The Centaur in My Valley: Sweet Monsters (Coveted Prey Book 11) by L.V. Lane

Author:L.V. Lane [Lane, L.V.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Three Spires
Published: 2022-04-21T23:00:00+00:00

Hope

My horse is swiftly captured by Reggie, and the young lad takes off into the forest, while my cruel new master and mistress take command of me. Col fists me by the arm. The two young boys, formerly hellhounds, run alongside us.

“What if they won’t take her, Myrtle?” Col asks.

“They’ll take her,” Myrtle says, sounding confident in this.

Shaken by events, I tremble violently, blood dripping from my lip, where my witchy mistress slapped me. I know nothing of this Grimm, whose men the young lad has been sent to talk to, but I’m already convinced he’s the wickedest, most terrible creature. These people are about to hand me over to him for the promise of coins.

“But you know what Grimm’s like,” Col continues as we trek back to their farm. “Doesn’t always pay. Sometimes he just takes it.”

Myrtle huffs. “He won’t take her from me. Even the fallen centaurs are wary of my kind. Grimm or one of his men will pay what is due, then take the lass and be on their way.”

Her words offer no comfort. Moreover, they instill a greater sense of dread. What is this woman that would make the fallen centaur think twice before crossing her path? My thoughts shift to the two strange lads running alongside us in the forest, how they changed into hounds and back to human again. Are they sentient, I wonder, or something else entirely?

As the ramshackle farmstead comes into view at the end of the path, I worry about myself. Why didn’t I speak to Calden? Why did I flee? I know him, the centaur whose bed I have shared every night since I arrived, and he is no cruel master. If I’d said I couldn’t stay for the moon month, he might have let me go.

Only where would I go? This foolish flight was ill-conceived from the start. In my heart, I want to believe he will come for me, that he will rescue me like he rescued me from the raiders who sought to defile me. Only I have been ungrateful and have run, all because I do not think he loves me as I have come to love him.

There, I have admitted it, and that just makes me feel a thousand times worse.

As we reach the farm building, the two hounds are chained to either side of the front door. Here they sit in human form, staring out across the courtyard.

Inside, the home is worse than it appears from the outside. Dirt lingers everywhere, curtains little more than filthy rags, and stale rushes are upon the floor. Clutter covers every surface and most of the floor—books, scrolls, pots, jars, cloth wrapped bundles, barrels, and all manner of wooden widgets and assemblies. A sturdy wooden table is surrounded by a mismatch of chairs, one of which lies broken upon the floor.

My skin crawls when I see a rat scuttle across the hearth.

“Get a collar, Col,” Myrtle says, taking hold of my arm.

“Is that a good idea?” Col asks.

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