The Minotaur: Fated Mates of the Old World, #1

By Veronica Dean

We were always told that monsters were real. I never really believed it until now.

 

My name is Nayli. Well, it used to be Nayli, back in my exiled human colony on an isolated moon. Now I'm just another inmate aboard this prison spaceship, headed for a hell planet.

 

It doesn't matter that I'm innocent; the Galactic Federation has mistaken me for one of its most dangerous criminals, and now my future has been ripped away. I'm surrounded by horrific monsters, and one in particular won't stop staring at me. His massive horns, rippling muscles, and intense, golden eyes make me feel so small. I don't know what he wants, but if he's in here, it can't be good.

 

As the guards lose control of the ship and the monsters are released, I realize that this brooding warrior might be the only chance I have at survival. But, he doesn't just want to help me, he wants to possess me.

All I have known is loneliness. All he has known is bloodshed. Somehow, our destinies have become intertwined.

Each installment in the Fated Mates of the Old World series contains brave, strong-willed heroines and brooding, possessive alien warriors bound together by exhilarating action and steamy romance. The series is set in a universe where mythological creatures are not only real, they are our overlords. Follow each couple as they navigate this treacherous, often terrifying, world with only each other standing in the way of certain death, or worse.

Each book is full-length and standalone, however, they are best enjoyed when read in order.

No cliffhangers. No cheating. Happy ending guaranteed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Incidentally Quirky
• Release date: Dec 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798224712694

Book preview

NAYLI

It’s a damn cold one today. I can even feel it through my thermal suit, which is built to withstand low temperatures down to -200 Fahrenheit. The biting wind is making it almost impossible to walk in a straight line. If it wasn’t for these anti-gravity boots, I would have been blown at least 100 miles away by now. These 3-week-long storms are probably the worst part of living on a desolate moon. Actually, scratch that; the storms are the second worst part, after the mind-numbing boredom. I’ve lived here for my entire 24 years, and the most exciting thing to happen in all that time was the spaceship that crashed into the planet’s surface about 2 miles from my house. Even that ended up being a false alarm. It was just a meteor. But, for a few minutes there, my heart was racing with excitement. Amalthea has a population of just 340 people, and it was thrilling to think that someone new might have arrived, whether by accident or because they actually wanted to come here. In the end, though, it wasn’t to be. It was just a meteor.

I’m not saying my life on Amalthea is all bad. Life here is very peaceful. I have everything I need to survive, it’s safe, and I even have a few friends around. That’s more than many of my fellow residents can say. It’s just — a part of me, deep inside me, knows that there must be something more to life than growing vegetables in a tiny greenhouse in the middle of nowhere. Things were better when dad was around. It’s been 2 years, and I’ve done my best to come to terms with his death, but I still miss him every single day. I was always so bubbly and outgoing, but when he passed I entered a dark phase and have struggled to regain my former sense of optimism. Although now I can pretend to be normal - I go about my day and stay positive for my everyone else’s sake - I’m not sure I’ll ever be totally happy here again. Something has changed in me. I have a newfound yearning to escape this place, a yearning I never felt before dad’s death. The same faces, the same scenery, the same fucking weather, day in, day out; I have no life to build here, nothing lies ahead. Sometimes the monotony and stagnation feel unbearable.

Where could I go though? I am quite literally in exile. Not just me, everyone on this planet — moon, whatever. We are all, of course, taught history in school, so I know why we are here. It is for our own safety. But is safety worth being buried alive like this, left to live out our days in a stagnant state of limbo?

Speaking of being buried alive, if I don’t push through this storm I might literally never come out of it. The pale blue sand is blinding me and although I know my house is probably only 50 yards away, I can’t see a damn thing. Walking against the wind feels like pressing into a wall. It takes me the better part of an hour to finally make it to the black metal hatch that serves as my front door.

All the houses on Amalthea look the same, like little domes entrenched in the icy earth. Half of the structure is submerged underground, with only the top half peeking out. This design allows us to escape the elements, tunneling away from the harsh winds and cold temperatures of our planet’s surface. When I reach the hatch, I open it with the touch of a button and lower myself into the house. The first room is only about the size of a shower. It serves as a connecting room between the outside and the actual house, to prevent the blue sand from getting inside and never leaving. I close the hatch from the inside and wait for it to slide completely shut before moving again. Once it is fully closed, I take off my suit, shake it out a little, and take off my helmet. I hang them in the small closet right below the hatch and push the button on the opposite wall, which opens up the door to reveal my humble abode. Kicking off my boots, I head inside.

My house is like all the houses around here: a small area with a living room, kitchen, bathroom and bed, all fitted into a circular floor plan. My house holds one unique feature, and it’s furry and running straight at me: it’s Harlin. The big oaf clumsily barges into me the moment I get through the door. His snow-white fur immediately invades my nostrils as he places his paws on my chest and begins to lick at my face furiously. In the 3 years we have had him, this ritual has not changed.

Harlin was a gift from my great-grandfather, although not literally. He, along with my great-grandmother and my grandfather, were among the first humans to reach Amalthea. At the time, my grandfather was just 5 years old, but when he told the story it seemed as if it had happened to him just the other day. The humans had to leave the old world in a hurry, and most came with nothing except for a few treasured possessions tucked away in bags.

My great grandfather was a scientist, as were most of the people who made it here from the old world. It was only the well-educated that were chosen for the escape. They were not allowed to bring living animals with them, but my great-grandfather couldn’t bear the idea of a universe in which there were no dogs. He was able to carry a vial of canine genetic material with him all the way across the solar system without it getting harmed. Once here, after a few failed attempts, he was able to grow a dog fetus in a lab and created the first canine born on Amalthea. That first dog became a celebrity in the newly founded colony. Everyone clamored for a pet, but unfortunately the procedure is rather difficult to complete and it requires new eggs each time. Because the artificially created dogs are genetically identical, if they were to reproduce the natural way the risk of diseases and deformities would be astronomically high. Even in dogs, inbreeding can cause all sorts of problems. For this reason, my great-grandfather made my grandfather promise that he would never allow more than one dog to be alive at any given time, to avoid accidents that could threaten dogs and people alike. It’s been 80 years since he arrived with his stash of 20 canine eggs, meaning that the colony will own a single dog at any given time for the next 240 years. Harlin is the 8 th dog in that line and was created by my father only a year before he passed away. If it wasn’t for Harlin, I don’t think I would have ever made it through my crushing grief. It goes without saying that my grandfather kept his promise. A promise that was transferred to my father after his death and then onto me. A promise I intend to keep.

So, for that reason, this little goofball here is the only dog within a million miles, give or take. He doesn’t show any signs of loneliness though. Even though I don’t have many points of comparison, I can’t imagine a happier dog. A few people are a little jealous that I had the luck to inherit such a bundle of joy from my ancestors (when most only have a few heirlooms from the old world, typically books or knickknacks), but most people here are quite understanding and agree with my great grandfather’s reasoning. And it’s not like I don’t let people visit him or take him into the center whenever I get the chance. He even has his own little space suit for the journey. It’s adorable.

I push Harlin off of me but as he rolls on his back, I can’t resist give him a some belly rubs. After that, I make my way into the adjacent greenhouse to check on dinner for tonight. Everyone on Amalthea grows their own fruit and vegetables, which make up the entirety of our diet. Unfortunately, the moon itself is a wasteland, so we get no help from nature and are forced to rely on human intervention to survive. Without the technology given to us by the originals, there would be no way we would still be here. In my own little greenhouse I pick out an eggplant, two large red peppers, and a mango for dessert. In addition to vegetables and fruits we also have mastered growing nuts, and that is our only source of protein. For carbohydrates we grow a small amount of rye in the center of the colony, which is rationed equally between everyone. Out of this we make different kinds of bread and even a desert which looks a little like mud, but is surprisingly good. A recipe from the northern part of the old world, I believe.

I carry the ingredients to the kitchen, passing by photos of my family members; my mother, father, and the ones that came before us. My mother died in childbirth, so I never got to know her. All I have of her are a few photos taken with the colony camera and a little doll that she made for me before I was born. I sleep with that doll to this day.

Even though I never knew my mother, I had a very fulfilling upbringing. My father was a great man who taught me all about agriculture, science and history. It was from him that I learned of the wonders of the old world. He had never been there himself, but he was lucky enough to have been born before my great-grandfather died, and heard the tales firsthand from someone who had actually experienced the place. To hear him tell it, there was green as far as the eye could see. Vegetables and fruits just growing out in the open, beneath the great blue sky. A massive ball of gas, the sun, which warmed the planet allowing people to go outside with barely anything on. Water everywhere, flowing through the countryside surrounded by colorful plants. I never got tired of hearing the excitement in his voice as he talked of the place. That excitement has been transferred into me. I wanted to see such things for myself.

The crown jewel of my home is a drawing of the old world, done by my great-grandfather. It’s a landscape drawing, or so I’m told, but it resembles no landscape my eyes have ever seen. I have placed it across from my sitting area, so every time I sit down, I can look at it. I daydream about visiting that world every day. It is becoming an obsession for me. Especially, since dad died, I’ve been thinking about it more and more. I know that it cannot be quite as good as it sounds. I’m sure it has been idealized throughout the decades of living out here on the edge of the solar system, sure that there’s no way there can be a place of such beauty, such abundance. But I cannot help but dream that everything I have heard might be true, and that someday I might see it for myself.

The planet that our moon orbits is beautiful in its own way, but I have no wish to visit it. Jupiter, it is called and it is a gargantuan orb of chemicals and gas. Looking out at it reminds me of my insignificance. It is so large that it cannot be described. It is known that the planet is the reason for the extreme conditions on this moon, but there is hardly anything to be done about it now. This is my home, and this will be my home forever, I think as I chop up the vegetables and throw them into a frying pan. The one thing that this planet offers us is gas, and lots of it. If it wasn’t for that, we would be living on raw vegetables, which I guess would not be so bad, but fried eggplant is just so yummy.

I sit down to my dinner, with Harlin obediently by my side. My eyes are once again pulled to the drawing, like it contains a magnet. I begin to daydream of that green, watery planet and the exciting life I could live there. I know that expressing these thoughts out loud would be considered ungrateful and tactless, given that our people’s flight from the old world was an act of survival. Still, even with the array of monsters now roaming that world, I wish I could visit. Just once.

AJAX

I was a fool to think my life could have turned out any other way.

This is all I can think as I stare at the solid steel wall that so many other inmates have carved lines into, scratched and beaten until their hands bleed. I feel no need for that kind of behavior. I know exactly why I am here and there is no use fighting it.

Every choice I made in my life was leading me here. I’m not talking about some destiny bullshit. I’m not stupid enough to believe in that. It’s more like I can see my life as if I am reading a book. I am screaming at that stupid kid to not do the things he is doing, because I can tell exactly how it is going to end. It is going to end right here — in Xuchara Prison.

I have been in solitary confinement for going on two years now. I get out for about half an hour a day because that is required by law, but walking around a box in the sunlight is pretty much the same as walking around a box in the dark. I can’t really complain though. When I was in the general population, I had a target on my back from day one. Everyone always thinks they can fuck with the halfbreed, the fucking mutant. They found out soon enough that they were sorely mistaken. I am not someone to be trifled with.

For my entire life I have had assholes bigger and stronger than me wanting to take me down. Even as a child, the sons of the clan elders had it out for me. They were always the biggest kids, the most confident, the future leaders of the clan — what horse shit. They would beat me up every day, and I would take it, every day. These people were supposed to be my family, but they seemed to fucking hate me. It took years of beating for me to finally say, I have had enough of this.

When I finally said that, and began fighting back, the bullies beat me harder, but I fought back harder. I had something that they didn’t have. I was smart. They didn’t understand me, but I understood them. They would come at me with brute force and I knew that I was not strong enough to hold them off, but that if I isolated them, found their weaknesses, I could defeat them. You would be surprised how well you get to know people when they are pounding your face in for years.

I studied them for so long, figuring out how they fight, and how I could use it against them, until finally the day came that I felt I was ready to give it all or nothing. I was only about 13 at the time, but I could be wrong about that; my whole childhood is veiled in a thick mist in my mind, and I struggle to place things exactly. Four of the regulars came at me that morning: Castor, Eros, Charon and Deimos. All but Deimos had beaten me up untold times throughout the years. Deimos was a new member to their ‘crew’ and yet to prove himself. I had no quarrel with him apart from the fact that he apparently found these guys to be good company.

What comes next is a bit of a blur. I remember almost chickening out as Eros landed the first punch, but the familiar sting of pain and humiliation ignited the fire that had lain dormant inside me for so long. Castor moved to punch me with his fist like he always did, but as he did it I caught his arm and pushed down with all my might on his shoulder, slamming him down to the ground. I plunged my foot into his face, I don’t even know how many times, until every bone was broken. After recovering from his shock, Eros came at me again with his signature wide swing, but I caught him in the stomach as he bared his torso to me. The air was plunged out of his lungs and I quickly lifted my knee into his face, breaking his snout instantly. I grabbed him by the horns and threw him over my shoulder and plunged my own horn into his eye, making him scream in agony. Charon looked on in shock, but was not about to lose face in front of the new kid. He charged me horns first, like he did every time, and I side-stepped him with ease while simultaneously bringing my hands to into one fist and slamming him on the back of the head, forcing him to the ground. I straddled his back and pulled his horns up as far as my strength would allow until I heard a loud snap. He crumpled down and