Labyrinth: Acropolis Series Book II

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."

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.