Mantras & Minotaurs

Book 3: Leviathan Fitness

by Ashley Bennett

Genres: General Fiction; Romance; Paranormal Romance; Romantic Comedy; Sports Romance

Synopsis

REVISED AND EXPANDED

A single mom decides to take life—and love—by the horns as she falls for a hunky minotaur in this steamy monster romance.

Pam Rollins is ready to date again after spending the last few years alone. Now that her kids have grown up and moved out, she’s committed to changing her life by starting yoga classes and, at her daughter’s urging, joining a dating app. She doesn’t expect much to come from her swiping, especially not a first date with buff, kind, and generous minotaur Alistair.

Alistair Reid is the kind of swoon-worthy monster that every woman dreams of. After one date, Pam is feeling hopeful in love for the first time ever—and Alistair has fallen head over hoof for her. The only problem: they live states apart and have thriving lives of their own.

However, as romance blooms, it becomes harder to envision a future without the other in it. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, after all....

Release date: September 1, 2026

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 304

Sample

One

Pam

January 1

Look back at the past, marvel at how far you have come.

Winding down for the evening, I sipped my boxed wine and let out a deep sigh as Harry kissed Sally in what was probably one of the most romantic cinematic kisses of all time. I mean, Billy Crystal definitely didn't do it for me, but Meg Ryan-that was a totally different story.

The holiday season had come and gone here in Briar Glenn, and I'd spent last night, New Year's Eve, alone at home watching romance movies with my cat.

Since the loss of my husband, Don, two years ago, a certain hairless gentleman had become my constant companion. My son, Reece, swore that Remi was some sort of alien, but the cat rescue assured me that he was a sphynx.

"You know, Remi," I said to him, lifting the blanket he was sleeping under so he would have to acknowledge me, "that right there is true love. When you meet someone and you just know."

My daughter, Tegan, and her fated mate came to mind. She'd called me raving about the buff wolven the same day he'd helped her scrape wedding cake off the pavement outside my bakery. Well, it was her bakery now.

When Don passed, he left me his life insurance policy and a sizable pension from the Parks Department. It was more than enough money for me to live comfortably, and I was happy to pass on my business to Tegan. She'd been helping out at the bakery since she was a little girl. Truth be told, she was probably glad I was out of her hair.

I'd been feeling like that a lot lately.

Both of my children had their own lives. They'd been drawn to their fated mates by the goddess. Atlas and Tegan were engaged to be married, and Reece and Cyrus were, well, they were new puppy parents.

Everyone else around me was thriving. Living. But it felt like I was stuck in the same place, watching as life passed me by.

Don't get me wrong, I had my hobbies: reading, knitting Remi and myself matching sweaters, and volunteering at the library two days a week.

But there was still a void.

Yes, Don was gone, but his passing hadn't impacted me the way I expected it would.

Our relationship had been complicated since the very beginning. In high school, we were on-again, off-again, and when I got pregnant with Reece shortly after graduation, marriage seemed like the obvious step. There was no real honeymoon period because having a baby changes things. Suddenly you're responsible for this tiny helpless being, focusing all your time and energy on them. I always felt like Don resented me and Reece because of that. I got the sense that he felt like we ruined his life. By the time Tegan came along, Don had settled into fatherhood, but he always treated Reece differently.

There were some good moments, but they were outweighed by disagreements and nights spent with the kids at my mother's house. When you have kids and a life that is so utterly interconnected, especially in a small town, you're just sort of . . . stuck.

Seeing my children in such healthy, happy relationships made me elated, but every once in a while, jealousy crept in.

This was one of those times.

I grabbed my phone and scrolled my social media feed absentmindedly before pulling up my messages.

I typed out a quick text to Tegan, just like I did anytime I was bored.

Pam: Hi, honey. I hope you and Atlas had a great New Year's. Are you up for a chat?

My phone rang a few moments later.

"Hey, Mom! What's up?" Tegan sounded awfully upbeat for it being New Year's Day, but then again, she didn't really drink. Neither of my kids did. It made me proud, but it also made me question if Don and I were the reason why.

Without thinking too hard about it, I took another sip of my wine before answering. "Just sitting at home with Remi. Did you and Atlas have a good New Year's?"

She let out a deep sigh. "It was okay, I guess. We went over to Javier's house. Him and Fallon got drunk and wrestled in the front yard. Atlas had to break it up."

Javier was so sweet; I had a hard time believing it. "Are you serious? Is everyone okay?"

"Yeah. Atlas managed to calm both of them down and everyone was fine by the time the ball dropped, but it was still a stupid display of masculinity."

"Were your brother and Cyrus there?" I was positive the answer would be yes. Reece and Tegan had worked to repair their relationship over the past few months, and more often than not, they could be found hanging out together with their mates.

It helped that Atlas and Cyrus were best friends, too.

"Of course they were. They left before the fight happened, though. Reece said they had to go home to check on Beau. He is such a worrywart when it comes to that puppy," Tegan teased with a laugh.

"I still can't believe Cyrus surprised him like that. He is such a gem." I had all but given up on Reece finding a partner, but when he'd started training for the triathlon with Cyrus, it was obvious they had more than just a coach-trainee relationship. The two were mates, and for Christmas, Cyrus had surprised my son with something he'd always wanted but Don would never allow: a puppy.

"Yeah, he is. I'm still not sure Mr. Grumpy Pants deserves him, though."

I was mid-sip when she said that, my snort almost sending my wine out of my nose and all over my white knit blanket.

Her lighthearted giggle echoed through the phone. "What about you, Mom? Did you do anything fun last night?"

I answered as soon as the burning sensation in my sinuses subsided. "Well, I drank wine, watched romance movies on the couch with Remi, and worked on a new set of matching sweaters." Gods, it sounded so depressing when I rehashed it aloud like that.

"Mom . . ." Tegan's voice was heavy with concern, or maybe pity. "I really wish you'd get out more."

I did go out on occasion. Lunch with my friend Nancy, or dinner with Sue and Dale, Tegan's best friend's parents. But I knew that platonic relationships weren't what Tegan was referring to. She meant dating.

"I'd love to, but it's hard to meet new people when you live in a town like Briar Glenn."

"You know, there's this dating app Javier uses-"

I cut her off. "Don't you think I'm a little too old for a dating app?" I thought they were something used by young people to find hookups, not fifty-four-year-old women seeking companionship with the potential for romance.

Tegan snorted, which brought a smile to my face. She was definitely my daughter. "Mom, you're not old. I really think you should download it and make a profile. If you don't like it, you can just delete the app, and it'll be like it never happened."

I did want to see who was out there . . .

"Fine. I'll check it out. What's it called?" I transferred her to speakerphone so I could search for it.

"It's called Mate Match. It only allows profiles to message you if you've already marked them as a match you'd be interested in."

Huh. Well, it sounded like there was a certain level of safety and anti-harassment built into the app. "All right, I'm downloading it now."

Tegan squealed and I jumped, almost spilling my wine.

"You have to tell me if you match with anyone. Promise me you'll tell me?" she pleaded.

"I promise, but I doubt I'm going to match with anyone."

"Mom. Seriously? You're a babe. Besides, some younger men are into older women."

I tsked. "Oh, no, no, no. No younger men for me. They need to be my age or older-no exceptions."

"Make sure you set your age preferences on the app, then. Let me know if I need to come over tomorrow and help you with it, okay?"

I knew she was trying to be helpful, but I wasn't so old that I couldn't figure out how to set up my own profile on a dating app. How hard could it be?

"Will do, honey. Give Atlas my love."

"I will. And remember to text me if you match. I'm serious, Mom. I want to see pictures!"

"Pinky promise. Bye, sweetie."

I hung up the phone before she could get another word in.

Tegan seemed confident I'd find a match, but I wasn't so sure.

I peered down at my phone through my bifocals, the blue light reflecting off my lenses as I scrolled through my photo gallery, searching for a profile pic.

There were limited options. Me with Remi. Me with Reece and Tegan. Me with Atlas.

I didn't want to give the impression that I was already taken or that my kids were my entire personality. I mean, they were, but that wasn't the sort of information I wanted to advertise right out of the gate.

Eventually, I stumbled upon a picture Tegan had snapped of me last Christmas. I was wearing a rust-colored sweater I'd knit myself, a tight black skirt, and a pair of pumps that matched my sweater. My ruby red hair was streaked with gray and piled high on top of my head in a messy bun, my freshly cut bangs just barely touching the rim of my glasses. Even though the photo was a year old, it was recent enough that I still looked the same. And in the words of my daughter, like a total babe.

"Let's see here," I mumbled to myself as I uploaded my profile picture and scanned the categories.

Employment.

Well, I was retired, which was fairly uncommon at my age, but I supposed it was best not to lie about it.

Education.

That one stung. I always wanted to go to pastry school and get some formal training, but between Don and the kids, it wasn't in the cards for me. Let's just go with "some college." Surely, the pottery class I took at the local community college counted for something.

Location.

Briar Glenn, of course. For the most part, I was well aware of who was available to date here. At my age, there were slim pickings, but with the recent town revitalization initiative and all the growth Briar Glenn had experienced, maybe I'd be pleasantly surprised. To cast a wide net, I selected a radius that would include the three neighboring towns.

About me.

Hmm.

Do you include that you're widowed in your profile? What kind of vibe does that give off? What if they think I'm some sort of black widow, meeting men on dating apps and murdering them once my name is listed as the beneficiary on their insurance policy?

Gods, I'd been listening to way too many true crime podcasts.

I tapped a manicured nail against the glass of my phone, pondering what else to say about myself. This was always so difficult.

Ultimately, I decided to go with:

Widowed. Knitter. Avid reader of romance books. Film buff. Former wedding cake baker and pastry shop owner. Mom to two amazing adult children (and one hairless cat). Looking for companionship with the potential for something more.

Sweet and concise.

Just like me.

Remi ambled back in from the kitchen and jumped onto my lap as I set the age range for acceptable matches.

"What do you think, Rem? Should I open it up to younger men? Is sixty too old? I mean forty is the new thirty, so fifty must be the new forty, making sixty the new fifty. I'm fifty-four, so it's only a six-year age difference."

The tiny wrinkled gremlin stared up at me, his wide eyes unblinking.

"All right, forty-five to sixty it is."

Was I really one of those people who stayed at home and asked their cat rhetorical questions?

The answer was yes, yes I was.

Once I'd set the parameters for appropriate matches, I watched eagerly as a loading bar flashed across the screen. This was the part I was most excited about. I'd heard about the swiping, and I was anxious to experience it for myself.

The first profile suggested for me was a human man in his late forties. He was cute. His black hair was in a tight crew cut that fit his chiseled features, and the beginnings of crow's-feet formed in the corners of his deep brown eyes when he smiled. According to his bio, he was a mechanical engineer whose hobbies included reading and watching movies, but he was in an open relationship.

I admired folks who could do open relationships, but it wasn't my style. Even though I was looking for something casual, I wasn't too keen on sharing a partner. Apparently, all those years of monogamy had really done a number on me.

Photo after photo passed on the screen as I swiped left on pretty much every profile. A guy in his fifties who worked as a Rod Stewart impersonator. A gargoyle who owned a cranberry bog. A sixty-year-old naga who performed with a traveling Shakespeare group. They were certainly interesting individuals, but nothing about them really drew me in.

Until a candid shot of a curly-haired minotaur caught my attention.

His hair was a light cream color, full of cowlicks that swirled in all different directions. A set of ridged deep brown horns curled over the top of his head, running across his fluffy eyebrows and connecting above his snout. His dusty pink nose was adorned with a shiny gold ring, the type you'd commonly see on a bull. A buffalo plaid shirt stretched across his barrel chest, with a tuft of hair sprinkled with grays sticking out from beneath the unbuttoned collar.

Gods, he was handsome.

Another photo showed him standing next to an elevation marker on a rocky mountainside. A backpack was slung over his broad shoulders, and a wide grin was plastered to his face as he gave the camera an enthusiastic thumbs-up. It appeared he was quite the outdoorsman.

The third photo showed him sipping from a tiny espresso cup with his pinky out in a display of civility.

So, he was a caffeine guy.

Now that I could get behind.

According to his profile, his name was Alistair.

Alistair.

How distinguished.

He was a fifty-five-year-old divorcé who worked in the agricultural industry. A suspicious maple-like leaf graced that portion of his profile . . . Did that mean he worked in the cannabis industry?

Although I'd embraced the whole grunge aesthetic in the '90s, I'd never smoked pot before . . . How would that even work?