Centuria Books · Roots Entwined
Roots Entwined — Read the First Chapter
A dirt-witch farmer and a monster CEO must merge earth magic and honest consent to save a dying family farm from corporate sabotage.
Chapter 1 – Elderwood Secrets
The soil beneath Daisy Matthews’s fingertips murmured through her skin like a patient having its final say.
*Help us. Dying. Remember.*
Sweat collected at her temples as she crouched in what should have been their prized western field, her copper hair escaping its messy bun. The soil—brittle, lifeless, and gray—sifted through her fingers in a way that made her chest ache. This wasn’t the rich, black gold of her childhood memories, when this same earth would stick to her skin with what Grandma Iris called “the loving grip of the land.” That soil had smelled of promise, of life. This smelled of surrender.
“I’m trying to understand,” she whispered, splaying her fingers against the parched ground, pushing deeper until her knuckles disappeared into the dirt. “Give me something to work with here.”
Nothing. Just the faintest vibration, like the weak pulse of something barely holding on.
Daisy glanced across the withered field toward the neighboring property. The contrast was brutal—Harvestcorp’s perfect rows of corn stood tall and unnaturally uniform, a lush green that bordered on synthetic. The dividing line between their properties couldn’t have been clearer if someone had painted it: abundance versus desolation, with Cornerstone Farm on the wrong side of the equation.
Six years of higher education. A double major in arcano-agriculture and earth elemental science. She’d spent countless nights studying while her classmates partied, had endured being labeled the “dirt witch” because she insisted on testing soil samples by touch rather than machines. And now, kneeling in the failing heart of her family’s seven-generation legacy, Daisy wondered if any of it would matter.
“Come on,” she coaxed, closing her eyes to focus. “I know you’re still in there.”
The breeze lifted strands of hair from her forehead, cooling the perspiration that had collected there. Late August in Elderwood Valley meant brutal sun and infrequent rain—a combination that had never bothered Cornerstone’s fields before. The Matthews farm had always defied droughts, producing crops when others failed, as though the land itself refused to surrender to nature’s whims.
Until three years ago, when Harvestcorp had moved in and everything changed.
“Daisy! There you are!”
Her mother’s voice broke her concentration, the tenuous connection snapping like a stretched rubber band. Daisy’s head jerked up, a flash of irritation rippling through her that she quickly tamped down. Not her mother’s fault. None of this was.
Eleanor Matthews picked her way across the barren field, her practical boots avoiding the deepest cracks in the soil. At forty-nine, her mother had once been the vibrant heart of Cornerstone, her laugh carrying across the fields as she delivered homemade lemonade to workers during harvest. Now her shoulders curved inward, her once-bright copper hair—the same shade Daisy had inherited—dulled to rusty bronze and threaded with silver. Worry had etched permanent lines around her eyes and mouth.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Eleanor said, slightly breathless as she reached Daisy. “Your father said you arrived, but then you disappeared.”
Daisy stood, brushing useless dirt from her jeans. “Had to see for myself. Dad’s emails downplayed how bad it was.”
Eleanor’s gaze dropped to the barren ground. “He didn’t want you worried while finishing your degree. Thought we could turn it around before you came home.”
“This isn’t just normal crop failure, Mom.” Daisy gestured across the field. “This soil is completely depleted—no, worse than depleted. It’s like something’s actively draining its vitality.”
Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line as she glanced toward the Harvestcorp property. “That’s what your father’s been saying since they started their new chemical program. Their crops look perfect while ours…” She trailed off, the evidence surrounding them requiring no elaboration.
“Have you tried any of the techniques I sent in my emails? The mycorrhizal network enhancements? The elemental balancing protocols?”
Eleanor’s expression tightened, and Daisy knew the answer before her mother spoke.
“Your father’s not keen on experimental methods from textbooks, honey. You know that.”
“They’re not just from textbooks.” Daisy fought to keep frustration from her voice. “The integration of elemental science with traditional farming practices is producing incredible results in controlled studies. I’ve seen dead soil come back to life in weeks.”
“Well,” Eleanor said, her voice dropping to nearly a whisper, “he might be more willing to listen now.” She reached for Daisy’s hand, her fingers cold despite the summer heat. “The bank called yesterday. We have thirty days.”
The words punched into Daisy’s stomach. “Thirty days? Dad said we had until harvest!”
“Things changed. Fast.” Eleanor’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “After three consecutive failed seasons, the bank’s patience is gone. Your father tried to negotiate, but…” She gestured helplessly at the barren field. “They need more than promises.”
Thirty days. One month to revitalize soil that had been systematically weakened for years. By conventional methods, it was impossible.
But Daisy Matthews had never limited herself to conventional methods.
The whispers from the soil intensified beneath her boots, no longer fragmented but a unified chorus of desperation that crawled up through her soles and into her bones. The land recognized her—welcomed her back—even as it mourned its own decline.
“Where’s Dad now?” Daisy asked, already striding toward the weathered collection of buildings that formed the heart of Cornerstone Farm. The white two-story farmhouse with its wraparound porch stood resolute, if tired. The massive red barn—its paint peeling in curled strips—leaned slightly eastward as though permanently shaped by the prevailing winds. The smaller outbuildings clustered around them like faithful children, each serving its purpose in the generations-old dance of planting and harvest.
“East barn with the broken tractor. Again.” Eleanor hurried to keep pace with Daisy’s determined stride. “Honey, don’t go in hot. You know how he gets when you two butt heads.”
But Daisy was already mentally calculating what she needed: access to Grandma’s journals, soil samples from multiple fields, and most importantly, her grandmother’s workshop in the stone outbuilding that had been locked since Iris Matthews passed five years ago. The logical part of her brain—the part that had earned academic honors—was already formulating methodical approaches to soil regeneration. But another part, the part that could hear the earth’s whispers, knew this problem went deeper than science could reach.
The east barn’s massive door stood partially open, allowing a wedge of sunlight to illuminate swirling dust motes in the otherwise dim interior. The space smelled of motor oil, hay, and the distinct tang of her father’s frustration—a scent Daisy had known her entire life. Steady cursing emanated from beneath the ancient tractor where only her father’s legs were visible, protruding from under the engine block.
“Need a hand with that piece of junk?” she called, propping herself against a support beam.
The clanging stopped abruptly. After a moment’s hesitation, David Matthews slid out from under the tractor, his face smeared with grease, his eyes—the same bright green as Daisy’s—widening in surprise.
“You’re early,” he said, reaching for a rag to wipe his calloused hands. “Thought you weren’t coming until weekend.”
“Changed my plans.” Daisy crossed her arms. “Mom told me about the bank.”
Her father’s expression hardened as he pulled himself to his feet with a pained grunt. At fifty-four, David Matthews moved like a man carrying the weight of generations on his shoulders—which, in truth, he was. Seven generations of Matthews farmers had worked this land, had built Cornerstone acre by acre, season by season. And now, in his stewardship, it was failing.
“So now you’re here to save us with your fancy degrees?” The words carried more weariness than bite. “This land doesn’t need theories, Daisy. It needs rain and time, neither of which we have.”
“It needs someone who can hear what it’s trying to tell us,” Daisy countered, stepping closer. “The soil is sick, Dad. Not just depleted—sick. Something’s wrong beyond normal crop failure.”
Her father’s laugh held no humor. “Your grandmother filled your head with those stories. Soil doesn’t talk.”
“Then how do you explain this?” Daisy pulled a small glass vial from her pocket, filled with dirt collected from the western field. Even in the dim barn light, the unnaturally gray color was obvious. “This soil should be rich brown, teeming with organic matter and microbial life. Instead, it looks like ash.”
David took the vial, turning it in his oil-stained fingers, his frown deepening as he examined it. “Harvestcorp’s new fertilizer program is leaching into our groundwater. I’ve filed three complaints with the county, but their inspectors find ‘nothing concerning.’” He handed the vial back, disgust evident in his gesture. “Their lead agriculturist came out last month, some hotshot executive in a suit worth more than our tractor. Stood right in this dying field and told me my farming methods were ‘charmingly outdated but ultimately unsustainable.’”
“And you didn’t punch him?” Daisy raised an eyebrow. “You’re showing remarkable restraint in your old age.”
A ghost of a smile flickered across her father’s face. “Came damn close.” The almost-smile vanished as quickly as it appeared. “Science can’t fix this in thirty days, Daisy. Not when we can’t even identify what ‘this’ is.”
“Science alone can’t,” she agreed. “But I’m not offering just science.”
Her father’s expression softened slightly, recognition dawning in his eyes. “You sound just like her, you know. Your grandmother was convinced the land had a soul.”
“And you never believed her?” Daisy challenged.
“I believed she believed it.” He sighed, leaning heavily against the tractor. “When you were little, following her around with those notebooks, collecting soil samples, she’d tell me you had the gift stronger than anyone in Matthews history. That you could feel things in the soil nobody else could.”
Daisy’s throat tightened at the memory. Grandma Iris, with her silver-streaked auburn hair and hands perpetually stained with garden soil, teaching a young Daisy to press her palms flat against the earth and just listen. *The soil remembers everything, little one. Our job isn’t to force it to produce—our job is to remind it that it knows how.*
“I can, Dad,” she said quietly. “And right now, our land is calling for help. It’s been trying to tell us something’s wrong for years.”
For a long moment, David Matthews looked at his daughter—really looked at her—as though seeing past the stubborn academic to the little girl who used to predict rain before the clouds gathered.
“We’ve tried everything, Daisy,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically vulnerable. “Every conventional method, every organic approach we could afford. Nothing works. It’s like the heart went out of the land.”
“Then we need to put it back.” Daisy stepped closer, determination hardening in her chest. “I found Grandma’s journals in the attic last Christmas. Her notes about soil-speaking, about the old magic in Elderwood Valley—it’s not just folklore. The techniques she described align perfectly with what I’ve been studying. The intuitive practices she developed through trial and error are now being verified by cutting-edge arcano-agricultural science.”
David’s eyebrows rose. “You’re suggesting we use magic to save the farm? After spending six years getting science degrees?”
“I’m suggesting we use everything available to us.” Daisy held his gaze. “Science, tradition, and yes, the old magic that’s been in our family for generations. Grandma called it ‘remembering what the land forgot.’”
Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the barn door on its ancient hinges. Something in the sound—a whistle through the weathered wood—seemed to underscore Daisy’s words, a timely emphasis that didn’t escape her father’s notice.
“You’ve got thirty days,” he said finally, the fight draining from his shoulders. “If you think you can wake up whatever’s sleeping in this soil, I won’t stand in your way.” He turned back to the tractor, reaching for a wrench. “But I’m not counting on miracles, Daisy. I’ve gotten used to disappointment.”
The resignation in his voice cut deeper than anger would have. The David Matthews of Daisy’s childhood had been stubborn, determined, and above all, confident that the land would provide if respected properly. This diminished version—beaten down by years of watching his legacy wither—frightened her more than the dying fields.
“I’ll need access to Grandma’s old workroom in the stone outbuilding,” she said.
“Nobody’s been in there for years,” her father warned, not looking up from the tractor engine. “Probably full of mice and spiders by now.”
“I’ll manage.” She started toward the door, then paused. “Dad? We’re not going to lose Cornerstone. I promise.”
His hands stilled on the wrench. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Daisy-girl. That’s a lesson I learned too late.”
She pushed through the barn door into the harsh reality of late afternoon sunlight, blinking away the moisture that threatened at the corners of her eyes. The weight of seven generations pressed down on her shoulders, heavier than any academic pressure she’d faced at university.
Cornerstone Farm stretched before her—183 acres of Matthews history. The fields that had once rippled with wheat, corn, and heirloom vegetables now lay dormant, the irrigation ditches dry, the few remaining plants stunted and yellowing. Beyond their property line, Harvestcorp’s industrial equipment gleamed on the horizon, metal monsters that had replaced human hands in the fields.
Daisy turned away from the sight, heading toward the small stone building where her grandmother had practiced her quiet soil-magic. With each step, the earth’s whispers grew more distinct, crawling up through her boots and into her bones.
*Remember us. Wake us. Save us.*
“I hear you,” she whispered back, stopping to kneel and press both palms flat against the ground. For a moment—so brief she might have imagined it—a faint warmth pulsed up through her hands, like a heartbeat struggling to maintain rhythm.
Thirty days to reawaken what had been forgotten. Thirty days to harmonize science and ancient magic. Thirty days to save her family’s legacy.
Daisy Matthews squared her shoulders and continued toward her grandmother’s workshop, the key she’d kept on her keychain for five years already in her hand. Behind her, the soil retained the imprint of her knees and palms for much longer than dry dirt should have—as though the land itself was holding onto her promise.
Chapter 2 – An Unexpected Arrival
Daisy’s muscles protested as she straightened from her crouched position, having spent the last hour collecting soil samples from the eastern field. Three days into her thirty-day countdown, and the only discovery she’d made was that the soil contamination ran deeper than she’d initially feared. The earth’s whispering had grown fainter overnight, as though its remaining energy was being steadily drained away.
She tucked the latest sample vial into her canvas bag and wiped sweat from her brow, leaving a streak of dirt across her forehead. August heat pressed down, unforgiving, but the breeze carried a hint of something that didn’t belong—a subtle cologne that seemed distinctly out of place among Cornerstone’s failing fields.
The sound of tires crunching gravel drew her attention to the main driveway where a sleek black SUV had appeared, looking as out of place as a tuxedo at a barn raising. The vehicle alone probably cost more than her parents’ mortgage.
“Perfect,” Daisy muttered, straightening her soil-stained T-shirt as if it would make any difference. “Bank must be sending the vultures early.”
She trudged toward the house, determined to intercept whoever had arrived before they could upset her mother. Eleanor was already strung tight as a fence wire, and another bank official reciting foreclosure timelines might snap her completely.
Her boots kicked up small puffs of dust with each step. The earth felt wrong beneath her feet—hollow somehow, like walking on a floor with nothing but empty space underneath. Grandma Iris would have said the soil was losing its voice. Daisy tried not to think about how right she would have been.
As she rounded the corner of the barn, the world seemed to momentarily pause.
The man—if that term adequately described him—who emerged made the large vehicle look suddenly undersized. He unfolded to a height that had to push seven feet, broad shoulders stretching a crisp white shirt that contrasted with skin the warm brown of freshly tilled soil. His face combined sharp angles with unexpected softness: a strong, square jaw, aquiline nose, and full lips pressed into a thoughtful line. But what arrested Daisy’s steps completely were the subtle protrusions beneath his thick black hair, just visible above his temples—small horns, partially concealed but unmistakable to anyone with knowledge of magical bloodlines.
Her breath caught in her throat. Heat crawled up her neck that had nothing to do with the summer sun. Something magnetic pulled at her center as she stared, unable to look away from this impossibly beautiful creature who’d materialized in her driveway like a fantasy come to life.
Minotaur. Not full-blooded, clearly—his features were predominantly human—but the markers were there in his imposing stature and the way he carried himself, like someone constantly aware of occupying more space than expected.
The stranger adjusted his perfectly tailored suit jacket, seemingly unaffected by the heat that had Daisy’s T-shirt clinging to her back. Only when he turned and his dark eyes locked onto hers did her heart perform a slow, deliberate somersault against her ribs. Something electric passed between them—a recognition that made no sense, since she’d certainly never met him before.
Daisy would have remembered meeting a half-minotaur in a suit worth more than her student loans.
“Ms. Matthews?” His voice rolled over her like warm honey—deep, resonant, with an unexpected tenderness that made her toes curl inside her work boots. “Daisy Matthews?”
A shiver raced across her skin, raising goosebumps despite the blistering heat. The way her name sounded in that rumbling baritone made her suddenly conscious of every dirt smudge on her face, every wild strand of hair escaping her messy ponytail. Her tongue felt too thick for her mouth, her pulse drumming wildly at her wrists and throat.
She narrowed her eyes, instantly suspicious of her body’s traitorous reaction. “Depends on who’s asking.”
A smile touched the corner of his mouth, revealing a slight dimple that transformed his intimidating presence into something dangerously charming. Daisy’s stomach fluttered traitorously.
“Taurus Blackhorn.” He stepped forward, extending a hand that could have easily enveloped both of hers. His fingers looked strong enough to crush stone, yet something told her they could be gentle when needed. “Founder and CEO of TerraCode Technologies.”
The name hit Daisy like a bucket of ice water, though it did nothing to cool the heat spreading through her body when their gazes remained locked. TerraCode—the agricultural tech giant responsible for revolutionizing crop yields worldwide with their predictive growing algorithms and soil enhancement formulas. Their research was cutting-edge, their stock prices stratospheric, and their founder was currently standing in her driveway looking at her dirt-streaked face with an intensity that made her feel utterly naked.
“I know who you are,” she said, ignoring his outstretched hand though her palm tingled with the phantom sensation of what his touch might feel like. “Your company’s vertical farming initiative was the subject of my graduate thesis critique. I had a few choice words about prioritizing technology over traditional soil health.”
If her barb bothered him, he showed no sign. His hand lowered smoothly, as though the rebuff had been expected, but his eyes never left hers—those dark, knowing eyes that seemed to see right through her defenses. “Ah. The ‘Digital Agriculture: Salvation or Severance’ paper. Professor Whitaker forwarded it to me.” His dark eyes gleamed, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile that sent her pulse racing. “Your arguments were compelling, if occasionally misguided.” Heat flared in Daisy’s cheeks, turning them the color of summer poppies. “Misguided? Your algorithms treat soil like a mechanical system instead of a living ecosystem. You’ve reduced centuries of agricultural knowledge to data points and chemical formulas.” Her voice trembled with passion, betraying how much she cared about the land beneath their feet.
“And yet,” he countered, his voice maintaining that infuriating calm that somehow still managed to stroke along her nerve endings like a physical touch, “our methods have increased crop yields in drought-stricken regions by sixty-eight percent. Seven countries that once faced food shortages now export surplus.”
She hated that her body betrayed her with a flutter in her stomach when he spoke. The intensity with which he watched her—like she was the only thing that mattered in his world, like he’d happily burn down his empire just to stay in this moment with her—was as unsettling as it was intriguing. His dark eyes tracked her every movement, missing nothing, especially not the way her chest rose and fell with quickened breaths.
“At what cost to long-term soil health?” Daisy fired back, trying to ignore how his cologne—something earthy and expensive—teased her senses when the breeze shifted. “Your methods treat symptoms while ignoring—” She stopped abruptly, folding her arms across her chest, accidentally pushing up her breasts beneath her worn flannel shirt. His eyes dropped for a heartbeat before snapping back to her face with military discipline. “You didn’t drive out to the middle of nowhere to debate agricultural philosophy with me. Why are you here, Mr. Blackhorn?”
His gaze traveled past her to the farmhouse where her mother had appeared on the porch, concern evident in her posture. Taurus offered a respectful nod in Eleanor’s direction before returning his attention to Daisy. The sun caught in his dark hair, highlighting strands of mahogany that matched the rich tones of freshly turned soil.
“I’m here to make your family an offer,” he said simply, his deep voice rumbling through her like distant thunder. “I’d like to purchase Cornerstone Farm.”
The bluntness of his statement knocked the wind from Daisy’s lungs, leaving her momentarily breathless. Of course. Another corporate vulture circling their failing land, waiting for the perfect moment to swoop in. The fact that it was TerraCode—a company whose agricultural approach represented everything Daisy had fought against in her studies—made it even more galling. Even if its CEO had shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of her family’s troubles and hands that looked capable of both building empires and cradling something delicate.
“Not interested.” She turned to leave, then stopped, curiosity overriding her indignation. Their bodies were close enough now that she could feel the heat radiating from him, warming her skin despite the cool spring air. “How did you even know we might be selling? The foreclosure notice was just issued.”
Something flickered across his expression—too quickly to read, but enough to make her heart skip. “I make it my business to know when exceptional land becomes available. Cornerstone Farm has… unique properties.” His voice softened on the last two words, his eyes never leaving hers, making her wonder if he was still talking about the land at all.
“Properties that suddenly interest TerraCode now that we’re on the brink of foreclosure?” Daisy’s voice dripped skepticism, but her body leaned toward him unconsciously. “How convenient.”
“I’ve been monitoring this region for years.” He gestured toward the distant fields, his sleeve brushing against her arm, sending electricity skittering across her skin. “The soil composition here is rare—particularly suited to heritage grain varieties that have become increasingly vital to our global seed preservation initiative.”
Daisy’s scientific curiosity briefly overrode her suspicion. TerraCode’s seed preservation program was one of the few corporate initiatives she genuinely admired—collecting and protecting ancient grain varieties from extinction. But why would they target Cornerstone specifically, especially now when their soil was failing? And why would the CEO himself come, standing before her in custom boots that probably cost more than her student loan payments, looking at her like she was the rarest seed specimen of all?
“Our land is dying,” she said flatly, hating the catch in her voice as she admitted the painful truth. “If you’d done your research properly, you’d know our crops have failed three seasons running.”
Taurus Blackhorn’s expression shifted subtly, a seriousness entering his eyes that made them darken like storm clouds. “That’s precisely why I’m here now rather than six months from now. I believe I can help recover what’s been lost.” The way he said it—low and intimate—made her wonder if he was offering to heal more than just the land.
“With your algorithms and chemical cocktails?” Daisy scoffed, though her heart hammered traitorously in her chest when he took a step closer. “No thanks. We’ll save our farm our way.”
His eyes dropped briefly to her hands—dirt-stained, with a small cut on one knuckle from earlier fieldwork. Something in his gaze felt almost like reverence. Without warning, he reached out and took her injured hand in his. His touch was surprisingly gentle for such a powerful man, his thumb brushing just beside the cut with a tenderness that made her breath catch.
“Your grandmother’s way, you mean.” At her startled look, he continued, still holding her hand as if it were something precious, “Iris Matthews was respected in certain circles for her… unconventional approach to soil revitalization. You seem to have inherited more than just her copper hair.” His eyes traced the strands that had escaped her ponytail, dancing in the breeze around her face.
The casual reference to her grandmother set alarms blaring in Daisy’s head, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull her hand away from his warm grasp. How much did this man know about their family? About the earth-speaking abilities that Grandma Iris had nurtured in her?
“Mr. Blackhorn,” she said, keeping her voice steady despite the warmth spreading up her arm from where his skin touched hers, “whatever offer you’re planning to make, you can save your breath. Cornerstone isn’t for sale.” She finally reclaimed her hand, immediately missing his touch.
“Five million dollars.”
The sum hung in the air between them, impossible and absurd, as tangible as the crackling tension that had been building since he stepped out of his sleek car.
“What?” Daisy’s voice emerged as barely more than a whisper, her lips parting in shock.
“Five million dollars for the property, with the condition that the Matthews family retains living rights to the farmhouse and surrounding acre for as long as you wish.” His deep voice remained level, as though discussing the weather rather than offering a fortune for failing farmland. Yet his eyes never left hers, watching as the implications sank in. “Additionally, I would offer positions within TerraCode to any family members interested in continuing agricultural work.”
The offer was incredible, impossible—but as the spring breeze wrapped around them both, carrying the scent of soil and growing things and his subtle cologne, Daisy couldn’t shake the feeling that Taurus Blackhorn wanted more from Cornerstone Farm than just its dirt. And maybe, just maybe, more from her too. Daisy struggled to process what she was hearing. Five million was at least three times what Cornerstone would be worth even in peak condition. For land that currently couldn’t produce a decent crop, the offer was nonsensical.
“Why?” The question escaped before she could frame something more sophisticated.
For the first time, Taurus Blackhorn appeared genuinely uncomfortable. His massive shoulders shifted beneath his tailored jacket. “As I said, this land has… unique properties. Properties worth preserving.”
“That’s not an answer.” Daisy stepped closer, tilting her head back to maintain eye contact with the towering man. “Nobody offers five million dollars for sentimentality. What aren’t you telling me?”
The space between them crackled with unexpected tension. Standing this close, Daisy noticed details she’d missed before—the hypnotic swirl of spirals in his irises, the subtle texture of his skin that reminded her of ancient oak, the way the partial horns at his temples caught the sunlight like polished pearl.
Her heart pounded against her ribs like a wild creature seeking escape. There was something magnetic about him, something that tugged at her in ways she couldn’t rationalize. Her brain screamed danger, but something primal inside her recognized him—not as someone she’d met, but as something her blood and bones had been waiting to encounter.
Before he could answer, her mother called from the porch. “Daisy? Is everything all right?”
Taurus took a deliberate step back, breaking the invisible thread that had momentarily connected them. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation with your parents present,” he suggested. “The offer concerns your entire family.”
“Fine.” Daisy swept past him toward the house, her skin tingling where his gaze followed. “But understand something, Mr. Blackhorn—this land has been in my family for seven generations. We don’t just sell it to the highest bidder, no matter how pretty the number.”
“I understand family legacy better than most,” he replied, his voice warm against her ear, sending heat spiraling down her spine. “Some bloodlines carry responsibilities that can’t be measured in dollars.”
Something in his tone—a heaviness, a hidden truth—made Daisy glance back at him. For a heartbeat, she thought she saw a green glow behind those dark eyes, a flash of something ancient and powerful. But then he blinked, and it was gone, leaving her wondering if the August heat was affecting her more than she’d realized.
Her father had joined her mother on the porch, his expression hardening as he took in their visitor’s imposing figure. David Matthews straightened to his full height—still nearly a foot shorter than Taurus—and crossed his arms protectively.
“Mr. Matthews,” Taurus greeted him with a respectful nod. “I’m Taurus Blackhorn, founder of TerraCode Technologies. I’ve come to discuss a potential opportunity regarding Cornerstone Farm.”
“TerraCode.” Her father’s voice was flat. “You’re the ones behind Harvestcorp’s new growing systems.”
Daisy’s head snapped toward Taurus, puzzle pieces locking together with a click she could almost hear. Harvestcorp—their neighboring agribusiness whose fields flourished while Cornerstone withered—was using TerraCode technology?
“We license our systems to various agricultural corporations,” Taurus acknowledged. “Harvestcorp is one of many clients.”
Her father’s weathered face hardened, years of frustration carving deeper lines around his mouth. “Every season they expand, our crops fail more. Interesting coincidence.”
“Well, you can turn right around and head back to whatever corporate tower you came from,” David said, stepping forward. “We’re not interested in selling to the company that’s helping put us out of business.”
Taurus remained unflustered in the face of her father’s hostility. “I understand your frustration, Mr. Matthews. But I assure you, TerraCode’s interest in your property is separate from Harvestcorp’s operations. In fact, I’ve come to make an offer that would resolve your current financial concerns while preserving your family’s connection to the land.”
He outlined the same proposal he’d presented to Daisy—five million dollars, continued living rights, potential employment. With each detail, her father’s rigid stance softened slightly, the impossible sum working its way through decades of farmer’s practicality.
“Why?” her father finally asked, echoing Daisy’s earlier question. “What’s so special about our failing dirt that’s worth five million to a tech company?”
“Your land sits on what we believe to be an optimal meeting point for several key agricultural factors,” Taurus replied smoothly. “Soil composition, water access, and certain… energy patterns that our research suggests are vital for heritage grain cultivation.”
Energy patterns. The phrase sent a shiver racing across Daisy’s skin. Was he referring to the ley lines Grandma Iris had mapped in her journals? The invisible currents of earth-magic that she claimed ran strongest through Cornerstone’s western fields?
“I’d like to tour the property, if you don’t mind,” Taurus continued. “See firsthand what we’d be investing in.”
“There’s not much to see,” Eleanor said, speaking for the first time. “The crops are failing, the irrigation system needs overhaul, and half our equipment belongs in a museum.”
“Nevertheless.” Taurus’s gaze returned to Daisy, an unspoken challenge darkening his eyes. “I’d appreciate a thorough examination before finalizing any offer.”
David hesitated, then nodded curtly. “Daisy can show you around. She knows this land better than anyone.” He turned to his daughter. “Just the fields, mind you. No need to show him the outbuildings or equipment.”
The subtext was clear: don’t show him Grandma’s workshop or any evidence of the unconventional methods they were considering.
“Fine,” Daisy agreed reluctantly. “But I have conditions. No soil samples, no photographs, and no promises. This tour doesn’t mean we’re considering your offer.”
Taurus inclined his head, the ghost of a smile playing around his mouth. “Understood.”
As she led him away from the house, Daisy couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was about to change. Whatever game Taurus Blackhorn was playing, she sensed it ran deeper than a simple land purchase. And despite every warning flashing in her mind, she couldn’t deny the strange pull she felt toward him—as though some part of her had been waiting for him to arrive, even before she knew he existed.
Chapter 11 – Uncovering the Past
Daisy pressed her hand against her chest, feeling the hollow ache of exhaustion. The blood magic had drained her more than she’d anticipated, leaving her light-headed and shaky. Through their Guardian Bond, she could sense Taurus racing toward her, his worry building with each mile that separated them. His presence in her mind was like warm honey spreading through her veins—both comforting and electrifying.
She turned another brittle page of her grandmother’s journal, wincing as the paper crackled beneath her fingertips. Her eyes stung, raw and scratchy from hours of reading in the dusty attic, but desperation drove her onward. The answers were here somewhere, hidden among her grandmother’s sprawling script.
“Come on, Grandma,” she whispered, running her finger along the faded handwriting. “Tell me how to fight this.”
A lock of hair fell across her face, and she tucked it behind her ear with a trembling hand. The simple movement sent a wave of dizziness washing over her. God, she was more drained than she’d realized. But stopping wasn’t an option—not with Harvestcorp’s corruption spreading across her land like a cancer.
The attic creaked around her, boards shifting as if the house itself responded to her plea. Dust motes danced in the lamplight, swirling in patterns that reminded her of the frost symbols appearing across the farm. Her gaze fell on a passage she’d skimmed earlier, and something made her pause, return to it.
*November 18, 1973*
*The dreams came again last night. I saw our ancestor Emma standing beneath the ancient oak, her hands stretched toward a man whose face remained in shadow. Between their palms grew a sapling that quickly became a massive tree, its branches reaching toward the stars while its roots plunged deep into the earth. When I woke, the bedsheets were covered in soil though my feet were clean. The land is trying to tell me something about our family, about the magic in our blood that goes back further than any of us realized.*
“Holy shit,” Daisy murmured, her heart thumping against her ribs.
She straightened, suddenly alert despite her exhaustion, her body humming with recognition. This was it. This was what she’d been searching for. She flipped forward several pages, her fingers now steady with purpose.
*December 3, 1973*
*After weeks of research, I found it—the truth about Emma Matthews and why Cornerstone Farm has always been different. She wasn’t just any settler as family stories claim. The documents I discovered in the county archives show she arrived alone in 1843, purchasing this land despite numerous warnings about its “unusual nature.” Local legends called it cursed, but Emma called it “singing earth.”*
*Most revealing was her maiden name: Thornwood. The same family name mentioned in Celtic texts about earth-speakers who could communicate with the soil itself. Emma was fleeing persecution in Europe, where such gifts were feared. She came here to establish a new bloodline, away from those who would exploit her abilities.*
Daisy sucked in a sharp breath, her mind racing. Earth-speakers. The term hit her like a physical touch, as if her blood itself recognized the truth of it. She’d always had a connection to the land, had always known exactly what her plants needed before they showed any visible signs of distress. She’d thought it was just intuition, just skill born from years working the soil. But this… this was something else entirely.
Her hands trembled as she turned another page, hunger forgotten, pain forgotten, everything focused on the words before her.
*December 10, 1973*
*The most extraordinary discovery today. In the oldest part of the barn foundation, I found a hidden compartment containing Emma’s own journal and a strange metal container. Inside was a seed unlike any I’ve ever seen—iridescent, the size of a robin’s egg. Emma’s writings speak of “star seeds” carried by her family for generations, originating not from this earth but from somewhere beyond. The ancient guardians—beings she describes as neither fully human nor animal but something in between—were entrusted with protecting these seeds and the knowledge they contained.*
*According to Emma, these guardian bloodlines were scattered across the world, each protecting their own territory where the seeds had been planted. She writes of a prophecy: “When earth and sky are poisoned by greed, the scattered guardians shall find their earth-speakers, and together they will renew the covenant between humanity and soil.”*
*I believe Cornerstone Farm sits above one of these original plantings. It explains why our crops have always been hardier, our soil richer despite the passage of time.*
Heat rushed up Daisy’s spine, raising goosebumps on her arms. Her mind flashed to Taurus—his massive shoulders, his intense dark eyes, the barely restrained power in his movements. The way he’d transformed that night in the field, his human form giving way to something ancient and magnificent. A guardian. Her guardian.
“Son of a bitch,” she whispered, pressing her fingers to her lips. “It was always supposed to be us.”
A wave of warmth flooded through their bond as if Taurus had heard her realization, even from miles away. She felt his response—a surge of fierce pride, of rightness, of belonging that made her thighs clench and her breath catch.
Daisy’s heart pounded as the pieces snapped into place with satisfying clarity. She thought of Taurus—his towering form, his ability to shift, the minotaur nature he kept carefully controlled. Not fully human, not fully animal. A guardian whose bloodline had been searching for its earth-speaker.
For her. Only her.
The floor beneath her feet seemed to vibrate, resonating with the truth she’d uncovered. She quickly turned to more recent entries, her grandmother’s final journals before her death five years ago. Daisy’s mouth went dry as she read her name. Her grandmother had known—had seen her future, had understood what Daisy was meant to become before Daisy herself had any idea. A weight settled on her shoulders, both burden and blessing.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered to the empty room, blinking back tears. “Why make me figure it out alone?”
But even as the words left her lips, she knew the answer. Some truths couldn’t be told—they had to be discovered, to be earned. If her grandmother had tried to explain all this before Daisy was ready, before Taurus had found her, she would have dismissed it as the ramblings of an old woman.
She let the journal fall closed, her mind racing. The seed. Her grandmother had hidden one of the star seeds somewhere on the property. If Harvestcorp was attempting to corrupt the land, to poison the ancient magic beneath Cornerstone Farm, then finding that seed might be their only hope of fighting back.
She rubbed her eyes, trying to think through the fog of exhaustion. Where would Grandma Iris have hidden something so precious? Somewhere only Daisy would look, somewhere connected to their shared passion…
The greenhouse.
The small glass structure behind the barn had been her grandmother’s sanctuary, and later, the place where she’d first taught Daisy about heirloom seeds and soil composition. After Grandma Iris died, Daisy had been the only one who continued to use it, keeping her grandmother’s rare plants alive.
“The greenhouse,” she said aloud, the words solidifying her certainty. “Of course.”
She remembered the countless hours they’d spent there together, her grandmother’s hands guiding hers as they pressed seeds into damp soil. “Plants know things, Daisy-girl,” Grandma Iris would say, her eyes twinkling. “They remember what we forget. They hold secrets in their roots that would make your hair stand on end.”
Daisy had thought it was just a poetic way of talking about genetics, about how plants carried their histories in their DNA. Now she understood what her grandmother had really been trying to tell her.
She pushed herself up from the rocking chair, swaying slightly as blood rushed from her head. The room tilted, then righted itself. Shit, she was weaker than she’d thought. Through their bond, she felt Taurus’s presence growing stronger—he was getting closer. The intensity of her relief surprised her. In just a short time, his existence had become essential to her, their connection deeper than anything she’d ever experienced.
Her body ached for him in ways that went beyond the physical—though there was plenty of that too. Heat bloomed low in her belly at the memory of his hands on her skin, of his mouth trailing fire along her neck, of the weight of him pressing her into the mattress. But it was more than that. She needed his steadiness, his unwavering certainty that they were meant for each other.
As Daisy descended the attic stairs, journal clutched to her chest, a sudden crash from the kitchen startled her. She froze, listening intently. Her mother had taken a sleeping pill hours ago, and Jake had finally gone to bed after hovering anxiously outside the attic door. They should both be sound asleep.
Heart hammering, she crept down the hallway, pressing herself against the wall. The house was dark except for the soft glow of the stove light they always left on at night. As she approached the kitchen doorway, she heard shuffling, then a muffled curse.
“You said it would be on the main floor,” a male voice hissed. “We’ve looked everywhere.”
“Keep searching,” another voice responded. “The old lady must have kept records. We need to know how deep the root system goes.”
Cold fear spread through Daisy’s body, followed immediately by hot anger that surged up like lava. Harvestcorp. They’d sent people to search for her grandmother’s journals—the very journals Daisy had been reading all night in the attic. These bastards had invaded her home, threatened her family, poisoned her land.
“Assholes,” she mouthed silently, curling her hands into fists.
She retreated silently, mind racing. She needed to warn her family, but shouting would alert the intruders to her presence. The back stairs creaked terribly—she couldn’t go that way without being heard. Her gaze fell on her bedroom door, slightly ajar.
The window. She could climb out onto the porch roof and reach Jake’s window from there.
Daisy slipped into her room, easing the door closed behind her. Through the Guardian Bond, she sent a silent, desperate plea to Taurus: *Hurry. Intruders in the house.* His response was immediate—a surge of protective rage so powerful it nearly took her breath away. Images flashed through her mind—Taurus running through the darkness, his body beginning to shift, muscle and bone rearranging themselves into something more powerful, more dangerous.
*I’m coming,* his voice echoed in her mind, rough with fury. *Don’t let them see you. Don’t let them touch you.*
She shoved the journal under her mattress, then moved to the window, sliding it open as quietly as possible. The night air hit her face, cool and damp with approaching rain. As she climbed out onto the porch roof, her weakened body protested, muscles trembling with the effort. The blood magic had taken more from her than she realized.
The shingles were slippery with evening dew as she carefully made her way toward Jake’s window. A flash of lightning illuminated the farm, revealing the protective circle of blue flowers still glowing faintly around the corrupted field. The barrier was holding, but barely. Another flash showed dark figures moving at the edge of the property—more intruders surrounding the house.
“Fuck,” she breathed, fear clawing at her throat.
Daisy tapped lightly on Jake’s window, praying he wasn’t wearing headphones. To her relief, his face appeared almost immediately, eyes widening at the sight of his sister crouched on the roof. He yanked the window open.
“What the hell, Daisy?” he whispered.
“There are men in the house,” she said quickly, already moving toward their parents’ window. “Wake Mom and Dad. Don’t turn on any lights. Get out through Dad’s workshop in the basement—the window there has a broken latch.”
Jake’s face paled, but he nodded, his expression hardening with newfound determination. At sixteen, he’d always wanted to be the hero in his video games. Now he was facing a real threat to their family. “What about you?” he asked, gripping her arm before she could move away.
“I need to get to the greenhouse,” she said, surprised by the steadiness in her voice. “I’ll meet you at the Petersons’ farm. Go, Jake. Now.”
Her brother hesitated, his eyes searching hers. “This is about whatever’s happening to the farm, isn’t it? And that guy you’ve been seeing.”
“Yes,” she admitted. “And I promise I’ll explain everything when I can. But right now, I need you to keep Mom and Dad safe.”
He squeezed her arm once, then disappeared back into his room. Daisy felt a surge of pride for her brother—he was growing up, becoming someone she could count on.
As she continued along the roof, lightning flashed again, closer this time. The storm was approaching rapidly, dark clouds swirling overhead. The air felt charged, reminding her of that night with Taurus, when she’d first seen his true form standing in the rain. His massive horns silhouetted against the sky, his powerful body gleaming with rain, his eyes burning with a hunger that matched her own.
She had almost reached her parents’ window when her foot slipped on a loose shingle. Daisy scrambled for purchase, fingers clawing at the rough surface, but her exhaustion betrayed her. With a muffled cry, she slid down the sloped roof, tumbling over the edge.
Instead of the hard ground, strong arms caught her, absorbing the impact. The scent of cedar and cloves surrounded her as she was crushed against a broad chest, her face pressed into the warm curve of a neck she’d kissed a hundred times in the past week.
“Taurus,” she breathed, relief flooding through her body so intensely she nearly sobbed.
His arms tightened around her, one hand cradling the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair. “I’ve got you,” he rumbled, the vibration of his voice traveling from his chest to hers. “I’ve always got you.”
He set her gently on her feet but kept her pressed against him, his massive form sheltering her from the wind that had begun to gust around them. Lightning reflected in his dark eyes as he studied her face, his expression shifting from concern to rage as he took in her exhausted state.
“You’re drained,” he growled, his voice deeper than usual, betraying how close his minotaur nature was to the surface. His hands moved over her body, checking for injuries, each touch sending sparks of energy through their bond. “The blood magic. Daisy, you could have—”
“There’s no time,” she interrupted, gripping his forearms. The solid muscle beneath her fingers grounded her, steadied her racing thoughts. “Harvestcorp sent men into the house. They’re looking for Grandma’s journals. And there’s more of them, surrounding the property.”
Taurus’s eyes narrowed, a rumble building in his chest that she felt rather than heard. “Your family?”
“Jake’s warning them. They’ll go to the Petersons’.” She looked up at him, rain beginning to fall in fat drops that splashed against her upturned face. “I need to get to the greenhouse. Grandma hid something there—something that might help us fight the corruption.”
His gaze sharpened. “What did you find in the journals?”
“Everything.” She clutched at his shirt, fingers digging into the damp fabric. “I know what I am—what we are. Earth-speaker and guardian. It’s been this way since the beginning. Since Emma Thornwood came here with the star seed.”
Taurus went completely still, his breath catching. For a moment, he looked stunned, almost vulnerable—then his expression hardened with resolve. “I’ll get you to the greenhouse.”
Without another word, Taurus swept her into his arms, cradling her against his chest as if she weighed nothing. Through their bond, she felt his protective instinct surging, nearly overwhelming in its intensity. His steps were silent despite his size as he carried her across the yard, keeping to the shadows of the massive oaks that dotted the property.
“The things I read,” she whispered against his neck as they moved through the darkness, “they explain everything. Why I’ve always felt connected to this land. Why you found me after all this time.”
He turned his head, pressing his lips against her temple. “I would have found you in any lifetime, sweet girl. In any world.” His voice roughened. “The magic only led me to what was already mine.”
Chapter 12 – Unleashing the Wild
Daisy’s fingers trembled as she crushed the dried blue petals against the rough stone of the mortar. The greenhouse felt both sanctuary and prison in the growing storm—glass walls streaked with rain, lightning transforming the space into a strobing cathedral of plants and shadows. Through the Guardian Bond, she felt Taurus’s frantic approach, his fury and fear pulsing through her veins like a second heartbeat.
“Not yet,” she whispered, both to herself and to him. “I have to do this now.”
Her heart hammered against her ribs, each beat a countdown. The storm outside mirrored the chaos within her—wild, untamed, desperate. She ran her fingertips over the open journal beside her, tracing her grandmother’s familiar handwriting sprawled across the yellowed page. The Ritual of Earth’s Awakening. Not the Root Binding that Taurus had warned her against—this was something older, something her grandmother had discovered but never attempted.
Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the rows of carefully tended plants. For a moment, their shadows danced along the ground like specters, reaching toward her with leafy fingers. Daisy swallowed hard.
“I know what I’m doing,” she muttered, though uncertainty gnawed at her edges. “I have to try.”
The urgency burning through her left no room for doubt. The Harvestcorp men had broken into her home. Her family was fleeing. The corruption was spreading through their soil. She’d seen the dark figures surrounding the property, closing in like wolves around wounded prey.
Through the bond, Taurus’s emotions crashed into her—raw panic, determination, and something deeper that made her chest ache with sweetness. He was coming for her, running faster than humanly possible, but she couldn’t wait. The thought of him racing to her side sent warmth spreading through her despite the fear.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, knowing he would feel her apology through their bond. His response was immediate—a wave of panic and denial that nearly buckled her knees, followed by a surge of fierce devotion that stole her breath.
*Don’t do this alone!*
His voice in her mind was a roar, primal and desperate. She felt his body shifting as he ran, muscle and bone reconfiguring into his guardian form, hooves tearing up earth as he raced toward her. The possessiveness in his mental touch sent shivers racing along her spine.
She closed her eyes briefly, savoring the warmth of their connection—the one thing in her life that felt solid when everything else was crumbling. Her body hummed with awareness of him, even miles away. “I don’t have a choice,” she whispered to the empty greenhouse. “Some risks are worth taking.”
Too late. She was already beginning.
Daisy added a pinch of soil from each corner of Cornerstone Farm to the crushed petals. The dirt from the north field still smelled like summer rain; the east corner carried the tang of wild blackberries. West field soil crumbled between her fingers, rich and dark. The south corner—now tainted with corruption—left an oily residue on her skin that she tried not to think about.