My whole life I have been the property of evil beings.Until the love of a minotaur freed my soul.

I’d lived under the shadow of Dark Elf oppression on the alien planet of Protheka for so long that my spirit was almost broken until I found Romas.

He was the survivor of a shipwreck.

I nursed him back to health.

He was an honorable warrior. Savage, fierce, and yet filled with great tenderness.

My heart became his. My body soon followed.

But my beloved had a price on his head.
And now the Dark Elves have come to collect it.

They’ve made one fatal mistake, however.
If you’re going to take this bull by the horns then you need to be prepared for…

The wrath of my Minotaur mate.

Author's Note: This is a full length fantasy monster romance novel with an alien minotaur who towers over his human mate. Protheka is not a happy world, and certain situations may be too much for readers. But there is a HEA at the end!

Chapter 1

Romas

        The creak of wooden timbers, water splashing against the bow as it cuts through the water, and the pitter patter of bare crewmen’s feet, are as familiar to me as my own breathing.

      I sit in my quarters, the silver cylinder of a pen in my hand. I’m scrawling a missive to my commanding officer, Admiral Votoi, by the flickering light of oil lanterns. The lanterns sway with the motions of my ship as it sails back toward Milthar. 

Home. 

Shadows and light dance across the thick, leathern parchment pinned to my desk by a spyglass and a dulled dagger I haven’t bothered to sharpen. It is a poor weapon, but an excellent paperweight.

        The meeting with the Orthani trade minister did not go well. They are demanding we make no tariff on goods imported from their lands, while crippling our own trade with an import tax of thirty percent.

        I stare at the words I’ve just written, scratching under the base of my left horn. I can’t wait to reach land and immerse myself in the steaming waters of the public baths. We had hit an area of dead calm for a day and a half before this, punished by the merciless sun overhead. 

I am not the only one feeling itchy, I’m sure.

“I did as I was instructed. I told the minister that Vhoig accepts our modest eight-percent tariff, and only charges an import tax of twelve percent. The Orthani trade minister called the Vhoig King a fool. 

He said that the minotaur people should be grateful he’s willing to do trade at all with a lesser being. I will not waste your time or mine repeating all the things he said. 

However, I think I can say with confidence the trade negotiations are not just stalled, they are dead.”

        “Land Ho!”

        I almost drop the fountain pen in shock. My wrist smears dark ink, blurring the words that I have just written. They are still legible enough, but I curse my own incompetence.

        Cursing under my breath, I rise from the chair and move to the door of my quarters. The door opens up onto the main deck of my ship, the Sojourner. The stars shine overhead, friendly twinkling companions. Most of the crew slumbers, save those on watch.

        And one yeoman spotter up in the crow’s nest. I stare up at him and bellow.

        “Yael!”

        I motion for him to come down. He slips down the rope netting and joins me on the rolling deck of the ship. He’s a young bull, only recently come into his horns. Good shoulders, but a better head. That’s why I’m so upset with him.

        “What do you mean, land ho? We will not reach Milthar until midday tomorrow at the earliest.”

        “It’s not Milthar I see, but a rocky island, captain. I just thought you would like to know about it.”

        “Island? I’ve sailed these waters for seven years, and I’ve never seen an island this far out. Are you certain?”

        “I…not any longer no.”

        I hold my hand out, and he places the spyglass in my palm. I extend the spyglass and hold it to my eye.

        At first, I think he mistook the hump of a rogue wave for land. Then, I see the glint of moonlight off a hard, smooth rumpled stone. No, not stone. Why does this look so familiar?

        The ‘island’ appears to be heading toward us, on a collision course. I see a hiss of steam escaping from where it meets the water line.

        “That is no island,” I say, my voice as cold as the blood running through my veins. “That is a Phaeston.”

        “A fire-tortoise? But their shells are scarcely as large as a shield.”

        “I sense dark elf sorcery at work.” I spit off the side of the vessel. Just the word tastes foul in my mouth.

        I bellow at the top of my lungs. "Alarm! Enemy off the Starboard bow!"

        My parade ground voice carries great projection. Officers are trained in how to speak from our centers, so we may be heard above the din of battle. All three decks of the Sojourner erupt with action. 

Sailors leap out of their hammocks and immediately seat themselves behind oars. Soldiers spring to action, throwing on their light, buoyant cuirasses of scarlet and readying their crossbows for battle.

        The ship can hold up to two hundred soldiers and a crew of fifty. Right now, we have only a hundred soldiers, and a skeleton crew. We were running light, trading security for speed. I had not expected trouble from the dark elves. Despite his bluster, the Orthani minister knows that they would benefit from trade just as much as I.

        It appears I could be mistaken, however.

        “Archers!” I shout above the din. The tortoise has increased speed, rearing more of its hump-like hide out of the water. I can’t see its head, but the conical shaped projections on its back now glow red. A magic born mistake, fire tortoises are as much rock and fire as flesh and blood.

         The small ones are notoriously hard to kill and have no natural predators. This monster might well be the death of us all.

         It might look hopeless, but I remember that nothing is ever truly so. I grab the amulet at my chest, a pendant stylized to appear as a spool of thread with a needle stuck in it. The symbol of our goddess Zukiev, The Great Mender. She who sewed our forebear Milthax whole once more.

        Great Goddess, I will not pray for my life, but if I must die, let it be with honor. Manu.

        The archers assemble in ranks on deck. Their commander, identified by a red plume on the brass helm atop his horned head, gives the order.

        “Fire!”

        The first rank of minotaur fire their repeating crossbows. Suddenly the air fills with blurring darts the size of my forearm. Their five shots fired, the first rank drops down to their knees and begins cranking back their weapons for the reload. 

Meanwhile, the second rank fires, putting their missiles in the air before the first barrage has even reached the target.

        I watch intently as the bolts rain down onto the turtle’s shell. To my surprise, some of them sink home, though most reflect off the corrugated surface. The turtle does not slow down in the least, or even seem to notice our attacks.

        We are like insects attacking a bird of prey.

        The turtle’s shell erupts into dozens of bursts of bright light. Hissing balls of molten rock streak through the air toward our ship, each one large enough for me to fit my entire form inside. Many arc overhead, dripping small gobbets which hiss and set small fires where they land on the deck.

        Some do not. One smashes through our mainmast, turning the upper half into burning splinters. As it falls to the deck, I realize the battle is hopeless.

        Minotaur are not fools. We have no fear of death, but also see no point in wasting the lives of soldiers and sailors for pride’s sake. It took the Milthar empire a long time to build those soldiers. They are too valuable to waste.

        “Abandon ship!” I bellow.

        The men look to me in shock. They have never heard me give such a command before.

        “Get moving, you laggards! Get lifeboats in the water.”

        My sub commanders literally beat sense into the slowest moving sailors. I turn to Kuvaka, my First Mate.

        “I want you to lead the evacuees back to Milthar. In the meantime, I need a dozen volunteers to engage in a holding action.”

       He knows that when I say holding action, I mean we are to sacrifice ourselves so the others may escape. He claps me on the arm and nods.

        “Aye aye, Captain. And it has been an honor to serve you.”

        I clasp his arm, and we bow our heads together in the ancient parting of friendship. Then he’s gone, barking out orders.

        In the end, I wind up with more than twenty volunteers. Many are older minotaur who know their days at sea and sword are nearly at an end. I could not ask for a braver group.

        “Never mind the oars,” I shout. “Man the cannon!”

        My men go to work, rolling back panels on the side of my burning ship. We are two fires burning in the night, our brightness blotting out the stars above. I do not hate this turtle, I only hate that my last mission before death was a failure.

        But…I will not fail to protect those lifeboats.

        The cannon’s barrel, ornately carved to resemble a dragon’s maw, extends out the starboard side. I feel the reverberating boom through my feet up to my stomach as it fires, a white ring of smoke left to drift in the night in its wake.

        The cannonball skips across the water once, twice, then strikes home. Our foe rears up in the water, revealing its scaled, fanged face at last. Its eyes shut with agony as a smoking crater oozes magma into the water. A cloud of steam hisses up between us, partially obscuring us from our foe.

        “Nice shot!” I shout. “Prepare to fire again.”

        The turtle sinks beneath the waves, leaving a whirlpool in its wake. The ship falls deathly silent, but for the crackle of flames and the creak of oars.

        “Did we drive it away?” one sailor wonders.

        “Maybe. Be on your guard all the same.”

        I look out to the port side. Small longish blots in the distance are all I can see of the lifeboats. The oarsmen must be working hard. I imagine certain death lurking behind them to be excellent motivation.

        Then, the waters around the ship boil. I feel the heat, bringing sweat to the surface of my skin. The creature is directly below us.

        “Prepare for battle,” I shout. “Prepare—”

        A tremendous crash, and suddenly I’m sailing through the air. My ship splits in two, each half rearing up in the water as the turtle’s shell pushes it skyward. It was like being launched from a catapult.

        I spin head over heels, then strike the water with enough force to drive the air from my lungs. I sink like a stone, even with my leather cuirass. The creature knocked me hundreds of feet into the air.

        As my eyes close, I feel content. I have done it. I have died with honor.

        I only wish I did not have to die alone.