by Ryals, R. K.
The Labyrinth: Acropolis Series Book II
Copyright 2012 by Regina K. Ryals
Smashwords Edition
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
I dedicate this book to the people who have helped me the most through this entire process. To my sister, Sabrina Williams, who is the most amazing sister and beta reader in the world. To Audrey Welch, an amazing photographer, an amazing person, an amazing coffee date, and an even better friend. "Wuvs you!" To Laura Wright Laroche, an amazing author who diligently takes the time to produce the cover art for each of my books as well as accompanying book trailers. Just amazing! To Melissa Wright, author extraordinaire who beta reads with a diligence and an enthusiasm I greatly admire and who puts up with my long email silences when I get "involved" in a book! She lends an ear for author vents and made up dirty words. To Melanie Bruce who gave me the confidence to make these books a reality. And to some amazing authors I have met along the way who lend support, friendships, advice, and opinions, most notably Elise Marion and S.L. Wallace. I couldn't ask for a better group of friends. And to the amazing fans and people I have met along the way for their encouragement and interest in my books. And a special huge shout out to the support of my new friends at YAteenreaders and Jodie O'Brien. You are all simply amazing!
“Man often becomes what he believes himself to be. If I keep on saying to myself that I cannot do a certain thing, it is possible that I may end by really becoming incapable of doing it. On the contrary, if I have the belief that I can do it, I shall surely acquire the capacity to do it even if I may not have it at the beginning.”
Mahatma Gandhi
Prologue
Conor
"Wars are not always won on a battlefield. Frequently, they are won by heroes or rulers who fight quietly, covertly."
These words are not comforting to me, and I barely glance at the people gathered around the long, mahogany table. I've been here before in a place like this, staring into the firm eyes of the gargoyle director. The table was different, the same type of wood, but shinier, newer, more polished. I can't see my reflection in this one, but I know what I would see if I could. A clean shaven face, blue, haunted eyes, and dark blond hair, recently cut. I am the same, and I am different.
"We already have our heroes."
Unlike with Gibson, I have no trouble questioning the people before me.
"And you believe that, Gargoyle?"
Marcas Craig's voice is strong, distinctive, unwavering, and I force myself to meet his gaze.
It is a déjà vu moment, but the sixty-two-year-old Gibson is replaced by an equally powerfully built man, his youthful, twenty-something body honed to perfection by centuries of labor, his life spent hiding from his own kind. His ebony hair shines in the low light, and the only sign of the toll his new responsibilities have on him are the deep set lines around his mouth. He is the hybrid king, a half-blood Demon, a man once chosen to sit on the right hand of Satan but who fought him instead to win a kingdom in the Outer levels of Hell for crossbreeds. He doesn't demand attention, but I give it to him anyway.
"And the only way she'll negotiate is if you use the hybrids?" I ask
The question is unnecessary. I know the response, but I wait for it anyway.
"You know as well as I do why it must be them. Look at their parents."
More frightening words have never been spoken.
I eye Marcas warily. As the hybrid king, he is, by far, one of the most intimidating men I know. For one, he is no ordinary hybrid. In ancient times, the she-Demon, Lilith, lay with the Biblically cursed Cain. Together, they created many half-blood children. Marcas and his twin brother, Damon, were their first born sons. These sons, like the rest of Cain's children, crave human blood. It is their curse.
Many, many years later, Damon, driven insane by his blood lust, bound Marcas to my best friend, Dayton Blainey. The two of them then embarked on a journey that would eventually claim a kingdom for all hybrid Demons.
For the past two months, I have been helping them fight for this kingdom. I have seen Marcas in battle, and I respect him.
Marcas stands up, his hands at his side.
"They are important to the cause."
He's right, and I know it.
"And the imp?" I ask.
My tone is snappish, hard. The hybrids from the Acropolis are important to me. Saving them required giving up a part of myself, sacrificing the lives of gargoyles I knew, trained with even. Seeing this to the end isn't an option, it's a necessity. If I can save one of the hybrids, it will be an accomplishment.
"I admit the imp's parentage is not the same as the others, but she represents the minority of lesser Demon hybrids. That could work to our advantage."
It's funny how the hybrids are an "advantage" now, but to me they are people.
"When?" I ask evenly.
Marcas smiles. It is forced, but effective.
"Soon. I want Emma Chase to lead."
I sit up hastily, my hands landing heavily on the table's top. I'm having the déjà vu moment again. Memory overlaps reality, and I'm looking down at my fingers, the blurry image of a folder in my hands. A photograph stares up at me, an awkward snapshot of an unsmiling slim girl, dark hair framing high cheekbones and wide, scared eyes. Emma Chase.
I know this girl now. I know how un-awkward her face actually is, how bright her amber eyes can become, how her dark hair feels beneath my hands. And Marcas wants her to lead.
My gaze meets Marcas'.
"Why her?"
Marcas doesn't blink.
"You know why."
And I do. Emma is the daughter of the she-Demon Enepsigos. Her mother alone is reason enough.
My eyes wander to a rugged, dark-haired man on the right side of the table. He is a tall man, middle-aged but strong. Alessandro Mancini.
Alessandro is the head of the S.O.S., a group of warriors who protect artifacts attributed to the Biblical king Solomon. He is also Emma's father.
"And you're okay with this?"
I'm aware no one knows why I ask the leader this question. To them, Alessandro is only acquainted to Emma through me.
"I am."
The hard edge to Alessandro's voice belies the fear in his eyes. His gaze slides away from mine, his impassive expression returning quickly.
A small hand taps the table, and I know without looking Dayton Blainey is irritated.
"From what I've heard, Emma Chase is quite the remarkable individual. She seems strong enough to lead. Why the drama?"
I don't look up at the short redhead because I know she'll see the defeat in my eyes. Maybe Emma is competent enough to lead, but I'm not comfortable with the idea of throwing her into a pit of snakes.
"She's ready."
Will Reinhardt's interfering voice is confident from beside me. My cousin has always seen Emma in a different light from the rest of us. His prejudices are not as deep as the older gargoyles. He sees something in her, and I have to admit he's right. She's capable, but her powers are unpredictable. The reports Alessandro gave me upon my return to the S.O.S. are detailed. Emma has learned control, but her emotional abilities are unstable.
I look down at my hands, the imaginary photo still prominent in my memory. Wide eyes. Wide, scared eyes. Skin that is too warm to the touch.
"Conor?"
I look up to discover everyone gathered has turned to me. I straighten.
"I'm sorry."
&nb
sp; Marcas watches me a moment before eyeing the gargoyles surrounding me.
"You've all done my race a great service, and I know you've had to make sacrifices to do it. I'm not sure what I can offer in return. Anything you need, ask."
Will, Marion, and Grace shift uncomfortably. There is nothing Marcas can do. Marion and Grace could return to our people if they wanted, but Will and I . . .
"Just treat them well," I say quietly. The other gargoyles nod in agreement.
"You have my word."
Marcas' promise is comforting, and I nod as he adjourns the meeting.
"We'll meet with the hybrids soon," Marcas says as he moves to exit the room with Dayton at his side. The other gargoyles step in around me as we watch the rest of the delegation follow his lead.
"They're ready," Will says.
I give him a sympathetic smile.
"Let's hope so."
Two Weeks Later
Chapter 1
Emma
My back hits the ground so hard, I expect to hear something crack. My spine maybe? But there is nothing but pain. Lots of pain.
"For a Demon who can manipulate emotions, you definitely fight like a girl," Bruno grumbles.
I can't breathe, much less answer.
"You were a tad bit rough," Deidra squeaks from the side of the training field.
The terrain is rocky, and I'm pretty sure I'm lying on stone. I groan.
"She's alive," Bruno mumbles. "Lyre wouldn't have been so thoughtful."
Odds are, he's right. Deidra glares at Bruno before moving to stand next to me.
"You okay?"
The only thing I manage to lift is my chin. It's meant to be a nod, and I hope Deidra interprets it as such.
Bruno leans over me, and I narrow my eyes. If the murder in my gaze is not obvious, I need to work on my glare. He grins, and I know he's gotten the point.
"Try me, Em," he whispers with a wink, and I feel my face heat as he offers me a hand up.
Bruno Riley is handsome, a dark-haired nineteen-year-old boy with a build that would catch any decent football coach's attention. He is also the half-Demon son of Tephras, a Demon known for his manipulation of wind and soil. The dirt devil. Literally.
I stare at his hand. It seems safer than looking at his eyes. Bruno isn't interested in me. He's interested in my power.
"She's off limits, Idiot. You remember the gargoyle, right?" a sultry, irritated voice asks as I push myself off of the ground, ignoring Bruno's hand as I turn slowly to face Lyre.
The Demon-hybrid walking through the field's rusted, iron gate is as beautiful as ever, her raven locks hanging straight and smooth. The black strands shine against the shimmering red-sequined crop top she wears. A small ruby winks at me from her belly button, and I grimace as her eyes meet mine.
"What gargoyle?"
Bruno's question is smooth, and I shift uncomfortably as I feel the smirk behind his words. It's a chilly sensation against my skin. Having the power to feed off Demon emotions is troubling, wearisome. Lately, the power has also felt different, heavier, even painful. Wrong.
Bruno smiles. "I don't see a gargoyle. Do you?"
It's been almost two months since my gargoyle Guardian, Conor Reinhardt, disappeared to help rescue his friend, Dayton Blainey, from a crazy Demon. And yet, it's still the talk of the hybrid refugees who escaped with me from the Acropolis.
Lyre lowers her head before sashaying across the rocky Italian terrain toward Bruno, her hips filling out her dark stonewashed jeans in a way most un-surgically altered women could never pull off. She glances at me with a small smile before trailing red manicured nails across Bruno's broad shoulders. If she expects it to faze me, she fails.
"Sarcasm is overrated, Bruno. Conor Reinhardt is Emma's protector. For him, that's practically a declaration of love," Lyre says, her laughter harsh.
Lyre and I have a complicated relationship. She is the hybrid daughter of the she-Demon Pleiades who is well known for using feminine wiles to ensnare men. Lyre has inherited the ability. She also shares a past with Conor, a past that bothers me when, realistically, I know it shouldn't. After all, I have no claim on the gargoyle outside one amazing kiss and a friendship bound now by our rebellion.
Lyre's revulsion feels like fire brushing against my skin, but I don't blame her for her hatred. In many ways, I pity her. She doesn't form relationships, she uses people and then walks away. No one ever walks away from Lyre. No one except Conor. This not only bothers her, it makes her want Conor, and Lyre doesn't like wanting anything. I know this because I've been inside Lyre's emotions, shared them once in order to combine our abilities.
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.
