by Ryals, R. K.
Chapter 2
Conor
Will sends a boulder in my direction and I force it down on top of the gargoyles. I am straining, my power screaming. The gargoyles are fighting back, and their power hits me directly as the boulder is forced back up. Will is suddenly beside me, and we are shoving the boulder back down. The first gargoyle hits the water.
I clench my jaw as he screams. The other gargoyle goes down, and Will and I break away. There are six gargoyles in front of us, their faces hard. Roach is among them.
"You would kill your own? You traitors!" Roach yells.
"Conor?" a voice calls, breaking into my thoughts, and I look up, my heart pounding, sweat beaded along my hair line. I can still hear Roach's voice in my head, and I shake it off. Traitor.
"You ready for this?" Will asks, hovering in the air quietly, his wings beating behind him as I sit perched on the limb of a tree near the hybrid's cottage. I don't look his way, my eyes focused on the old pasture turned training field instead. Bruno, son of Tephras, has been fighting with Emma for the past half hour, and although she's slow, she is also intuitive.
"We have no choice."
My voice is low. Will is silent a moment, and I know his gaze has moved to the training field before turning back to me.
"They'll do what's right," he says confidently.
I turn to my cousin, my gaze sharp.
"What's right anymore, Will? Have we done what's right?"
Will looks away, and my gaze moves back to the match below only to see Bruno slam Emma to the ground. It takes everything I have not to fly at him, to challenge him to a real fight, and I know immediately it's more a need to pummel someone rather than try and protect her. Will swings into the tree, his wings folded.
"After everything, you still question if what we did was right?" Will asks.
I keep my gaze on the field. Lyre is entering from the side of a low stone fence, her hands on a rusted gate.
I close my eyes.
"You don't have nightmares, Will?"
He is quiet, and his silence is answer enough.
"Maybe I'm confused," I say, my eyes swinging to his. "I think back, and I know I would have made the same choice. I would have led the hybrids out of the Acropolis regardless. What the council was doing there was wrong. But we killed our own to protect them. Does that make us any better?"
Will's eyes are downcast, one hand gripping a limb so hard his knuckles are mottled red and white. The air is damp, the day cloudy. It's sometime past mid-afternoon, and the weather suits my mood. My leg smarts from the feel of rain, but I know it will hold off and pass through. The air is not heavy enough. And still I am tempted to pull at the water in the air, to cause a downpour that will rush down my face and wash away the grit on my soul. But it would take much more than rain to do that.
"We had no choice," Will answers quietly.
I look away again.
"We let our family down, Will. Our mothers, our fathers . . . our family. Things used to be so much simpler. Honor. Everything was about honor."
I hear the limb snap under Will's grip.
"Have you ever wondered if our family is so busy looking for the right in things that sometimes they miss the wrong?" Will asks.
I exhale loudly.
"And that's supposed to help put things in perspective?"
My sarcasm is obvious.
Will laughs.
"Maybe not, but it would be easier on you if you quit asking 'what if' and start focusing on now. Our mission has changed. Maybe what we did was wrong, and if so, I plan to atone for it by doing what's right. Right now, our job is to keep the hybrids safe. The hybrid king needs them, and he can give them a home."
I shake my head. I think I will always have a hard time seeing Marcas Craig as the hybrid king. Even after he'd fought the war in Hell against Lucifer for a kingdom in the Outer Levels and succeeded. As a hybrid, his war had been for the half-breeds, for freedom.
Fighting with Marcas and Dayton these past two months had given me a purpose, a reason to believe that what I am doing is right.
"Is that why you haven't approached the hybrids since your return?" Will asks suddenly.
The question startles me.
"What?"
Will motions toward the field where Lyre now circles Bruno before looking at Emma, her gaze full of loathing. Lyre is another one of my mistakes. Part of her hatred is because of me.
"Because you fear you've made the wrong choice?" Will asks, his voice low.
I'm honestly not sure how to answer him.
"I don't know. Maybe."
A chill breeze moves through the tree, running its cold fingers through my hair and down into my thin white t-shirt. I fight the urge to shiver. Cold rarely bothers a gargoyle but today the chill means more than just a drop in temperature.
My gaze moves to the large manor just beyond the training field, and I let my wings push up through my skin. It's not an uncomfortable feeling, more like an itch that disappears when my bones shift and the wings push through. The skin on my back doesn't break open, it stretches, growing to support the membranous wings.
"It won't be long now," I say.
Will nods, and we silently take to the air, my gaze moving one last time to the field and cottage below. The hybrids have all entered the house. Only Emma stands now at the door, her hand on the knob. She pauses, her back stiffening but she doesn't turn around.
I keep flying forward.
Traitor.
Chapter 3
Emma
"A hybrid king," Fiona says thoughtfully as we all step from the cottage an hour later.
I'm freshly showered, and my hair is damp. The breeze from the yard beyond makes my scalp numb with cold. It's oddly refreshing.
Deidra is restless at my back, and she jumps from foot to foot. I'm not sure if her high-strung movements are more from excitement or anxiety. Both feelings emanate from her.
Next to me, Bruno shields his eyes and stares at the manor.
"I don't like it. It doesn't sound right."
Fiona eyes him.
"Why? Because Hell's minority finally has a leader?"
Bruno drops his hand.
"No, Fi, because I find it hard to believe anyone would be willing to risk himself for a minority, especially our minority. We're a selfish lot. You know that."
Lyre laughs.
"You said it yourself, Bruno. We're selfish. Seems obvious to me. He wanted power. All Demons do, and he fought for it. Hell, I'd seduce him in a heartbeat if I thought it would make me a queen."
I didn't doubt Lyre for a second, and it made my stomach feel sour. And yet, as devious as her words make her sound, I can see the appeal in her plan too. At least being a queen would give her a place in life, a purpose even. There's a quiet laugh from behind me, and I glance over my shoulder.
Gray Harris leans against the cottage's moss covered exterior, a grey hooded sweatshirt hanging on his lanky figure, his eyes narrowed. He is tall but thin, and I find it hard at times to picture him as the son of the Demon Iudal. Gray has the ability to cause both temporary and permanent deafness and blindness, but he looks harmless. He is quiet and dresses primarily in muted shades of grey. I sometimes wonder if his attire inspired his name or if he dresses that way because of his name.
"I've heard of him," Gray says blandly, and we all turn to him, our eyes wide.
Lyre places a hand on the wall next to him.
"What?"
Her question mirrors all of our thoughts. Gray's eyes barely skim Lyre before he shoves his hands into his pockets, his eyes on the ground. He shrugs.
"I hear things at the manor."
Gray's ability to mute sounds makes him useful to the S.O.S's leader, especially during private meetings held when there are visitors at the manor Alessandro doesn't trust.
"What kind of things?" Hesther and Gwenyth Garner ask simultaneously.
The red-haired twins look troubled, their freckled faces drawn. As the daugh
ters of Onoskelis, the twins can choke a man simply by fisting their hands, but the girls are flirtatious and whimsical, and it isn't in their nature to harm anyone.
Gray looks up.
"His name is Marcas Craig. He is the hybrid son of the Demon Lilith and the cursed immortal, Cain. He caused an uprising in Hell by challenging Lucifer to a duel. He survived the ordeal, and the hybrids in Hell rallied around him. There was a brief battle for the Outer Levels, and he won. I hear he did it all for love."
My gaze moves to the manor, my mind whirring.
"For love?" Lyre asks, her laugh incredulous.
Fiona grins.
"There goes your chance at queenhood."
Lyre's dark eyes narrow.
"Shove it, Fi."
Fiona ignores her, her eyes back on Bruno.
"Love doesn't sound like a selfish cause to me. Maybe this Marcas Craig is the real deal."
Bruno shrugs. I still stare at the manor.
"There are levels in Hell?" I ask quietly. It seems like such a basic question, and I wince.
Bruno's gaze follows mine.
"There are. The Lake of Fire is in the inner most level known as the Abyss. Above that is the Second Level. This is Lucifer's domain. The Third Level belongs to Lilith, the first wife of Adam who turned Demon because she defied God. Many call her kingdom the Dark Realm. There are eight levels in all before the Outer Levels. The Outer Levels exist within the human world, parallel to it."
His voice is soft, reminiscent, and I peer up at him.
"You've been there?" I ask.
Lyre snorts.
"We all have. All of us except you and Deidra."
Her voice is mocking, and I stiffen, the sarcastic emotion moving over me rapidly. It swamps my body, and I force it down, fighting the sudden urge to slap her. It's her emotion not mine. The drex, Ace, bellows from the side yard, and I reach out to him with my mind. Calm, Boy. No harm done."
"Let's just go," Fiona grumbles, her wary eyes on the tyrannosaurus-like, draconic beast, and we move away from the cottage. Bruno places himself between Lyre and me. Deidra stays close to my back.
"A hybrid king," Bruno mutters. "Seems strange our kind has a ruler now."
The hill our cottage is located on is rocky, the incline steep, and we move slowly downward, wind rushing around us as we make our way to the manor. The sky is grey, foreboding. Only Gray peers up at the clouds, his expression relaxed.
The twins whisper furiously from behind him. Hesther and Gwenyth have a habit of keeping to themselves, but they are happy in their isolation. Their relationship is indescribably close. Sometimes I find myself wishing I had a sister as devoted to me as they are to each other.
"I hope he's not unkind," Deidra whispers.
She shivers against me, and I place a hand gently on her shoulder, my teeth gritted. All of the hybrids are on edge, their emotions a roiling mess, and it bears down on me. I try to block them, to push them away, but there are too many. I have never felt so many emotions on this level at once before, and it feels strange. All of the gargoyles, especially Will, have taught me a lot over the past two months. I can see in the dark now, and I can block most emotions. Marion has taught me the basics of healing magic, and I can use emotions to attack or defend if I wish. But no one prepared me for the feelings I'm experiencing now. It's almost as if my body is an open jar, and the emotions are being poured into me, the jar's lid slammed down cruelly to keep them from coming back out.
"Whether he is kind or not is the least of our problems," Lyre says snidely.
I fight hard to focus on the conversation, placing one foot in front of the other. There is anxiety everywhere, lust and anticipation from Lyre, wariness and danger from Bruno, tension and distrust from Gray, curiosity from the twins, hope from Fiona, and terror from Deidra.
Deidra shivers again.
"What's the most of our problems?" she asks, her small body tucked now behind mine.
The talk and the emotions have distracted me, and out of nowhere the manor is looming before us.
Bruno stares hard at the door, his look calculating.
"The big question is, why does this new hybrid king want to meet with us? What could he want?"
The white stone manor with its massive arched, mahogany doors had looked welcoming a couple of months ago. They have been our sanctuary, a door into a new protected future. There is a small stained glass window on each door. One contains the scene of a warrior dressed in armor, his sword lifted, a red cross on his chest. A ray of light shines down on him.
The stained window opposite is a rendition of death, the same warrior kneeling triumphantly amongst a battlefield of slain comrades and Demons. Around his finger is a ring, its jewels glistening. The knight kneels on an intricate rug before six steps leading to a massive throne. Each step is guarded by a pair of animal statues, predator versus prey. I am sure it symbolizes something, but the only thing my eyes focus on is the blood in the battle scene. Blood.
Bruno pulls the door open, and I stare into the dark hall. The doors that had once felt so safe upon our arrival now feel like a trap.
Chapter 4
Conor
"I feel like I'm suffocating," Will grumbles.
He makes a show of pulling at his collar, and I find myself imitating his actions. I throw him a look and immediately drop my hands.
"It's the room," I say quietly.
Will raises his brows.
"Right, so the big, black-haired Demons have nothing to do with it. Gotcha."
I throw him a look.
"Smartass."
S.O.S. headquarters is built to intimidate, and the dining room is no different from any other room in the estate. Everything in it shines, from the lengthy, polished table to the china cupboards filled with glistening silver and ivory dishes. A massive chandelier hangs from the vaulted ceiling, the low light reflecting off a long crystal candleholder running almost the entire length of the table. Every round, beige candle within is lit and is surrounded by some type of prickly foliage. The flickering wicks throw shadows across the faces of the people opposite us: Dayton Blainey, Marcas Craig, Luther Craig, Alessandro Mancini, and Maria Mancini.
Beside me, Will Reinhardt, Marion Durand, and Grace Withers all shift uncomfortably. I don't blame them. We've faced these people before in a similar meeting two weeks ago, but it doesn't lessen the effect. Every single person we face is intimidating in his own right. Even Dayton, as short as she is at only five foot, manages to hold her own.
"You realize the hybrids may say no?" Alessandro asks.
This question wasn't asked at our previous meeting, and I know it's because no one wants to face the possibility the hybrids may not agree.
Marcas glances at me, and I hold his gaze.
"Then they say no," I answer firmly.
Marcas doesn't argue, and I am grateful. As a powerful hybrid who risked his own position as Lucifer's right hand man to fight for hybrid neutrality, he has every right to challenge my response. Instead, he nods.
"Then they say no," he repeats. "I will force no one to serve me."
His gaze remains locked on mine. He may be the hybrid king, but he knows I feel a responsibility for the half-Demons I helped free from the Acropolis. In a way, I am chained to them now by my actions. I killed for them. I respect Marcas' motive for rising against Hell, but the hybrids are under my protection until they decide otherwise. Marcas' fight for hybrid free will now allows half-Demons the same choice as Exiled Angels. If the Fallen are allowed sanctuary on Earth, then why not afford hybrids the same luxury? Marcas' kingdom is a hybrid refuge, but his rule is new and precarious.
"We really only need one hybrid's support," Luther says calmly from Marcas' left side.
I place my hands deliberately on the table in front of me, my eyes on Luther's.
"And if she says no?"
My gaze is cold, hard, and I can feel power moving along my skin. I am stone. I am gargoyle. I am a Guardian. I've managed to convin
ce myself my feelings for Emma are nothing more than a need to protect, but there are times, like now, when it seems like something more. I'll be damned if Luther goes anywhere near the girl. His actions have almost gotten us killed before.
I don't blink as I stare into Luther's face. Marcas glances at his brother, and I see the warning in his gaze from the corner of my eye. Luther's jaw tightens, and Dayton reaches behind Marcas to lay a hand on Luther's bicep, her own gaze sharp. Bound by blood, Marcas and Dayton have the power to force most hybrids into subservience. But I know they won't. I trust Marcas despite our rocky past, and I trust Dayton with my life. The redhead and I have been best friends since preschool. Luther, I don't trust.
"Then she says no," Dayton says firmly, her eyes on Luther's.
He frowns. "Her mother . . ."
"She would be a great asset, but I won't force anyone," Marcas interjects as the door to the dining room suddenly bursts open. Will places a hand on my shoulder, and I force myself to relax as I turn to face the door.
Rosemary Graham, a member of the S.O.S., stands in the open space, her pale face flushed as she glances over her shoulder at the hallway beyond. I know immediately the hybrids have arrived.
"I'm betting Bruno has something to do with her expression," Will murmurs from my left.
"Or Lyre," Grace adds.
Marion snorts. "You're forgetting Deidra."
I chuckle despite my attempt to remain stoic. Marcas raises a brow. If he expects a tolerant, even-tempered group, he's going to be highly disappointed. Emma, however . . . .
Dayton's eyes catch mine, and I look away. She reads me too easily, and my interest in the hybrid Demon is too uncertain, my separation from the gargoyles too raw.
"No need to introduce us. We're expected," a throaty voice breaks in, and I groan inwardly as Lyre taps Rosemary on the shoulder before blowing her a kiss. It's enough to make the older woman flush and she clenches her jaw, her lips tightening as she looks to Alessandro. He nods and Rosemary wastes no time rushing from the room.