I frown. “Show me now.”
The Minotaur sighs, and pulls himself from the water. I follow, stumbling in the dark. The air is cool on my wet skin. I shiver, and suddenly find myself draped in heavy furs, soft and warm. I hug the hides close to my body and listen to the Minotaur move through the darkness.
Then, light. A blue light, flickering and pure. It has been such a long time that I find myself momentarily blind, and I shield my eyes even as I try to see the Minotaur. He stands before me, so very still, and I cannot look away from the hard lines of his body, covered in scars, or higher yet, his face.
What little I can see of it. The mask is as horrific as my fingers told me it would be, though it covers only the upper half of his head; the bridge of his nose and scalp. All bone and fur, with giant horns stretching like arms in the air. I can see the straps holding it in place, cutting into his skin.
I also see his eyes. I move close, staring. Blue, I think, though it is impossible to say. Just that there is a soul in them, a soul I have only heard and felt until now, and I want more of it, so much more. I want to look into his eyes and hear him speak. I want to know what he sees when he gazes at my face, what he feels when he touches me, when he is inside me.
The Minotaur moves, and that is enough to break the spell. I look down at the source of light in his hands, and find a round mirror, complete with silver frame and handle. Light flees the glass, flickering wildly, and when the Minotaur tilts it toward me I see another world—blue sky, trees, mountains bathed in snow and sun.
“I found it years ago,” says the Minotaur softly. “I used it to see the worlds beyond the labyrinth. And there are many. Worlds upon worlds, gathered like beating hearts, warm and fine.”
I stare at the mirror. “You left me in the dark on purpose.”
The Minotaur glances away. “I thought you would fear me, otherwise.”
“You could have tried.”
“No. I did not dare.”
I fight for words. “You thought I would be disgusted, didn’t you?”
He goes very still. “And are you?”
“You can ask me that? After everything?”
He opens his mouth—stops—and his eyes turn somber. “Forgive me.”
I sway close, but do not say what I feel—you do not need to fear me, only trust me, please, before I lose my nerve in the light—and instead point at the mirror. “Is that how you watched me?”
“Yes.” The Minotaur tears his gaze from my face and holds up the mirror. An eagle soars; I hear music from beyond the glass. A flute, lilting and delicate. The image shifts; suddenly there is darkness again, cut with electric beams and men in uniforms standing over a sleeping bag. I watch them nudge my belongings with the tips of their shoes, and feel in my heart a pang.
“I could send you home again,” says the Minotaur quietly. “You are not of this place—not yet—and as such you are permitted to leave. The labyrinth does not hold every heart.”
“Doesn’t it?” I look him in the eyes. “How did you bring me here?”
“I willed it.” He holds my gaze with a heat that reminds me of his hands on my body.
“To free you from the labyrinth? You could have found another.”
“You and no other,” he says firmly. “There was never any choice. Not for me, once I found you.”
He has already said as much, but those are not words I tire of hearing. I touch his waist and slide close, until I must crane my neck to look at him. His jaw is strong, his skin smooth. And his eyes, caught behind the mask of bone, are most certainly blue.
I kiss the Minotaur. His arms wrap around my body, pulling me off the ground, and as my feet dangle and the furs drop away I realize something awful: I cannot imagine being without him. The Minotaur is part of me now. And I am part of him.
A scream cuts the air. We both flinch.
“Don’t send me away,” I say. “Promise.”
He gives me a hard look. “If you are truly set on helping me, we must go now.”
I say nothing—just nod—and the Minotaur presses his lips against my forehead—one quick hard kiss, full of something more than mere desire. He takes the mirror in one hand, grabs me with the other, and we run. I have no clothes, but forget to care as the air behind us cracks like a whip. Distant, but close enough. I remember how fast the harpies move.
“What do I have to do?” My voice is breathless. I almost trip and the Minotaur hauls me close. He says nothing and I ask again, tugging on his arm. His jaw tightens, and for a moment I see him as others might: the cruel mask, the horns, the giant body hard with muscle. Dangerous and powerful. A beast.