Labyrinth: Acropolis Series Book II (5 page)

Lyre laughs, her dark eyes glued to mine.

"You want us to pledge our loyalty to
them? To
liars
! And
you
, you're good at telling stories,
aren't you, Reinhardt? You really expect us to believe a half-breed
Angel and Demon are bound by blood. An Angel
can't
be bound to a Demon."

Dayton grins."Yeah, well, that theory got
blown to hell," Dayton says as she leans over and pulls a small
dagger out of the knee high boots she's wearing.

She unsheathes the blade, holding the knife
up dramatically, letting the light from the chandelier glint along
the steel before quickly slicing a shallow wound across her wrist.
Luther hisses, and I know he's affected by the cut. Luther and
Marcas are Cain's children. They are half-Demons cursed to crave
human blood.

"Jesus!" Marion gasps, moving forward
urgently, her eyes on Dayton's wound.

I stop her. "Look."

My eyes are on Marcas, my hand gesturing at
his forearm. There, across his wrist, is a thin line of blood just
beginning to drip down his tanned flesh. The wound is identical to
Dayton's.

Gray knocks his chair over as he backs into
the table, Deidra squeals as she pulls on Emma's tank top, and
Bruno, Fiona, Lyre, and the twins gape as Emma's teeth chatter
audibly.

"Impossible," Lyre whispers, but she doesn't
sound quite as sure as she had before.

There is fear in the room now. Even the
gargoyles, who'd been made aware of the bond's consequences
beforehand, falter when faced with it.

"What exactly do you want us to do?" Bruno
asks breathlessly.

His tone is laced with awe, acceptance. Even
if the hybrids are still wary, the demonstration has made them open
to negotiation. Marcas doesn't cover the wound. It is already
beginning to heal, and he knows the effect the blood has on his
hybrid audience. They don't crave it, but they are fascinated by
it.

"To begin with, I want one of you to lead the
rest on a mission to recover the spear."

Marcas does not mince words, and Bruno's gaze
moves from Marcas' wound to his face.

"One of us?"

This is the grand finale, and it is
bittersweet. I know what Marcas wants, and I feel my heart sink. I
have to keep reminding myself it's not my decision to make.

Marcas looks at Emma. She is trying not to
cower, one trembling hand resting now on the long table. Her face
is pale. Deidra clings to her worriedly.

Marcas' gaze lingers. It takes a moment for
the hybrids to realize his intention, but when they do, it is Lyre
who steps forward, her face hard.

"You're kidding, right?" Lyre asks, laughter
bubbling cruelly out of her mouth. "Her? Seriously?"

Marcas doesn't answer. His continued stare
says it all. If Emma notices, she does not acknowledge it. Anxiety
gnaws at my inside. Something is definitely wrong with her.

Lyre throws her hands up in the air.
"Look at her! She can't even stand up straight. She's terrified!
And you want
her
to lead
us?"

Marcas' gaze moves back to Lyre."You think
that's fear?" Marcas asks.

Lyre growls. "
Look
at her!"

And we do. We all look at Emma. Every inch of
her is shaking, her head down as she gazes at the table. Her hair
covers her face, hides her expression. Something is way off . . .
.

"I'll be damned," Luther breathes as he moves
down the table, his eyes on Emma as he faces her, the wood the only
barrier between them.

"Emma?" he says quietly.

Emma doesn't answer, and I suddenly realize
why. My eyes meet Luther's.

"Deidra," I say carefully. "Let go and back
up."

The imp doesn't listen and Will reaches out
to grab her by the arm, pulling her away from Emma as Emma's hand
pushes harder against the table, her knuckles going white.

"What's wrong with her?" Fiona asks
quietly.

I am right. Something
is
wrong. Emma's power has grown in
my absence, and she has no idea how to channel it properly. Her
sensitivity to emotion has made her a conduit, a living lightning
rod. If she knows how to block, it isn't working. Instead, she is
absorbing the energy. The tension in the room, the anger, the fear,
the shock . . . it has all been too much, and Emma never said a
word because she isn't the type to complain. I'm not even sure she
knew an emotional overload would do this to her. I am angry at
myself, because until this moment, I hadn't realized it
either.

Lyre groans, the sound breaking the
silence.

"She's scared. I mean, really, is it that
hard to see?" Lyre cries.

Emma cracks then, her control gone. Lyre's
anger is the final straw. There is a sudden loud explosion and
every piece of china in the cupboards along the wall shatter. A
cracking noise follows, and the long, wooden table splits in half
beneath Emma's palm.

If anyone screams, I don't hear it. My eyes
are on Emma. Her face is a twisted mask of pain as she pulls her
arms into her body, cradling herself against the destruction around
her. The table falls apart, two china cabinets plummet to the floor
and glass rains down everywhere. A loud roar filters through the
scene, and the dining room door bursts open, filling the area with
the unmistakable stench of sulfur.

Shrieks move through the estate, and I know
the drex, the tyrannosaurus rex-like, draconic Demon that sweeps
into the room, has startled Alessandro's people. The beast is
frightening, but I don't spare the drex a glance. Ace is here
because of Emma, and I know she is hurting. The beast is bound to
her emotionally. He will harm no one.

There is a moment of chaos, of yells, of
commands, and of consoling words in a room full of smashing
demolition before the noise finally subsides. I, like the other
gargoyles, have instinctively turned to stone, our skin protected
from the debris, but the hybrids, the Demons, Dayton, and
Alessandro all sport small cuts from flying glass. Alessandro has
used his body to shield his mother, and Maria appears fine.

I scan the room. Those present had the
foresight to cover their faces, and they look generally unharmed.
The glass was far enough down the dining room to cause minimal
injuries. Even so, no one seems particularly bothered by the wounds
they now sport. They are too busy staring at Emma. Her body is
completely untouched.

"And
that
is the reason why it will be
her," Marcas says coolly, stepping over the damage as he
makes his way back to Dayton.

My incredulous gaze follows him. He
knew this would happen. He
knew
!

Emma is still shaking, but no one approaches
her.

"Where is the spear?" Bruno asks, his voice
hoarse with awe, with submission. He can feel power the same way
Emma can feel emotions, and he enjoys the power surge. By the way
Bruno watches Emma, I know he is willing to go after the spear.

Marcas makes it to Dayton before
answering.

"Enepsigos has it."

A sob escapes Emma, and I break. I no longer
care about my resolve to maintain distance, and I no longer care if
she wants me or not. I take her in my arms, her head just below my
chin, her fingers curled into my shirt as her drex, Ace, keens at
the front of the room. This time she doesn't pull away.

Chapter 5

Emma

"I'm a freak. A dangerous freak."

I keep repeating the words over and over in
my head. My face is planted against Conor's chest, his woodsy smell
and soft, worn white t-shirt a comfortable anchor in a room full of
prying eyes and chaotic emotions. I am drained. I am weak. I am
scared. I have destroyed Alessandro's dining room, and I have
injured people. Worse yet, I'm not even sure how or why it
happened. I have lived in the same house with the hybrids for
months, and this is the first time the pain I've been feeling
lately is too much.

"Emma," Conor says gently.

I ignore him. The humiliation is too great.
Even now, the emotions surrounding me are beginning to build a
tense wall just inside my chest . . . awe, jealousy, anger,
admiration, fear. I don't know what to do with them.

Conor shifts, his hands coming up to hold my
arms gently.

"We need to clear the room."

Conor's words are firm, commanding, and I
hear shuffling feet crunching against shattered glass as the
hybrids mumble irritably, their departure a relief. An embarrassing
relief.

"Emma," Conor says again.

The tightness in my chest is suddenly gone.
It's an immediate reprieve, but I don't look up. I shove away from
him instead, my legs coming up against the broken table behind me.
Conor takes a step toward me, and I stare at his white,
dirt-streaked sneakers. Even if I wanted to run, there is no where
for me to go.

"No one here will harm you," a voice cuts in,
and I recognize it as Marcas Craig. His interference startles me,
and I stumble, my hand gripping what's left of the table. There are
no stray emotions swirling around me.

"Everyone left in this room knows how to
block. There's no need for control," Marcas explains, and I know he
notices my confusion.

Even Conor is a blank to me. At the
Acropolis, I had been aware of his feelings. Now . . . nothing. I'm
not sure I like his new control, the way he holds himself
aloof.

"I want to leave," I whisper.

Conor's sneakers move forward again, Nikes
with a black stripe down the side.

"Do you?" Conor asks, and I hear the doubt in
his voice. It makes me angry, and the anger is enough to make me
raise my head. When my eyes meet his, I know he notices the red
streaks on my cheeks. It's another reason to feel humiliated. I
hate crying. And for me, there is no way to hide it. When I cry, I
shed tears of blood.

"Don't pretend to know me," I say.

Conor flinches, and I can't help but feel
guilty. My words are harsh, but he left us with no explanation.
None. I understand his reasons. And now I'm even aware of what he's
done in his absence. He's fought to help Marcas and Dayton, even
hybrids to an extent. But it only takes a single moment to say
goodbye.

"Emma," a soft voice says, and my grip on the
table tightens. Dayton. I don't know her, but she's Conor's best
friend, a part of his past, and this means she knows him in ways I
never will. Our short time at the Acropolis, the feelings I felt
sure he and I both felt, seems ridiculous now, almost obsolete. The
trembling girl in an Atlanta hospital is gone. The tall, strong
gargoyle Guardian is still just as strong but different. Haunted
maybe.

"Don't," I say, my eyes still on Conor's.
"You disappeared. Good cause or not, you left. And now you come
back. For what? To recruit me. To ask me to lead the hybrids
against my birth mother?"

The hurt in my tone is obvious, but Conor
remains impassive. Dayton appears next to him, her image blurry
from gathering tears I refuse to shed.

"We need you, Emma. You could be a hero in
your own right. You could solidify a nation created to harbor
hybrids just like you."

Dayton's words are low, soothing. She smiles,
and I want to smile back, but I can't. I had a life before this
one. Albeit, I was dying then or thought I was. But I had a mother
who loved me, who still loves me. I had a home. Now? I still have a
family, but they are a strange mix. It is a house full of drama, of
tension, and of fear. We could give reality TV a run for its
money.

"Your idea of morality is misguided, Ms.
Chase."

I know that voice, and I grit my teeth as
Luther steps over glass to stand at the table behind me. I haven't
forgotten what he did to Conor and me. I haven't forgotten he
abandoned us to a drex. I haven't forgotten that he nearly got
Conor killed.

"You have powers that need to be cultivated.
You may hate the idea of feeding off emotions, but you really don't
have much choice. It's the power you were born with. Embrace it,"
Luther says.

I close my eyes briefly. "I won't use anger
or fear to destroy anyone."

My stubbornness may seem ridiculous, but the
only thing I have left is my own resolve. Luther snorts and seems
ready to argue, but Marcas stops him.

"Leave us," he orders.

Fear envelops me. I don't want to be left
alone with the hybrid king. I open my eyes to find Dayton giving
Marcas an exasperated look before nodding at Luther. They both move
toward the exit. Conor remains.

"I won't go."

Conor's refusal is firm. There are lines
around his mouth, stubborn lines, and despite my anger, I find
myself relieved.

Marcas doesn't argue, but he does move
between us. There isn't much distance between myself and the hybrid
ruler and anxiety threatens to overwhelm me. His terrifying eyes
are so dark, they are black. They have changed colors three times
since the hybrids arrived. Blue, red, black. I'm not sure what the
black means, but it can't be good. They bore into me.

"I know what it feels like to hate what you
are," Marcas says quietly.

I start to shake my head, but then pause.
He's right. If I'm being completely honest with myself, then I
would have to admit he's right.

Marcas reaches out, placing a hand gently
against one of my shoulders.

"Being a hybrid doesn't necessarily mean
we're evil. Life chose us. And in the end, it may not be the map we
wanted to follow, but it's the map we're left with. The path you
choose is the one that defines you. Our race deserves a
chance."

His eyes slowly change again, the black
bleeding into midnight blue.