“Riiight,” Legate Jara said, ignoring the Witch who was now using her magic to separate the good pottery from the broken. “Well, seeing as how you admitted to being at fault here, Mr.—uh—Minostaur?” he asked, mispronouncing Minotaur again.

  Shit.

  Shit.

  SHIT.

  “Just call me Asterion.”

  “Oookay—yeah, so, Assteerayon, you just admitted guilt, which means you can be punished—”

  Why the heck could this male not say any of his titles or names correctly?

  Wait—did he say punished?

  “Punished? Punished how?” he asked, startled. This would not do. Asterion had a plan:

  Arrive in the Underworld

  Attend Speed Dating at the Underworld Cafe

  Find his fated mate

  Live happily ever after.

  Nowhere in his plan did it say he would be found guilty and imprisoned or banished from the very place he had hoped to make his home. This was not okay. He could not let this happen.

  No.

  No.

  NO.

  “It depends. Fanny? Do you wish to press charges?”

  “What would that mean?” the maddening Witch, with her tempting dress clinging to her high breasts and wide hips, stopped her progress and walked toward the men.

  Asterion felt his manhood stirring, and for the first time since changing, wished he had some article of clothing to cover himself with should she get the wrong impression.

  Would it really be wrong? His inner Bull asked.

  Yes.

  Snort.

  The maddening beast was actually laughing at him!

  Shut up.

  Asterion growled. He did not want anything to do with the shrew! It had simply been a long time since he’d seen an interesting woman. Yes. That was the reason he could not take his eyes off her as she waited, biting her bottom lip, and sticking her hip out, her hands prone, one on each side, while listening to the legate’s proposal.

  “Wait—what?”

  “If you two can’t work this out, Prince Asteroid, you will face punishment from Lord Lucifer himself. Not something I recommend, by the way.”

  Asterion gulped.

  He did not want that.

  Not at all.

  “My lady, please, a word?” Asterion asked, and Witch Fanny narrowed her eyes at him.

  He noticed they were a most unusual color, brown with swirls of mossy green and hints of yellow fire in the center. Her hair was full of glossy dark curls that looked warm as the fertile soil of the fantasy garden he’d imagined so many times in his mind. She was shapely as a woman should be, with bountiful curves that would fill even his large hands.

  Beautiful.

  “What do you want?” she asked warily.

  “I beg your forgiveness on my trespass—”

  “Wait! I can’t talk to you with your sausage flapping in the breeze, hang on a sec,” she muttered.

  “Sausage?” he asked, frowning as she blushed an even brighter shade of crimson that made his inner beast growl deeper.

  She was pretty when she blushed. Fanny turned and grabbed a cloth from a now empty, and broken, table, shaking it out before handing it to him. Her cheeks were burning, and Asterion bit back his grin.

  So, the lady thought his form a distraction?

  That was very interesting—not for the two of them, of course, but rather for other females. If she found his shape pleasing, then maybe others would as well. Promising news, indeed.

  “Okay, make it snappy, Bessie.”

  “Bessie? That is a feminine name.”

  “You don’t like Bessie?” she asked, eyebrows arching over her dark-lashed, multi-colored orbs. “How about Buttercup? Clarabelle? Dottie?”

  “Again,” he interrupted, eye twitching with the effort it took to rein in his temper. “Those are all female names. I am not a milk cow. I am the Cretan Bull, and you may call me Asterion.”

  “I know! I’ll call you Ass for short. So Ass, what do you have to say for yourself?”

  He was going to kill her.

  Smoke poured from his nostrils, and Asterion was this close to shifting. Especially once he looked over and saw the legate, Griffin Jara, trying—and failing—to hold back his laughter.

  “This is too good. Ass and Fanny. It’s like destiny!” the idiot Demon shouted, then snorted as he chuckled uproarously.

  “No fair! I was trying to insult him, not me,” Fanny shouted, and a shock of purple magic shot forth from her fingers, completely destroying the carefully gathered pile of shattered clay she had built.

  Asterion’s anger dissipated. Poor Witch. He did make a mess, and he should offer some way to repay her. He could not be banished. Not when he’d come this close.

  Fanny was screeching about her loss of property and the damage to the old barn, but from what he could see, the bones were still there. The structure was sound—mostly. It just needed a little cosmetic work. Luckily, Asterion had spent a few decades studying architecture and modern structural design. He’d even worked on castle repairs himself, including installing electricity and indoor plumbing—two things he’d been extremely grateful for—back on Knossos.

  He’d had to break up the boredom somehow. Now, it looked like all that time had been well spent. Some wood, some sheetrock, nails, bricks, mortar, and paint, and he’d have this place back to rights. He just needed time and tools.

  “I think I have a solution that will work for all of us,” Asterion announced, disrupting their bickering.

  “I hope you have deep pockets, Cotton ball,” she snarled.

  Was it wrong the sound turned him on a little?

  Possibly.

  But Cotton ball?

  Her tendency to call him obnoxious dairy cow nicknames had to end.

  Perhaps a demonstration of his mighty strength would change the intriguing Witch’s mind. He watched her gaze flick to his makeshift toga, and felt a smirk replace his frown. Whatever her issues, the female seemed incapable of taking her eyes off him.

  Her scent had sweetened with that short, blustering look, and he was curious as to the reason. He’d never spent so much time in the company of a woman—well, not unless she was a sacrifice to appease his monstrous appetites.

  Blech.

  He was curious and confused. Asterion shook his head to stop her witchery—for surely, she was weaving some spell to make him this befuddled. His focus returned to the legate, instead of the maddening, and somehow enticing, little Witch, and he spoke his proposal.

  “In order to repay my debt to Witch Fanny—”

  “Oh gods, please don’t call me that.”

  “Witch Fanny? But you are—”

  “Actually, if you are going to be technical about it, I’m a half-Demon Witch,” she interrupted and appeared bored, though the rapid pulse at the base of her throat suggested otherwise.

  “In order to repay my debt to the half-Demon Witch Fanny Meyers—there, happy now?” he asked, waiting for her to nod before continuing. “I offer this solution. I have no money on my person, but I can offer my expertise in rebuilding this, uh, barn-like structure, and seeing it returned to its former, er, glory.”

  That last bit was kind of a fib, seeing as how the place was not exactly a palace. In fact, it was quite old, and a tad musty.

  Aside from her rather questionable taste in lawn figurines—the gnomes were quite cute, but ponies?

  Really?

  Annoying, the whole lot of them.

  He could think of much more noble beasts than those pesky wannabes. She should offer her talents to creating sculptures of something strong, dependable—a symbol of potency and prosperous times.

  Me, of course, his inner Bull snorted.

  “You’re going to rebuild my shop?” she asked, clearly surprised.

  “Yes, if it pleases you, half-Demon Witch Fanny, and you, as well, Legate Jara.”

  “Well, I guess the bull is in Fanny’s court,” the Guard stated.

  CHAPTER 3

  “Oh, you are really proud of yourself for that one, aren’t you?” Fanny asked the idiot legate.

  “I mean, yeah. Kinda.”

  “What does it mean to have a bull in your court? Is this a legal hearing now?” Asterion queried, head cocked to the side.

  “He means ball, not bull,” she said, frowning at both the half-naked Shifter and Legate Jara. “The ball is in my court.”

  “Do I mean ball?” smirked the golden-skinned half-Demon. “Well, this seems fine, then. I will be off.”

  “Oh, hang on! Don’t forget these for Arachne,” Fanny replied, racing to grab the box of custom spider statues she’d made for his mate’s boutique.

  Thank goodness her uninvited guest only took out half of the storefront. He’d avoided the workrooms and kilns, as well as half of the store, including the register and the table with finished orders.

  Thank fuck.

  It was a wonder anything had survived. The man was enormous, and his animal was bigger than anything she had witnessed save for a Dragon, but those fuckers were gargantuan.

  Asterion was her problem now, but without anything else to fall back on, he was better than nothing. Waiting for her insurance company to fix things could take forever.

  She watched him standing there with the tablecloth she’d tossed at him tied elegantly around his body like some sort of Greek toga—a very short one—and frowned. The dress left much of his tanned, thick, Rugby player thighs on full display. She hated to admit it, but the dude was one fine specimen.

  Fanny gulped. She’d always been a sucker for a man with muscular legs and a tight butt.

  Fine, so she’d noticed.

  How could she not?

  Asterion had strutted about for a good ten minutes wearing nothing but his beefy birthday suit. Completely naked, she had to stare. It would have been a crime against Witchkind had she not. Anyway, the point was his bottom was in top shape.

  Ha ha—never mind.

  Totally Nibbleable.

  And if that was not a word, it should be, she decided with a sharp nod as she tried and failed to not check out his incredible biceps as he hefted up a huge piece of rubble.

  Down girl.

  She waved off Jara and watched the legate wander off to meet his mate. Afterward, Fanny pointedly ignored the seven foot tall monster in her space. She lived alone for a long time, and this, well, this was weird.

  “Witch Fanny? I have some questions—”

  “Look,” she said, finally addressing him. “I don’t have time to find the original plans for this place, and I have no idea what we will need to buy to rebuild. So, you can just go home, rest up, and we will start tomorrow. I have classes starting soon, and at least the workrooms aren’t damaged—”

  “I assure you, Witch Fanny, I know what to do. Besides, er, I have yet to acquire temporary lodgings.” He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck.

  He looked vulnerable, clueless even, and—dammit—now, she was invested. Fanny started to rub her temples, trying with all her might to ward off her incoming migraine.

  “Here,” he said, gently pushing her hands away and taking over.

  Lips pursed as if about to kiss someone, the big bullish man took over the medicinal massage. With a look of deep concentration on his too good looking face, he moved from her temples to her neck, and lastly, to her shoulders.

  “There, I believe that should feel better?” he asked, turning to look at her with eyes so big and brown she almost swooned.

  Wait.

  What the fuck?

  Fanny shook her head.

  She was so not falling for some beefy butthead’s womanizing hands, was she?

  Hell no, she wasn’t.

  “Yeah, okay Nellie, two feet of personal space, got it?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You and me, will have two feet of personal space surrounding us at all times. You don’t have a place to stay? Well, I live in the cottage just there,” she said and pointed to her tiny abode that sat a few yards east of the old barn she’d repurposed into her shop and workrooms. There were sheds housing the kilns in the back, and an overgrown lot to the side.

  “Is this space yours as well?” he asked, nodding at the abandoned lot.

  “Technically, it came with the barn, but I have no use for it since I am not in the planting business, I’m in the making sculptures and teaching pottery classes business. Anyway, I have a spare room and, though it pains me to offer it to you since you just destroyed half my livelihood, you are welcome to it.”

  Wait.

  What?

  Dang it.

  There went her mouth, running away without her brain again. But before she could backtrack it, his expression changed from uncertain to brilliant in a manner of seconds. He was even better looking when he smiled.

  How unfair was that?

  “Thank you, Witch Fanny!”

  “Just Fanny, pal—and remember you have to earn that room with your work here. I am going to be super busy replacing my inventory as it is, and I have classes to teach. Speaking of which,” she mumbled as a few of her morning lessons arrived.

  This particular group was there for her Kilning My Love class, where people signed up to immortalize their loved one in pottery. It was a sort of environmentally friendly, endlessly entertaining, and creativity inspiring art class for adults. Plus, there was booze involved.

  Yummy.

  “Hello, Fanny!” Demi, her favorite new client, came in for a hug, holding her famous Virgin Mary mix in a glass travel carafe. “I am so happy to see you! Okay, so from our class group chat, I know that Gabby is bringing jalapeno vodka, and Ari is coming late with muffins—whoa—giiirrrllll,” she said, drawing out the word. “Did you bring us a live model today?” The gorgeous female blinked slowly, her face splitting from the force of her huge grin.

  Fanny blinked as the woman’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline before she finally turned around.

  “What are you talkin—oh, fuuuuuck my liiiiiife.” Fanny pinched the bridge of her nose. Her migraine was coming back full force and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  Why her?

  Fanny watched in disbelief as her brand new brawny and boorish employee bent over, lifting half a felled wall with only his hands, while giving the entire Underworld a terrific view of his frank and beans—all beef, of course.

  “Get it, giiiirl!” Demi screech-whispered—if that was a thing—her gaze flicking to Asterion one more time, before giving Fanny a huge thumbs up.

  The other females lined up beside them, whispering and making goo-goo eyes at Mr. MooMoo.

  Grrrrr.

  Her Demon side growled, scratching to be let out.

  Uh oh.

  She never allowed that dark part of her to play with her clients. Demon magic and Witch magic did not necessarily get along. It was a wonder her parents had fallen so hard and remained in love for so long.

  She shook her head, trying to rid herself of this unnatural agitation.

  Why should she care if they were getting an eyeful of her Bull?

  Fuck if she knew—point was, she did care.

  “Okay, ladies,” Fanny said, moving to the front of the crowd and spreading her arms wide to draw their attention. “Please excuse our appearance. We are currently renovating after a little accident, as you can see—”

  “Appearances are fine by me,” another female whispered.

  “You can find your sketches from last class and a new stack of red clay waiting for you in workroom 1. Demi, can you pour the drinks? I will be in with you all in just a sec.”

  Fanny waited for them to file into the workroom before turning to face him. She should have prepared herself. Asterion was still turned around, reaching for materials, and damn, she had never wanted to get on her knees for a man so fast before.

  Holy cow—literally.

  The man was fine. Like super fine. His washboard abs glistened with exertion as he stood back up and lifted the heavy pile of debris easily. With shoulders wider than any defensive linemen, he turned sideways to fit through the hole in the wall leading to the yard. He returned, his pristine pecs pumped, triceps tremendous, and his traps unfuckingbelievable.

  She really, really needed to sculpt him.

  Asterion did not seem to mind the work, and she studied him for a moment, unnoticed. His face held a youthful air but was still chiseled and defined.

  The face of a warrior god—or a Shifter Prince.

  Sweat beaded on his perfect brow, framing his striking brown eyes in a glycerin-like glow reflecting light from the Underworld’s sky. Fanny watched, helpless to do otherwise, as he created organized piles of rubbish by size and shape, if she weren’t mistaken.

  Organized, strong, and hot AF—the man had so much going on over there, she did not know where to look first. Fanny only knew something was stirring deep inside her, and he was to blame.

  Asterion the Minotaur, you gorgeous Cretan Bull—what are you doing here?

  He was barefoot and wearing a tablecloth but working hard to right the damage he’d mistakenly done. Guilt assailed her. Sighing, she grabbed the phone from the wall and called Arachne at Metamorphosis.

  “Fanny? Is that you! You immortalized my babies!” the spider Queen shrieked happily. “Griff, just finished hanging them. Now, how can I ever repay you?”

  “I am so glad you like them, Ari, and uh, it’s funny you should mention that. You see, I don’t know if Griffin told you about my, um, houseguest—”

  “You mean, the Minotaur?”

  “Oh gods,” she muttered. “If you know already, that means everyone knows—whatever. No worries.”

  “Fanny, he’s an okay guy. You are safe. I mean, he is a little boorish, but he’s a Bull. What do you expect?”

  “You know him?”

  “Know is a strong word. Let’s just say I met Asterion a few times back during the old days. Crete was a real wild place back then,” Ari muttered.

  Fanny frowned. She knew her friend did not like to talk about the darker periods of her mortal life. It was more than decent of her to even bring it up just to reassure Fanny.

 

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