by Ryals, R. K.
Your tears, Emma. Use your tears.
The voice is soft, firm, but not sympathetic. I look down at Conor, swiping my cheeks hurriedly. My tears. It makes no sense. But I have never been one to question things when there is no time to question them.
I let myself cry. I let myself miss my adopted mother, I let myself feel sad and desperate because of the other hybrids' hatred, my own fears. I let myself feel something for Conor. I like him and that's enough. For now, that's enough.
I remove the shirts from Conor's wound. The tears flow, and I sob as I lean over him, the blood-tinged droplets falling onto his side.
He screams. It is a haunting scream, controlled but painful. He struggles below me, and I am thrown backward. I try fighting my way back to him, but he is convulsing.
It is enough
The eerie words do not comfort me. My back is against the drex, and his leathery hide feels warm against my bare skin. He supports me, still keening even as his large, wide eyes watch Conor curiously.
Conor is thrashing but not as wildly. He is calming, and I rush to his side, my eyes on the wound. It's red, angry, but impossibly, miraculously, it is searing closed. I wipe at the blood even as I begin screaming for help. Conor's eyes are open, and he stares at me, his gaze full of disbelief.
"How?" he asks.
I ignore him, yelling even louder. My throat hurts, but I am rewarded with the sound of running feet. The drex stands, its body tense. And then suddenly, Luther is behind me.
"You just had to save him," Luther says with a shake of his head. He is amused.
I look over my shoulder at him. Emotions slam into me, and my eyes widen as I look into his calm eyes.
"You knew," I say. "You knew this would happen?"
Luther shrugs.
"I suspected."
"You bastard!" I spit. If I ever cared about my language, I don't anymore. Luther steps closer.
"You have made a drex into a pet, and you have healed your own Guardian. Leaving you alone was worth it. You make your mother proud, Emma."
I want to yell at Luther, to curse him a blue streak, but my upbringing makes the two words I want to say difficult for me. Conor doesn't have the same qualms. He speaks for us both.
"Fuck you, Craig," he says weakly.
Luther laughs as he leans over the gargoyle.
"How about them lines now, Reinhardt? Pretty bloody damned blurred aren't they?"
Chapter 27
Conor
Emma is still leaning over me in her beige bra, using our shirts to wipe as much blood as she can away when Headmaster Durand and Roach enter the small clearing. What they find is not a pretty sight. Luther has disappeared, and Emma's tears have left as much blood on her face as I have on my side. Between the two of us, we look like we have bathed in it.
The drex is lying docile at Emma's feet, and Emma's attempt at cleaning away the blood is only making it smear worse. I place my hand over hers.
"Stop, Em. It's fine."
I am looking over her shoulder, and I feel her eyes meet mine before she follows my gaze. Roach's mouth is gaping, and Mr. Durand looks disturbed. I feel suddenly protective.
"What the hell?" Roach murmurs.
I am weak, but I sit up, pulling Emma behind me for modesty's sake as much as protection. I can feel her trembling against my back, and I know the dogged determination she leaned so heavily on while we were under attack is now crumbling. I will never again see shy people as weak. I have underestimated her. Severely.
Durand moves toward us slowly, removing his suit jacket as he approaches. He holds it out to Emma. I take it from him, my eyes locked to his as I pass it over my shoulder.
"Where is Luther?" Durand asks.
I know by his tone that Luther was supposed to walk us through the entire training session, to step in if the situation got out of hand. The Demon has gotten the last laugh. He is long gone. This I know only too well.
"Gone," I say.
Roach is circling the drex, and I feel Emma tense as the creature growls. Durand stares at it.
"What has she done to it?" Roach asks.
I stand up slowly, Emma at my back. She has her hands on my waist, and I know she's trying to support me in case I fall.
Roach's gaze lands on Emma, his eyes narrowed and watchful, full of hate. I know this expression. I wore it once.
"We're not sure," I answer. "I asked her to control it, and I think when it attacked me . . ."
"I bound it to me," Emma interrupts, her voice strong. The hands on my waist are shaking, but her words are sure and steady. "I don't know how, but he is mine now. He belongs to me."
Durand's gaze moves between Emma and me.
"It attacked you?" Durand asks.
My hand touches the fading wound on my side cautiously.
"It nearly killed me. Emma has healing abilities."
It is all I say. I know without a doubt the Headmaster and Roach are condemning Emma in their minds for what she has done with the drex. She has not killed the Demon. She has it under her control. This isn't just astounding, it's terrifying. Healing her Guardian rather than destroying me is redeeming. She will not be punished. I'm not quite sure what passed between us in those moments when she was healing me, but I will not let them punish her.
Durand stares at me. I know he sees the resolve in my gaze. It's obvious I will protect Emma with my life. She protected me when she could have run, but I doubt she even considered leaving. Most hybrids with her powers would not have hesitated. Durand gestures at the drex.
"Kill it," he tells Roach.
Emma is suddenly screaming. She pulls away from my back, running to the beast before placing herself between Roach and the Demon. The drex's head lifts, and it snarls.
Emma places a hand on its head, using whatever power she has over emotion to calm it. Its head lowers, and it is quiet. Emma's eyes are glowing red.
Everyone goes still. Roach's face transforms, his teeth becoming the fangs he sports when in serpentine form. He is angry.
"You protect it knowing what it is? What it can do to men?" he snarls.
Emma's arms are spread, the suit jacket open as she stands guard over the Demon.
"It was created to kill. It craves flesh, but it doesn't kill because it wants to. It kills because its master tells it to," Emma argues. "I'm its master now. It won't harm anyone."
Roach laughs.
"Unless you tell it to. We're supposed to trust you, allow you to control a beast you could have kill us?"
Emma closes her eyes briefly. She won't win this fight. She's a Demon asking them to preserve a lesser Demon she could use as a weapon. It's impossible.
"I'll be responsible for them," I say suddenly.
Durand and Roach turn to me.
"And do what? Make sure she controls it properly? Are you mad? What are you going to feed it?" Roach asks.
I walk over to Emma, closing the suit jacket before standing before her.
"It can hunt animals. There is plenty of non-human prey in these woods."
"No," Durand says. "The risk is too great."
"It's a monster," Roach adds.
"He," Emma says fiercely. "It's a he."
I reach back and take one of her hands in mine.
"You're not helping," I mutter.
She snorts. It's low, and I almost miss it, but she definitely snorts. I look Durand in the eye.
"The creature can be as much as asset as a risk. Think about it. You know as well as I do Emma is proving to be more powerful than any of the hybrids that have come through here in the past two years. We train her, and the creature fights for our side as well."
Durand's jaw is tight. He looks between us, his gaze landing on our clasped hands. It's a bad move on my part.
"Back off, Roach," Durand orders. "I'm taking this before the Council. If they deem it necessary, the creature dies. No more arguments in its defense."
I nod. It's the best we can hope for. Emma exhales, and I know she's
relieved.
"Get back to the school," Durand adds. "Get cleaned up, and then meet in the courtyard. Marion is going to meet with some of the hybrids. A class on first aid. I think there's been enough fighting for today."
Durand sounds tired. Being headmaster of a school full of Demons can't be easy, especially when the hybrids' own Guardians would happily slit the hybrids' throats in their sleep. My opinion, however, has changed. Drastically.
Durand glances around our group before shaking his head and walking back into the woods. He trusts Emma. I have seen it in his eyes. Maybe he sees the same quiet willingness to protect, the same caring nature I do, but he doesn't think she'll use the creature against anyone who doesn't deserve it. Roach, on the other hand, has a different opinion.
"It hurts anyone, I'll kill it."
I stare at him, my eyes narrowed.
"What are you still doing at the Acropolis, Roach?"
Roach grins.
"You haven't heard?" he asks.
A knot suddenly forms in the pit of my stomach. I know I'm not going to like what he has to say next. Roach leans over, his face in mine. I'm taller, and I enjoy the advantage of height, my glare cold and calculating.
"I've been assigned to you."
I feel the anger rising, the emotion so strong I have to force myself to breathe.
"Gargoyles don't have Guardians," I say through gritted teeth.
Roach raises a brow, his laughter low and confident.
"No, but this case is opening a lot of eyes in the Council. I'm not here to guard you. I'm here to make sure you do your job right."
"Conor," Emma says quietly, her voice strained.
I know she's feeling my anger, and I try my best to rein it in. She's still learning control, and I'm not helping her any.
"Stay out of my way, Roach," I warn.
Emma is next to me now, her hand inconspicuously on my back. I feel calmer, and I wonder if she's doing something to make me less angry.
"I don't intend to get in your way unless you give me a reason to, Reinhardt. Just know that I'm watching you," Roach replies before slinking into the forest.
We watch him go, and I wait until I can no longer hear or see him before I turn to Emma.
"Let's go."
She nods, her steps falling in with mine as we move through the woods, the drex on our heels.
"Do you think they'll kill Ace?" Emma asks.
We are almost to the edge of the forest when she poses the question, the Acropolis' turret visible through the foliage. I stop walking.
"Ace?" I ask, although I'm afraid I already know the answer.
Emma nods, her hands gesturing at the monster behind us.
"The drex," she says.
I just stare at her, at her rust smeared cheeks, tangled hair, and wide, wondering eyes.
"Seriously? You named it?"
Emma's cheeks redden.
"I couldn't keeping calling him 'it'."
Her serious face makes me laugh, and she scowls. But I can't help it. The damned girl is beyond endearing. She's compassionate, determined, stubborn, irrational, and complex. And combined, it is completely and utterly irresistible. I move closer to her, my eyes searching hers. I don't think she's prepared for the thoughts running now through my head, but I'm having a weak moment and I choose not to ignore it.
"What I'm about to do never happened. Understood?" I ask.
Emma watches me, and I know she sees the heat in my gaze. If it isn't obvious, it should be. She nods slowly, swallowing hard. And I'm suddenly kissing her.
There's no time for regrets. One moment I'm running a hand over her grimy cheek, and the next my lips are on hers, hungry and firm. She is pressed against me, her lips as unrelenting as they are hesitant. She doesn't resist me, and I deepen the kiss, my hand tangled in her hair. I feel her tentative hand on my back, and I pull back a moment, my eyes on her face. Her gaze meets mine.
She swallows again, her cheeks flushed and hot. A lot can be said in a moment simply by staring. A million sentences can be said in a minute of silence. Her eyes are cautious and scared. She isn't ready for anything beyond friendship with anyone. Not now. Not when her entire world has changed. And my eyes . . . if she doesn't see regret, I know she sees guilt. I'm not just breaking gargoyle law, I'm shattering it.
"It never happened," she whispers.
"Never happened," I repeat.
And I am kissing her again. She is more confident this time, one arm around my neck, the other against my cheek. Her lips are firm, insistent, and I feel the loneliness in her embrace.
My arm tightens around her waist. In this moment, there is no aloneness. Only need.
My hand is on her cheek, her hand is on mine as my lips move over hers. It's the most emotional kiss I've shared with anyone, and I'm struck by the irony. Gargoyle and Demon. Fire and water. Together, the steam is explosive.
My hand moves under the borrowed suit jacket, my fingers roaming over the sensitive skin of her back, and I am deepening the kiss when I'm suddenly bumped from behind.
Emma stumbles, her back going against a tree with me leaning heavily against her. I push away, my hand on the bark above her head. Emma is laughing, her lips swollen from the kiss, and I follow her gaze to the ill-tempered drex snorting behind us.
"Now that's a chaperone," I grumble as my gaze moves back to Emma.
She isn't laughing anymore, but her eyes still smile. I rest my forehead against hers briefly before pushing away. She moves with me, my hand going down to take hers as we move to exit the woods. At the edge of the school's main garden our hands fall apart.
It never happened.
Chapter 28
Emma
It never happened.
Over and over I repeat this to myself as I shower. Conor is across the hall in the boy's bathroom and Ace is safely hidden in an old un-renovated part of the stables.
It never happened.
It's best I don't go there even in my head. Only a few days after discovering I am the half-mortal, half Demon daughter of Enepsigos, and I am kissing a gargoyle. It's not rational. It's not logical. It's mad. I want to talk to my mother but can't.
You can.
Her voice is suddenly in my head. The same unsympathetic, firm voice I had heard in the woods when I'd asked for help in healing Conor. It's not my adopted mother's voice. I turn off the shower and stand dripping, afraid.
"What do you want?" I ask.
To talk, the voice answers. I lean out of the shower and grab a towel, wrapping it around myself before stepping clear of the stall.
"Talk about what?"
Anything you wish.
"I don't want to talk to you," I say as I dry off, pulling on a fresh pair of clothes before facing the bathroom mirror. My wet hair hangs down the back of a clean, black t-shit. My face is pale.
I'm not here to hurt you, Emma. I'm here to help.
"Help me with what?"
The mirror before me suddenly ripples as if the surface is made out of water. I back away from it, my eyes wide as a young woman appears in the glass. She looks a lot like me, but she is "more" where I am "almost." Her hair is obsidian rather than just dark. Her eyes are so amber they are red, and her lips are full and ruby. She is wearing a black dress with a corseted top and long flowing skirt.
There is going to be an uprising, Emma. You will lead it.
I stare at her, my heart racing within my chest.
"An uprising?"
The gargoyles you are with are an elite group of warriors created by Heaven to guard mankind from evil. In the old days, it was a simple endeavor. Now the world is more complicated. Angels fell from Heaven, and the first Demons came to be. The world has become a mix of Exiled Angels, Demons, a single Naphil, and a race of half-Demonic people.
I stare at her, this woman, and I know she is my mother. My real mother.
"And this will lead to an uprising with me at its head?" I ask.
I am confused. Scared and confused.
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There is no balance, Emma. The hybrids are in danger. The gargoyles train you because you are not truly evil. Demons fear you because you are not truly evil. This has become a double-edged sword. The hybrids will have to rise above this. Unite. Do you think you coming into your powers now is an accident? Do you think meeting the gargoyle is an accident?
My hands are gripping the sink now, my nails scraping the porcelain.
"Are you saying you planned this? Are you saying we should fight?"
Planned is a callous word, Emma. I am not inconsiderate.
I stare at the mirror.
"How can I trust you? You're not a hybrid. You should want us dead. And why do the Demons keep having children with mortals if they fear us?"
It's a lot of questions, and I don't expect her to answer them all. She's already fading.
Even as a Demon, I am not linked to Hell, Emma. I earned my kingdom on the moon. Hell wanted new recruits for their armies. They thought they could create them by lying with mortal men and women. In a way they have, but they didn't count on any of you taking after your mortal parent. If you want more answers, find Alessandro. And trust your gargoyle, Sweet One. He's worth trusting.
And with this she is gone. My knuckles are white against the sink, my eyes shadowed in the mirror. There is going to be an uprising, Emma. You will lead it. I am no leader, and I don't trust Enepsigos.
"Emma?"
I hear Conor outside the bathroom door, but I don't move. I'm not afraid, I'm anxious. There is too much going on in my head, too many complicated feelings.
The bathroom door opens, and I see Conor materialize in the mirror behind me. He's wearing a clean pair of jeans, and a white t-shirt, and he's using a towel to dry his hair. He pauses when he sees my face, my clenched knuckles against the sink.
"Emma?" he asks.
He reaches out, a hand resting against my fist. Trust your gargoyle, Sweet One. He's worth trusting. My eyes meet Conor's in the mirror.
"I just met my real mother," I say.
Conor's hand tightens on mine, and he looks around the room, his body tense. I let go of the sink and place my free hand on top of his, pulling it away from mine.