Labyrinth: Acropolis Series Book II (16 page)

Bruno's gaze moves to Gwenyth. "Then it would
be for nothing, Gwen. We'll do this for Hesther now."

My head falls forward, and I choke back the
tears I want so badly to cry. Ace keens quietly, and I let him take
some of the grief. Conor is suddenly there, kneeling on my other
side, his eyes on Gwenyth.

"We need to go," Conor says, his words
mimicking Bruno's.

I stand because I know he's right. My eyes
move to Gwenyth. She doesn't meet my gaze. She doesn't meet
anyone's gaze. Fiona moves to her side, helping Gray as we all
gather in the undamaged part of the cavern. There are no words.

The darkness before us beckons, and we start
to move forward. Bruno, Gray and Fiona with Gwenyth, Lyre, Deidra,
Conor, and me with Ace at my back. Hesther's absence is a big
gaping hole among us. Haunting. Wrong.

Chapter 20

Conor

Hesther's death is like a shroud hanging
heavy over our heads. We move forward, but we do it slowly, almost
dejectedly. We continue mainly because we can't turn back, but we
also continue because it would seem wrong not to now.

There are sobs from my right, and I know
Gwenyth's tears are still falling. Her emotions are chaotic, and I
let my gaze move to Emma. The rest of us can look at Gwenyth and
see the grief, the shock, and the denial she is battling, but Emma
feels it, experiences it with her.

Part of Emma's face is covered in scraped
skin. It's beginning to heal, but the blood and the dirt remain. I
lean forward.

"Are you okay?" I whisper next to her
ear.

Emma doesn't look up. She just nods, her face
tight, drawn. She looks toward the other hybrids, and my gaze
follows hers. Gray and Fiona are still supporting Gwenyth between
them, their faces an expressive battle of sympathy and sorrow.
Bruno stands tall, his shoulders back, his head held high. Lyre
walks beside him, her face blank, and Deidra steps soundlessly next
to Emma. The imp is quiet, her dark face stained with silent tears.
I don't look back at the drex.

The hybrids continually surprise me. They are
more human than I want to admit. They are rough around the edges,
but rough I can understand. Rough, like a serrated knife, cuts. It
leaves scars. Rough people feel more than most, are passionate,
angry, and determined. In many ways, I am like them.

There are images in my head now. I can
almost see Gibson's eyes on me in the tunnel.
"You're trying my patience, Reinhardt," Gibson says, his eyes
skimming over me before moving down a line of gargoyle trainees.
"Remember this, you will be skilled, loyal, and deferential when I
finish with you. No matter how rough you are. Rough can be
smoothed, fixed," Gibson lectures
.

The memory makes my jaw tighten, and I
suddenly picture a boxing ring with the gargoyles in one corner and
the hybrids in the other. Gibson is wrong. Rough hurts. It's a
fight to maintain who you are when everyone else wants to change
you. Rough keeps the hybrids alive, numb, strong. Rough, I
understand.

My gaze moves to Emma again. I think,
subconsciously, I saw her as weak once. I saw her as someone I
wanted to rescue, save. It gave me a reason to be the hybrids'
champion. It gave me a reason to be different, to break away. But,
in the end, she wasn't the one saved. She was a reason for me to
run, a reason to escape perfection. I am the king of running away,
of turning away from commitment. Maybe it started with my father's
death. Maybe it started because I didn't want my rough edges
smoothed away.

I reach out without thinking, my hand landing
softly against the small of Emma's back. I can feel her look up at
me, startled maybe, but I don't meet her gaze. I look forward
instead, and I leave my hand there, a support, a gesture that
admits things I can't say here. I won't lose her. I won't run.

"It's a refreshing feeling, isn't it?" a
voice says suddenly.

It is a deep voice, hoarse, and it echoes
throughout the chamber, the question repeating itself several times
before fading away. We all pause, taking defensive stances, our
eyes moving urgently around us. Only Gwenyth doesn't seem afraid,
her eyes glassy, her posture stiff, angry.

"Reconciliation," the voice continues. "It's
such a good feeling."

"Who are you?" Bruno asks, his voice
sharp.

Unlike Envy, there is no chuckle, no
sign of amusement, only the
click, click,
clicking
sound of claws against stone. From the
shadows, a massive wolf appears, his fur gray and black with small
white patches. It's an odd color, but it suits the beast. He is
tall, his wolf eyes narrow and red. When he sits back on his
haunches, his snout is level with my head. But it's his tail that
catches my attention. The tail is a serpent, a viper that hisses
and spits angrily. We all watch it warily.

"I'm a friend, and I'm an enemy," the wolf
says, his eyes roving over our faces.

His appearance is familiar to me, and I
search my brain for the images I'd had to memorize in training.
This was a Demon, I had no doubt, but which one?

"You are haunted by your choices, Gargoyle.
This labyrinth is a good place to release your Demons."

My head snaps up, my narrowed eyes meeting
the wolf's gaze.

"Puns are never fun, Wolf. You are a friend
and an enemy, a Demon telling me to release my demons. Cute. Got
any other vague comments worth sharing? We're all so astounded by
your wit."

The wolf growls, his fur standing straight up
on his back, his tail slithering angrily.

"You dare mock me, Gargoyle. Me, a Marquis of
Hell?"

Even in his anger, the wolf's voice stays
calm, low, threatening. A Marquis?

"What do you want from us?" Bruno asks, and
the wolf turns away from me, his eerie eyes landing on Bruno.

"You are an interesting one, Bruno Riley.
Very little internal conflict. You want to prove yourself, and you
blame yourself for the death of the little redhead."

Gwenyth gasps, her intake of breath too
sharp, ragged. Bruno takes a step forward.

"Is this part of this hellhole? Trap us, kill
us, and then send us a twisted version of a therapist."

The wolf cocks his head.

"You think I don't feel your internal
conflicts?" the wolf asks. "There are so many unresolved problems
among your group."

"
Our
problems," I point out. Not his.

The wolf doesn't flinch.

"Unresolved issues kill. You truly expect to
survive this place with demons over your heads? Pun intended"

My hand is still at Emma's back, and I clench
my free one. The fist is pointless, but it makes me feel stronger,
better.

"What do you care? Isn't death the point
here?"

The wolf's head swings between myself and
Bruno.

"Not the leader but still the leader. You all
simply amaze me," he murmurs before pushing himself to his feet,
his large paws pacing before us. "You're right. I don't care. Your
death means nothing to me. But you call to me, and my power revels
in your tension."

The wolf moves down the line, stopping
directly in front of Bruno and Lyre before sitting again.

"You are a beauty like your mother," he says
to Lyre. She stiffens. "And such hatred you harbor. Hatred born
from pain."

The wolf's red eyes swing my way.

"Seems you're more tied to this group than
you should be considering your race, Gargoyle. Such a pitiable
thing, sharing a dalliance with a she-Demon of Pleiades' line. They
hold grudges, you know."

I can feel the hybrids staring at me, and I
grit my teeth. Only Emma is aware of my past with the raven-haired
Demon. The news is shocking to the others.

I hear Lyre spit at the wolf, but he doesn't
move. The creature's calm demeanor is eerie, frightening,
interesting.

"Pleiades would be so ashamed," the wolf
replies. "You're powers to entice and control are weaker than your
mothers."

Emma begins to stir against my hand, but I
clench her shirt in my palm. This is my fight, my past. Lyre and I
have been putting this off for entirely too long.

"The hybrid isn't weak. Her anger is my
fault," I say loudly, my voice calm despite the resentment I'm
feeling. The other hybrids look confused, suspicious.

"What's this about?" Bruno asks, his tone
firm.

The wolf moves away from Lyre, his large body
lumbering in my direction.

"So sleeping with Pleiades' daughter was a
mistake? Interesting."

There are gasps from everyone except Emma and
a shell-shocked Gwenyth. This is unfair, being faced with my
indiscretions when Gwenyth has just lost a member of her family. It
makes me angry.

"My mistake, not hers," I say.

Lyre breaks away from the group, her eyes on
me as she walks toward the wolf. The viper on the floor doesn't
seem to bother her, and I wonder if it's because of her mother's
many forms.

"Your mistake?" she asks. "Your
mistake
."

I close my eyes briefly, my anger ebbing
away.

"Yes, Lyre. I thought of you as a mistake. I
won't lie and tell you I saw our time together as anything more
than that."

Lyre inhales, and I feel Emma tense against
my hand. I let my palm fall away from her shirt. Losing her is a
definite possibility. There are too many obstacles between us, most
of them mine. I look at Lyre. Her hand is raised, and I know she
wants to slap me.

"I was a gargoyle who'd discovered I'd
been with a Demon. It wasn't your fault, Lyre. Being who you are
is
not
your fault. Being what
I am ruled me, made our time together into something
disgraceful."

Lyre pauses and her hand falls.

"And then you brought me to the
attention of the Acropolis. That's worse than having a guy not call
the next day, Reinhardt. It's
way
worse."

I look away. "I can honestly say I didn't
know what was happening at the Acropolis. I thought I was helping
you."

She snorts."It was a way to relieve your
conscience, to make having been with me bearable, right?"

I nod because I won't lie.

"I don't regret my past, Lyre. I
refuse
to regret my past. It has
shaped me. But my feelings about it have changed," I say. "Now, I
don't see you as a mistake. I see what I did to you afterwards as
the mistake. I can't change it now."

Lyre is quiet a moment, her eyes moving from
me to the wolf before looking at the floor. Most would consider the
gesture one of embarrassment, but I know Lyre better than that. She
doesn't consider her past a mistake. She revels in it, sees it as
something to be proud of. And, I have to admit, if I was the
daughter of Pleiades, I would too. There are times when pleasing
the ones we love mean the world to us.

Bruno leans my way.

"You were with Lyre, and you didn't lose your
sanity?" he asks.

Pleiades entices men, revels in jealous
emotions, in deception. Being with the she-Demon and her
descendants has disastrous effects on men. I shrug because I'm done
with the topic and because I've shared enough.

The wolf exhales and smoke circles out of his
nostrils.

"The power of reconciliation. It's amazing
really," the wolf says. His eyes move down the line, and the
hybrids tense.

"Such power." His gaze lands on Deidra, and
she slumps. "Bullied and disliked. You fear people now. Not life.
People. What a shame, Little One. Imps, if they would learn to
direct the penchant for mischief they have, could be quite a force
to be reckoned with. You're a Demon, girl. Let the bullying
strengthen you."

"And you," the wolf says, his snout pointed
at Fiona. "You obsess too much, about Hell, about your mother,
about your decisions. Don't you think that slows you down?
Instincts serve us well. Use them."

"Who are you," Bruno asks, but the wolf still
ignores him, his gaze on Gray and Gwenyth. "You impress me, son of
Iudal. There isn't much to you, but you are calm, confident.
Disrespectful, yes, but wary. You are stronger than you appear, but
you hide within the shadows. You were abused once, I think. By your
father, maybe?"

Gray doesn't meet the wolf's gaze. His eyes
stay locked on the top of Gwenyth's head, her red hair just level
with his chest where she slumps.

"You and your sister are strong, daughter of
Onoskelis. It doesn't seem so now, but you will move on. You will
get past her death," the wolf mumbles before turning, his body
graceful as he moves toward me again. This time, however, he stops
in front of Emma.

"You confound me the most, Hybrid. So many
emotions and most of them not your own. But the ones that belong to
you are powerful, strong. Fearless."

Emma's head straightens on the last word, her
eyes on the wolf.

"Fear is power," she says.

The wolf laughs. It is the first time he has
shown amusement, and the laugh becomes a howl, an eerie drawn out
howl.

"Touché. Just remember your greatest power
comes from your ability to care."

Emma's forehead creases.

"Not from emotion?" she asks.

The wolf stares at her. "Feeling
emotions is an advantage but it's what you get from those emotions
that gives you power. How you feel
is
the power."

Emma stares. Until this moment, we had always
assumed her powers came from feeding off other people's emotions,
but the wolf is saying the power comes from her own emotions, from
the way she feels about the feelings she absorbs.

"Who are you," Bruno insists.