Read Online Hotter Than Hell by Kim Harrison, Martin H. Greenberg - Free Book Online

away even as my own fingers trail down his throat, soothing a path along his shoulders. His skin is warm. His hands are warm, as well. He touches me again, palms resting against my spine. I am wearing very little. As is he.
    I open my eyes and tilt back my head, trying to see the Minotaur. I cannot. The fleeting light is gone. His face is lost. I am afraid that I am lost, as well.
    “Why me?” I ask him. “Why?”
    The Minotaur stands very still. “Because you know this. You know this pain. You know what it is to have no one. To be…no one.”
    My heart hurts. “And so? Because of that you think I can help you?”
    “I hope,” he says simply. “I hope you will understand. I hope you will have compassion.”
    “No. This is not real.”
    “It is real to me.” The Minotaur pulls me tight against him. “And I think it is real to you. More real than the life you have left behind.”
    It is true, but I will not say that. “And this? Your life?”
    “This is no life. Not here, in this place.”
    “You are confined?”
    “A prisoner.”
    “Why?”
    “For living. For breathing, for being. Much the same as you, I think.”
    “I’m not locked up.”
    “Are you not?” The Minotaur’s hands tighten against my back. “I think we are the same, you and I.”
    I close my eyes. “I am alone, that’s all.”
    “Alone,” he echoes. “This place would be sufficient, if I was not alone.”
    “So you brought me here to stay with you?”
    “No.” The Minotaur’s voice is rough. “No, I would not ask that of anyone. Only, there is a world beyond this darkness, and I would see it, find it, live within it.”
    “You might not like that world,” I tell him. “You might want to come back to this place after you’ve seen what you want.”
    “Like you?” says the Minotaur softly. It is impossible to know his meaning, to dare divine those two words. All I know is that I wish to echo them, to say,
like you
, or to add another word:
I.
    I like you
, I want to tell him.
I do not know why, but I do. And I am crazy for it. All of this, crazy
.
    But the Minotaur is right. He has chosen well. I understand him. Or at least, part of him. The rest is mystery. The rest is insanity.
    “I need to sit.” I slide out of the Minotaur’s arms to kneel unsteadily in the sand. The odd shadows of light are still gone; the darkness is profound. I cannot see myself. I am only voice, thought, sensation. But I feel the Minotaur crouch beside me, and savor the contact of his knee against my thigh, the heat of his sigh. Touch is a lifeline in this place. A reminder.
    “How long have you been here?” I wonder if I could survive in the oubliette, alone.
    The Minotaur rumbles. “Years. Centuries, even, though time moves more slowly in this place. I suppose millennia have passed in your world.”
    “And how do you live?”
    “There is water and food. Magic sustains the rest.”
    I look toward the sound of his voice. “Magic.”
    “It is what brought you here.” The Minotaur touches my hand. “The first time was the hardest. This time, easier.”
    I feel numb. “You have magic. You should be able to leave this place on your own, without me. There is nothing I can do for you.”
    “So you are an expert on such things now.” His tone is light, but I protest anyway, embarrassed. The Minotaur touches my lips with his fingertips. The contact startles me into silence.
    “I meant no harm,” he says. “And if you do not trust me, if you still believe this is all a dream, so be it. I cannot force your heart to change.”
    The Minotaur pulls way. I reach out, blind, and catch his wrist. I feel bold and foolish.
    “Dream or not,” I whisper. “I don’t want to be alone.”
    I hear his breath catch, and I listen for more, listen hard. There is nothing else beyond the two of us. A strong arm drapes over my shoulders. I do not flinch. The Minotaur surrounds; he lays me down against his broad smooth chest until we stretch close, entwined. I