Labyrinth: Acropolis Series Book II (2 page)

Even now, the memory has me staring at a
massive white stone manor looming in the distance. S.O.S.
headquarters.

Located in Italy in the hills outside Tivoli,
it is nestled between a small vineyard, green fields (brown now in
the chill air of March), and occasional rocky hills. It is our
sanctuary. It is the place where, together, Lyre and I united
powers to heal Conor when he and his cousin, Will Reinhardt, were
injured while attacking their own kind to ensure our safety. Three
days later, Conor disappeared, the hybrids were housed in a small,
grey-stone two-level cottage in the hills just beyond the main
manor, and the few Guardian gargoyles who escaped with us were
given the option of returning to the Acropolis or remaining in
Italy. All of them chose to remain.

"There is nothing between the gargoyle and I,
Lyre. Conor's job is finished. I no longer need protecting," I say
softly before climbing clumsily across the field toward Deidra.

The dark-skinned imp is leaning casually
against a low, stone fence, her dancing gaze focused on the scene
before her. The mischievous twinkle in her eyes is obvious as she
wrinkles her small nose at me before winking. Deidra is hard to
miss despite being both incredibly short and thin. The orange
leather pants, bright yellow t-shirt, cropped blue jean jacket, and
orange and yellow chiffon scarf she wears now is enough to make
Deidra visible for miles.

I scowl at her wink. She knows as well
as I do that
something
is
between Conor and me. I'm just not sure what that something is. And
what had once been
something
may now very well be
nothing
. He had disappeared after all. No word.
No goodbye. Just gone. And as much as I hate to admit it, it hurt
enough I'd constructed emotional walls around my heart. Pain is a
mighty motivator.

"Is that right?"

Lyre's words break into my thoughts, and when
I face her again, she has one eyebrow raised. Her sudden knowing
expression causes my insides to turn to mush.

"Then I guess you wouldn't be interested in
knowing he's back."

Every wall carefully constructed around my
heart over the past two months comes slamming down. Conor is
back?

I school my features carefully, but Deidra
isn't as reserved. Her small hand clutches my arm, and she squeals
with an enthusiasm I'm afraid to feel.

"When?" Deidra asks.

Lyre studies her nails, glancing at me under
lowered lids before grinning indulgently at Deidra. It doesn't fool
me. Lyre despises the imp. Hatred is an emotion I wish I could
block but can't. My power likes the feel of it entirely too
much.

"Two weeks ago," Lyre answers.

Deidra gasps, and I'm suddenly glad I
schooled my features. The only thing worse than unrequited love is
disappointment.

"
Two
weeks
!" Deidra howls.

An imaginary fist plants itself in my
stomach. Two weeks. He's been back for two weeks, and we've heard
nothing from him.

"It gets better," Lyre adds.

Bruno grunts before pulling up his shirt to
wipe the perspiration off his face. Our fight had not been an easy
one.

"I'm sure it does," he mumbles before walking
to lean casually against another section of stone fence.

Lyre's eyes move once more to mine.

"There's a red-haired girl with him."

I just manage to squelch the jealousy roaring
through my veins. An old image clouds my thoughts. I have no doubt
the redhead is Dayton Blainey, Conor's best friend, the same girl I
had seen him kiss once in a vision.

"Good. I'm glad to hear she's safe," I
manage. I'm proud of my even tone.

Lyre's eyes narrow.

"Then you know her?"

My clothes are clammy, and my hair is damp
from my workout with Bruno. I focus on the discomfort.

"I know
of
her," I say cautiously before elbowing Deidra,
using my chin to point toward the cottage behind the fence. She
nods and leaps over the low stone wall. I'm slower, and I curse
Bruno soundly in my head as I carefully place a sore knee against
the cool, crumbling rock.

"We've been summoned to the manor to meet
her," Lyre says abruptly, and I pause.

From the top of the fence, my eyes meet
Deidra's, and she notes the dread in my gaze. Even as short as she
is, her chest, head, and shoulders are still visible to both Bruno
and Lyre. Deidra stares at the raven-haired Demon, her eyes
narrowed.

"We?" she asks.

I don't move. It's easier keeping my back to
Lyre. If she can't see my face, I don't have to hide my
feelings.

"All of us," Lyre confirms. "Seems Alessandro
wants us to meet with the gargoyles, this girl, and someone he's
calling 'the hybrid king.'"

A hybrid king?

"A hybrid king?" Bruno asks, his question
mimicking my thoughts.

Lyre is quiet a moment, and I use the
opportunity to clamber over the wall before turning to face her yet
again, my emotions once more in check. Lyre looks worried, and she
turns away, the question unanswered. It's obvious she doesn't know
anything about the man in question, but if he has something to do
with hybrids, then we are all affected. A king. A hybrid king. I
shiver.

Bruno uses the awkward moment to pull off his
shirt before gesturing at the cottage. "It won't do us any good
standing here."

He's right. It appears we have a hybrid king
to meet, and as disconcerting as that is, I have other worries as
well. One of them is a six foot, blond-haired gargoyle with enough
charm to turn straw into gold.

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.