mercies.
“Family recipe,” he muttered, eyes darting around the café. We’d claimed the most secluded corner table, but even with his hat and coat, he was attracting curious glances. His shoulders hunched further with each passing minute.
I swallowed my bite and gathered my courage. “So… these projects you mentioned in your texts. What exactly do you build?”
His dark eyes flickered back to me, seeming surprised I was still initiating conversation.
“Structures. Custom designs.” His voice was deep, with a slight gravel note that vibrated through the air between us.
“Like houses?” I pressed, leaning forward slightly.
He paused, then gave a single sharp nod. “Among other things.”
“What kind of other things?”
His nostrils flared slightly. “Specialized environments. Secure spaces.” He hesitated. “Labyrinths, primarily.”
I nearly choked on my third biscuit. “Labyrinths? Like, actual mazes? With twisting corridors and—”
“It’s more complex than that,” he interrupted, a hint of pride briefly cutting through his guardedness. “True labyrinths are single-path designs, unlike mazes which offer choices and dead ends. What I build are hybrids. Functional living spaces with deliberate spatial complexity.”
I blinked, processing this information. “That’s… actually fascinating.”
He stared at me, clearly expecting a different reaction. After a moment, he grunted something that might have been an acknowledgment.
“Could I see them?” The question tumbled out before I could second-guess myself. “Your projects, I mean.”
His entire body went rigid. Even his horns seemed to tilt backward slightly. “Why?”
“Because it sounds incredible,” I said honestly. “I’ve read about the Labyrinth of Crete since I was a kid, but I’ve never seen a modern interpretation. Especially not one designed by…” I gestured vaguely at his horns, then immediately regretted it.
“A monster?” His voice dropped dangerously low.
“A minotaur,” I corrected quickly. “Someone with, uh, personal historical connections to the concept.”
He studied me for several long moments, his dark eyes unreadable. I focused on not fidgeting under his gaze, though my heart raced like a startled rabbit’s.
“No,” he finally said.
“Oh.” I tried to hide my disappointment. Of course he wouldn’t want some random, clumsy human invading his space. “I understand.”
“You don’t,” he countered. “My home is private. It’s not a tourist attraction.”
“I didn’t mean to suggest—”
“Humans who learn about us either run screaming or want to dissect us,” he continued, his voice flat. “Sometimes both.”
“I’m not running,” I pointed out.
“Yet.”
I straightened my spine, channeling my inner stern librarian. “Mr.… um, what’s your last name, actually?”
He blinked, momentarily thrown by the formal address. “Just Asterion. But I prefer Rion.”
“Well, Rion, I’ll have you know that I’ve spent my entire adult life around books. I’ve devoted myself to knowledge, preservation, and understanding. I don’t run from things that challenge my worldview. I study them.”
He snorted. “I’m not one of your dusty books.”
“Obviously not. You’re much more interesting.
” I took another bite of cookie for courage.
“And, if you’re worried I’ll expose your existence, I’ll sign an NDA or blood oath or whatever you prefer.
I’ve been the keeper of plenty of secrets—ask anyone about Mrs. Henderson’s overdue romance novel situation. ”
The corner of his mouth twitched. Had I almost made him smile?
“Look,” I continued, “I understand your hesitation. But I’m genuinely interested in your work.
Not because you’re a… minotaur,” I lowered my voice on the last word, “but because what you described sounds architecturally significant. And,” I added, seeing his skeptical expression, “I promised to help with my ladder situation, so I owe you.”
“I haven’t helped yet,” he pointed out.
“You will,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “And I’d like to see examples of your work before you build something for the library.”
He exhaled heavily, a sound like wind through a mountain pass. “You’re persistent.”
“It’s a librarian superpower.” I smiled. “We have to track down patrons who’ve had The Complete Encyclopedia of Beetles checked out for three months.”
Another almost-twitch of his mouth. Progress.
The café had grown busier around us, the late evening crowd filtering in. Rion’s massive shoulders tensed further as a group of college students claimed the table nearest ours.
“This isn’t the place to discuss it,” he said abruptly, rising to his full height. My neck craned to maintain eye contact. “If—if—I were to consider showing you one project, there would be conditions.”
My heart leapt. “What conditions?”
“No photographs. No sharing the location. No bringing others. No touching anything without permission.” His eyes narrowed. “And you must stay within my sight at all times.”
The list felt ominously like the rules for visiting a dangerous predator at the zoo, but I nodded eagerly. “Agreed.”
He studied me for a long moment, then reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a business card. The thick, cream-colored paper bore only a phone number, the same one I’d been texting, and the words R. Asterion, Architectural Solutions in an elegant serif font.
“Text me your address tomorrow morning,” he said, his tone making it clear he already regretted this decision. “I’ll pick you up at noon.”
“Tomorrow?” I squeaked.
“Problem?”
“No! Tomorrow’s perfect. It’s my day off.”
He nodded once, sharply, then gathered his container of cookies, leaving the last two on a napkin beside my coffee. “Until tomorrow, then.”
I watched his massive body navigate carefully through the café tables, his shoulders hunched beneath his coat, hat pulled low. He paused at the door, turning slightly.
“Bring sensible shoes,” he called back. “No open toes.”
With that final instruction, he ducked through the doorway and disappeared.
I sat for several minutes, staring at the business card between my fingers, wondering if I’d hallucinated the entire exchange. Had I really just invited myself to a minotaur’s house?
By 11:30 the next morning, I’d changed outfits four times, rejected two pairs of shoes as not “sensible” enough, and checked my phone approximately seven hundred times to make sure I hadn’t dreamed yesterday’s encounter.
I finally settled on dark jeans, a soft floral blouse, and my most comfortable ankle boots. Professional enough to show I took this seriously, casual enough that I wouldn’t look ridiculous if we were trekking through construction sites.
For my architectural tour with a minotaur. Just a normal Tuesday in the life of Clara Bellweather.
I’d barely slept. After returning home from the café, I’d pulled every mythology book from my shelves and spent hours refreshing my knowledge of minotaurs, labyrinths, and Greek mythology.
Most accounts portrayed the Minotaur—capital M, the original one—as a mindless, bloodthirsty beast who devoured Athenian youths. Clearly, that wasn’t the full story.
Was Rion a descendant of the original Minotaur? A different species entirely? Did he eat humans? The biscuits suggested he enjoyed normal food, at least.
I’d finally fallen asleep around 3:00 AM, mythology books scattered across my bed, only to jolt awake at 7:00 with a new worry: What did one wear to visit a minotaur’s labyrinth?
Now, pacing my living room, I glanced at my reflection in the hallway mirror. Hair tamed into a neat braid, minimal makeup, tailored clothing. I looked normal. Sensible. Not at all like someone about to embark on an adventure beyond the boundaries of what she thought possible.
My phone buzzed with a text.
Approaching your building.
No greeting, no emoji. Pure Rion.
I grabbed my purse, double-checking for essentials: wallet, keys, phone, mini first-aid kit (just in case), breath mints (why did I add those?), and a small notebook and pen. Then I locked my apartment and hurried downstairs.
Outside, parked against the curb, sat a large black pickup truck with tinted windows. As I approached, the passenger window lowered just enough for me to see Rion’s eyes peering out.
“Get in,” he called.
I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and opened the door.
The truck’s interior was immaculate—black leather seats, a polished dashboard, and not a crumb or coffee stain in sight.
He filled the driver’s seat completely, his horns nearly brushing the roof.
He wore a dark grey Henley that stretched across his broad chest and jeans that looked custom-made to accommodate his powerful lower half.
No hat today, his horns gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the windshield.
“Hi,” I said brightly, climbing in beside him. “Thanks for picking me up.”
He grunted in response, putting the truck in drive as soon as my seatbelt clicked. “It’s about forty minutes outside the city,” he said. “Last chance to change your mind.”
I turned to face him. “I’m not changing my mind.”
His eyes flickered to mine, then back to the road. “We’ll see.”
As we merged onto the highway, I tried to think of something to break the tense silence. “So… how long have you been building labyrinths?”
“Twenty-three years professionally. Longer as a hobby.”
“That’s impressive. Did you study architecture?”
He shifted slightly. “I took some classes at NYU, then did specialized apprenticeships.”
I blinked. “You went to NYU? How did you…?” I gestured vaguely at his distinctly non-human appearance.
“Most of my classes were remote. When I needed to be there and couldn’t disguise my appearance, I used a glamour,” he said brusquely. “A type of magical concealment. But it’s only good for a limited use and it drains energy. Most people don’t want to believe what they see anyway.”
“Magical concealment—” I felt my worldview expanding by the second. “So magic is real too?”
He shot me a look that clearly questioned my intelligence. “You’re sitting next to a minotaur.”
“Right. Sorry, it’s just… a lot to process.”
We lapsed into silence again as the city receded behind us. I watched the scenery change from urban sprawl to suburbs to increasingly rural landscapes, trying to keep track of our route. After about thirty minutes, Rion turned onto a winding road that climbed steadily upward.
“Where exactly are we going?” I asked.
“Upstate. Private property.”
The road narrowed, trees crowding closer on either side. Eventually, he turned onto what appeared to be a dirt driveway, barely visible among the foliage. A discreet security gate blocked our path, but it slid open as we approached..
“You live all the way out here?” I couldn’t keep the surprise from my voice.
“Privacy is necessary,” he replied, navigating the truck up the winding driveway. “Humans tend to panic when they see horns.”
“Not all humans,” I said quietly.
He glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “You’re an aberration.”
“Thank you?”
The driveway curved sharply around a dense stand of trees, and suddenly, the forest opened up to reveal a clearing. I leaned forward, expecting to see a house.
Instead, I gasped.
“Oh my god.”
He allowed himself the smallest smile. “Welcome to my home.”
Before us stood not a house, but what could only be described as a modern fortress.
Sleek concrete walls rose from the forest floor in a complex, interlocking pattern that seemed to fold in on itself.
Floor-to-ceiling windows punctuated the structure at unexpected angles, reflecting the surrounding trees.
The building sprawled across the clearing, its full dimensions impossible to grasp from this vantage point.
“You… live here?” I breathed.
“I built it,” he said, and for the first time, I heard unmistakable pride in his voice. “Every wall. Every corner. Every hidden passage.”
He parked the truck near what appeared to be the main entrance—though with the building’s complex design, it was hard to tell. After we exited the vehicle, I stood rooted to the spot, trying to comprehend the scale of what I was seeing.
“It’s incredible,” I said honestly. “Like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
He adjusted his stance, his massive shoulders squaring slightly. “It’s functional.”
“It’s art,” I countered.
He looked down at me, and I could have sworn I saw a flicker of pleasure in his dark eyes. “Come inside,” he said. “The exterior is just the beginning.”
As he led me towards the entrance, I tried to calm my racing heart. I was about to enter a labyrinth designed by a minotaur—a scenario straight from mythology, yet utterly different from any story I’d ever read.
“Any last-minute rules I should know about?” I asked, only half-joking.
He paused, his hand on the door. “Yes. Don’t wander off.” His eyes met mine, serious and intense. “I’d hate to have to chase you.”
A shiver ran down my spine—not entirely from fear. “I’ll stay right beside you,” I promised.
He nodded once, then pushed open the door to his world.
Please don’t let me trip and break something priceless, I thought desperately as I crossed the threshold, following a minotaur into his labyrinth.