Labyrinth: Acropolis Series Book II

by Ryals, R. K.

  Marcas' eyes narrow."Are you questioning my instincts, Gargoyle?"

  I look at him, my gaze hard."No, she's strong enough. Not a single one of us can argue with you there, but her control is weak."

  "I wouldn't say that necessarily," Will interrupts.

  I throw him a "butt out" look, but he either doesn't see it or chooses to ignore it. He shrugs, his smile bright where he leans next to Dayton and Luther. Marion and Grace have gone to their rooms and the rest of the hybrids have returned to their cottage. As a show of trust, the hybrids have been allowed to reside with no guard for the past month.

  "You saw her at the Acropolis, Con. She's the most aggravatingly practical person I have ever met. You teach her something, she learns it. She doesn't even know how to have a normal conversation. All she does is ask questions. Ask, learn. Ask, learn. She'll be ready," Will says.

  I grunt. "She can have a normal conversation."

  I'm being defensive, and I know it.

  "With you," Will argues.

  "Blurred lines and all that," Luther mutters. I fight hard not to punch him.

  "If Emma decides to do this and the hybrids agree, I want to go with them," I insist, my eyes averted so I won't see Luther's smug expression. Marcas is watching me.

  "Out of all of them, you would be the most defenseless, Reinhardt. You'll be in Demon territory."

  "I'm a gargoyle Guardian . . . "

  Marcas doesn't let me finish.

  "You're a Guardian trained to defend humans against evil on Earth. Even with your powers, you will be out of your element in Hell."

  I am facing off with Marcas now, my face inches from his. "Try me, Craig. I might surprise you."

  A hand lands gently on my shoulder. I know who it is, and I brush it off. I don't need Dayton to defend me.

  "I sacrificed a lot to bring these hybrids to safety," I say hoarsely. "I won't walk away from this now. What I lack in power compared to them, I make up for in experience."

  Marcas closes his eyes briefly, and I know he's drawing off his bond with Dayton. She calms him. It's an interesting thing to watch, and I find myself wondering what it must be like to be that bound to a person, that linked. I've always found comfort in females, but I've never depended on one for stability.

  "You have no idea what you'll be facing," Marcas says, his tone final.

  "Con," Dayton adds gently. "You really need to think about this."

  I spin on her, my face looking down into hers.

  "I didn't see you giving it much thought when you disappeared with Marcas."

  Dayton's lips thin."No, but I also didn't have much of a choice. We are bound by blood."

  My eyes narrow."Maybe it started out that way, Day. But eventually you would have gone on your own. Not everyone needs a blood bond."

  I can see the anger my words stir up in Dayton's eyes, but I don't take them back. I stare unblinking, watching as her anger slowly fades only to be replaced by understanding. I'm not sure what it is she thinks she understands, but it makes her smile.

  "Let him go," she says, her eyes still on mine.

  "Sure, let him go, Brother. If nothing else, it will be a good show," Luther agrees.

  Luther is an asshole, but it's hard to dislike him. He knows what he is, and he's okay with it. Luther has no desire to be good. What he does, he does to make his life easier. If fighting with the hybrids means he has a home in Hell without the political intrigue in Lucifer's kingdom, then he will fight.

  "You'd be willing to die for Demons?" Will asks.

  I look at my cousin and see the fear in his eyes. We are both only children, no siblings. Because of this, we are more like brothers than first cousins.

  "Atonement is a bitch," I say, my eyes on his, our conversation in the tree still fresh between us. "We were willing to kill for them," I point out.

  "Damn you, Conor," Will grumbles, and I know I've won.

  "We meet on the training field first thing in the morning," Marcas says, his acquiescence obvious.

  There is little training to be done. The hybrids have had two months to learn more about their powers. This meeting, despite its location, will be nothing more than a debriefing. It is yet another reason I refuse to be left behind. Before leaving to help rescue Dayton, Alessandro entrusted me with the hybrids. Any training they lack is my fault.

  Luther stretches. "Great. Now that that's decided, I'm off to find food."

  "Of the cooked variety, Luther," Dayton says firmly.

  Luther smiles, his teeth pointed as he pushes away from the wall and backs toward the door.

  "Of course. What else?"

  Dayton sighs as he exits the room. "At this point, as long as his donor is willing, I'm happy."

  No one argues with her there. Will shakes his head at me before following in Luther's wake, stopping just short of the door to get Deidra's attention. The imp comes to him happily, her eyes bright, her adoration more than apparent. She stops only long enough to glance back at Emma who waves her on.

  "Sleep well, Con," Dayton says, patting my arm as Marcas holds his hand out. She takes it, peering briefly over her shoulder as they too leave the room.

  Only Alessandro and Emma remain, and I watch as he smiles, sharing a joke that makes her laugh. I can't help but wonder what she would think if she knew who Alessandro really is. The drex is getting antsy, and Emma motions toward the window. Alessandro nods, standing back so she can move past him with Ace.

  The late afternoon light coming in through the window catches Emma's dark brown hair, bringing out red highlights in places I've never noticed them before. She is a beautiful girl, Emma. Subtly beautiful, but there is something about subtle beauty I'm just now beginning to learn. There is nothing subtle about it. Nothing plain. No, it's downright disquieting.

  Chapter 7

  Emma

  I'm only half way to the cottage when I realize I'm being followed. Ace's rubbery skin ripples beneath my hand as he tenses, and I rub him gently as I pause on the hill. I force myself to turn around, my gaze searching.

  "Above you," a voice says lightly, and I jump as Conor Reinhardt lands in front of me, his wings folding behind him before disappearing into his back.

  "You gargoyles are amazingly quiet."

  My voice is breathless, and I know he must be aware of my discomfort. My heart is beating rapidly, and I draw in a quick breath.

  "And here I thought I was being loud," Conor jokes.

  It's a bad joke. The smile I give him is small and his face falls.

  "I didn't mean to scare you."

  I don't answer and Conor closes the distance between us. His light blue eyes are serious, his blond hair ruffled as if he's recently been running his fingers through it.

  "Emma, we need to talk."

  I don't want to do this. It's blaringly obvious to me now how little the two of us really know each other. We were thrown together during a tense week full of life and death situations, during a moment that was beginning to redefine the hybrid race. Being separated for two months helped put things in perspective.

  "There's nothing to talk about," I say.

  Conor gives me a hard look."That's a lie if ever I heard one."

  His hand lifts to settle gently against the side of my face. It's still streaked with rust-colored tears, dry now and irritating against my skin.

  "I'm sorry," he says suddenly, and I look up at him, my eyes round. He's even closer now, his face inches from mine.

  "I shouldn't have left the way I did."

  I wave off his words. "You don't owe me anything."

  Conor smiles. "You're wrong, and since I rarely admit it, I suggest you go with it."

  I can't help it. I laugh.

  "You haven't changed," I say.

  Conor stares at me then. This look is different. Uncomfortable. There is nothing gentle about it.

  "You have. You've changed a lot. You want to tell me what happened back there?" he asks, motioning toward the manor behind us.

&
nbsp; Ace nudges me, and I lean against him, letting some of my discomfort transfer to him. It's unfair, and I'm not sure when it is I started depending so much on Ace for emotions I don't know how to handle.

  "I think you're asking me a question you already know the answer to," I say quietly.

  Conor's hand tightens on my cheek.

  "Em, why didn't you tell anyone your control was slipping? Will maybe? Deidra even? How long have you been dealing with this?"

  I want to push his hand away, but I don't.

  "It's not as simple as you think. Sometimes I can't tell the difference between my emotions and someone else's. Even if I had said something, no one could possibly understand."

  "Em," Conor says gently. "Did you even try?"

  I am suddenly angry, and Ace snarls next to me. I have to push Conor's hand away and dig my fingers into Ace's head to keep the beast from leaping.

  "Don't! Don't do that! Most of my life has been spent paranoid and afraid, all because I've fed off other people's fears. Imagine that. Imagine spending every day afraid of a new fear, a new phobia you have no control of. In a way, it was a blessing to discover the fears weren't mine. but in other ways, it's been a curse. A curse! And it's painful, Conor. Truly painful."

  My eyes bore into his as I step closer. There is barely any space between us now. I can feel his breath on my face, can see the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

  "Heartache, Conor, is painful. Hatred is painful. Love is painful. Jealousy is painful. Greed is painful. It's all painful. Sometimes, it's possible to love or hate someone so much, the heart can't stand any more. Imagine feeling that, but then being forced to feel someone else's too when there is no more room to put it."

  There are still remnants of emotions in me, residuals of the other hybrids, and they flare up. Aside from that, my anger is strong, but so is the relief. The new feelings that had taken root at the Acropolis are back now. I may not know Conor well, but I like him. I trust him. I want to kiss him again. I want to hit him. I want to hide.

  I want him to understand!

  And it's with this last thought that I place my hand against his chest. And I let go. I have gotten used to transferring emotions to Ace, but we are bound. I have never tried it with a person.

  Conor's eyes grow wide, his breathing deepens and when he steps back, I know I've succeeded. His brow furrows, his pupils dilate, and he clenches his fist against his stomach. I step forward hesitantly.

  "Conor?"

  It was too much. I'm feeling calm, and I know by the look in his eyes that he isn't. If I had been mortified before, I am even more so now. I had wanted him to understand, but I hadn't wanted him to feel everything.

  I reach out toward him as his gaze finally swings to mine.

  "Conor?"

  When my hand touches him, he steps away.

  "God, Emma!"

  It's all he says, but it's enough. I have to swallow hard and even then the lump is still in my throat.

  "I'm sorry."

  I whisper it. I am being torn apart from the inside out.

  "I'm sorry," I repeat, but I'm pretty sure he doesn't hear me.

  Chapter 8

  Conor

  I have known a lot of girls, have listened to them talk for hours, have been a shoulder for Dayton to cry on. I have even sought comfort in their presence and embrace, but if I thought any of that got me any closer to knowing anything about them, I was dead wrong. What I'm feeling now is almost disabling, the pain in my chest strong enough to bring any grown man to his knees. So many emotions. Too many. There is no way to sort through them all.

  Opposite me, Emma stands calm.

  "God, Emma!"

  She reaches out to me, and I step back. The hurt in her eyes is immediate, and I hate myself for it, but I can't let her touch me. Not now. Not when I can help her.

  Emma is mumbling now. I can barely make out the apology as I look at the ground, my eyes narrowed. Her powers are swirling inside of me, and I understand now why she hasn't been able to open up to anyone. The depth of her own emotions, the emotions she must be forced to endure from the others . . . it's like being ripped apart. I want to turn to stone, but I fight it. Letting my body adopt a harder form will do nothing to relieve the emotions fighting to escape. They need release, and I have to find a way to give them what they need with minimal damage.

  Emma is moving away, but I ignore her, focusing instead on the one thing I know well. Stone. I call on it, watching as a small boulder works its way out of the hillside where it is embedded. It rolls toward me slowly, and I see Emma pause as I place a hand against its smooth side. And then I let go, shoving every bit of Emma's power into the rock. It crumbles, and I control it, using my own power to keep it from exploding. The fragments coalesce instead, and I force them back to the ground. They form a mound and grow still.

  Then, and only then, do I look for Emma. She is standing a few feet away, her eyes on the rocks before me.

  "Emma," I begin.

  She shakes her head.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean . . ."

  I am in front of her before she can say another word. My hands grip her arms. The grasp is hard enough to bruise, but I need her to look at me.

  "Don't, Emma. I'm the one that's sorry. I had no idea."

  She is looking at me now, and I can see the fear in her eyes.

  "There has got to be some way to control whatever that was," I whisper. "Maybe Luther is right, Em. It's time to embrace it, to learn to channel it. If you don't want to hurt anyone with it, then let someone help you."

  She looks at me.

  "What you felt . . ." she begins, her face turning red. I know instantly what she's referring to, and I loosen my grip on her arms, letting my hands fall to my sides.

  "I'll be there for you as you learn if it makes you feel better."

  I have changed the subject, and she notices, her gaze moving away from mine. She nods, and I step away, spinning her until she is facing the cottage in the distance.

  "Go, get some rest," I say, but just as she starts to step away from me I take her by the arm one last time, my head coming down until my lips are next to her ear.

  "Those other feelings . . . you're not alone."

  It's all I give her. I think it's all either of us are willing to give. And with that she walks away. Twilight has descended, the landscape in that sleepy in between period when the day is ready to give up its hold and the night is ready to be born again. Somehow it seems symbolic, but I'm not scholarly enough to try and figure it out.

  Ace ambles along behind Emma, pausing briefly to swing his big head in my direction. His wide snout hangs open, and I can make out his teeth as drool slithers to the ground. I grimace, my side throbbing with memory. I point at him.

  "Now you . . . yeah, no. I just don't like you."

  Chapter 9

  Emma

  The cottage is far from quiet when I enter it, and I grit my teeth against the onslaught of emotions. The casetta is a quaint one, two-level with a mudroom that opens into a small kitchen, a space only big enough to hold a plain, white foldout table. The appliances are outdated and useless, but other than occasional quick meals we throw into a borrowed microwave, we rarely eat there.

  "Emma? That you?" Deidra exclaims.

  The small imp bounces into the kitchen clad in blood red, cotton pajamas. There are black bats on the long bottoms, and a top sporting plump red lips with elongated fangs. The words "bite me" are clearly visible in black permanent marker. Leave it to Deidra to graffiti her own clothes.

  "Come to warn me?" I ask, my gaze on the door.

  She doesn't have to answer. I feel the turmoil in the room beyond, and I stop only long enough to grab a bottled water before moving into the living room. Like the kitchen, the space is small. A threadbare brown sofa sits before a stone fireplace chipped by time. Blankets are thrown across a smaller brown armchair next to a tall lamp with a plain beige shade, and there are a variety of multi-colored bean bags tossed h
aphazardly on the floor. The room is full of hybrids.

  Gray lounges in a pair of worn, grey sweats, his head lying against one arm of the couch, his feet over the other arm. On the floor beside him, Gwenyth sits cross-legged painting her sister's toes a pretty shade of shell pink. They are in matching silk pj's, the color similar to the nail polish.

  Fiona is sprawled on a green bean bag near the twins, a long midnight sleep shirt on. It extends past her knees and bears a white, steaming coffee mug across the front with the words, "Coffee First, Questions Later". Behind her, Bruno leans casually against the wall in nothing more than a pair of black sweat pants, the elastic waist band folded down once, his eyes on me.

  "That was quite a show you put on earlier," Lyre says as she moves next to Bruno.

  Lingerie is a mild word for Lyre's ensemble. It is nothing more than a thin, red silk camisole with a pair of lacy red underwear. And yet, no one really takes notice. Lyre is famous for her risqué night clothes, and we have been subject to two months of colorful attire that would make Victoria's Secret models blush.

  "Didn't know you had it in you, Chase," Bruno adds.

  I look him in the eye. "I didn't know I had it in me. Of that, you can be sure."

  Fiona sits up."Were you channeling your mother?"

  There is a wistfulness to her voice that makes me wonder if she misses her Demon mom. Out of all of us, it is Lyre and Fiona who spent the most time with their Demonic parent before being sent to the Acropolis.

  I shake my head. "No, I didn't feel Enepsigos."

  Deidra appears next to me, her dark face looking up into mine.

  "Then what? A power surge?" she asks.

  I don't know how to answer her. Lyre approaches me, her dark brown eyes darkening even more.

  "She stole our powers, fed off of them. Am I right, Em?"

  Her accusation is enough to make Gwenyth drop the nail polish, and Gray sits up on the sofa, any pretense of sleep forgotten. I look each of them in the eye. I'm not the confrontational type, but Lyre's finger pointing is guaranteed to cause trouble.