Labyrinth: Acropolis Series Book II (3 page)

"I hear things at the manor."

Gray's ability to mute sounds makes him
useful to the S.O.S's leader, especially during private meetings
held when there are visitors at the manor Alessandro doesn't
trust.

"What kind of things?" Hesther and Gwenyth
Garner ask simultaneously.

The red-haired twins look troubled, their
freckled faces drawn. As the daughters of Onoskelis, the twins can
choke a man simply by fisting their hands, but the girls are
flirtatious and whimsical, and it isn't in their nature to harm
anyone.

Gray looks up.

"His name is Marcas Craig. He is the hybrid
son of the Demon Lilith and the cursed immortal, Cain. He caused an
uprising in Hell by challenging Lucifer to a duel. He survived the
ordeal, and the hybrids in Hell rallied around him. There was a
brief battle for the Outer Levels, and he won. I hear he did it all
for love."

My gaze moves to the manor, my mind
whirring.

"For love?" Lyre asks, her laugh
incredulous.

Fiona grins.

"There goes your chance at queenhood."

Lyre's dark eyes narrow.

"Shove it, Fi."

Fiona ignores her, her eyes back on
Bruno.

"Love doesn't sound like a selfish cause to
me. Maybe this Marcas Craig is the real deal."

Bruno shrugs. I still stare at the manor.

"There are levels in Hell?" I ask quietly. It
seems like such a basic question, and I wince.

Bruno's gaze follows mine.

"There are. The Lake of Fire is in the inner
most level known as the Abyss. Above that is the Second Level. This
is Lucifer's domain. The Third Level belongs to Lilith, the first
wife of Adam who turned Demon because she defied God. Many call her
kingdom the Dark Realm. There are eight levels in all before the
Outer Levels. The Outer Levels exist within the human world,
parallel to it."

His voice is soft, reminiscent, and I peer up
at him.

"You've been there?" I ask.

Lyre snorts.

"We all have. All of us except you and
Deidra."

Her voice is mocking, and I stiffen,
the sarcastic emotion moving over me rapidly. It swamps my body,
and I force it down, fighting the sudden urge to slap her. It's her
emotion not mine. The drex, Ace, bellows from the side yard, and I
reach out to him with my mind.
Calm, Boy.
No harm done."

"Let's just go," Fiona grumbles, her wary
eyes on the tyrannosaurus-like, draconic beast, and we move away
from the cottage. Bruno places himself between Lyre and me. Deidra
stays close to my back.

"A hybrid king," Bruno mutters. "Seems
strange our kind has a ruler now."

The hill our cottage is located on is rocky,
the incline steep, and we move slowly downward, wind rushing around
us as we make our way to the manor. The sky is grey, foreboding.
Only Gray peers up at the clouds, his expression relaxed.

The twins whisper furiously from behind him.
Hesther and Gwenyth have a habit of keeping to themselves, but they
are happy in their isolation. Their relationship is indescribably
close. Sometimes I find myself wishing I had a sister as devoted to
me as they are to each other.

"I hope he's not unkind," Deidra
whispers.

She shivers against me, and I place a hand
gently on her shoulder, my teeth gritted. All of the hybrids are on
edge, their emotions a roiling mess, and it bears down on me. I try
to block them, to push them away, but there are too many. I have
never felt so many emotions on this level at once before, and it
feels strange. All of the gargoyles, especially Will, have taught
me a lot over the past two months. I can see in the dark now, and I
can block most emotions. Marion has taught me the basics of healing
magic, and I can use emotions to attack or defend if I wish. But no
one prepared me for the feelings I'm experiencing now. It's almost
as if my body is an open jar, and the emotions are being poured
into me, the jar's lid slammed down cruelly to keep them from
coming back out.

"Whether he is kind or not is the least of
our problems," Lyre says snidely.

I fight hard to focus on the conversation,
placing one foot in front of the other. There is anxiety
everywhere, lust and anticipation from Lyre, wariness and danger
from Bruno, tension and distrust from Gray, curiosity from the
twins, hope from Fiona, and terror from Deidra.

Deidra shivers again.

"What's the
most
of our problems?" she asks, her small body
tucked now behind mine.

The talk and the emotions have distracted me,
and out of nowhere the manor is looming before us.

Bruno stares hard at the door, his look
calculating.

"The big question is, why does this new
hybrid king want to meet with
us
? What could he want?"

The white stone manor with its massive
arched, mahogany doors had looked welcoming a couple of months ago.
They have been our sanctuary, a door into a new protected future.
There is a small stained glass window on each door. One contains
the scene of a warrior dressed in armor, his sword lifted, a red
cross on his chest. A ray of light shines down on him.

The stained window opposite is a rendition of
death, the same warrior kneeling triumphantly amongst a battlefield
of slain comrades and Demons. Around his finger is a ring, its
jewels glistening. The knight kneels on an intricate rug before six
steps leading to a massive throne. Each step is guarded by a pair
of animal statues, predator versus prey. I am sure it symbolizes
something, but the only thing my eyes focus on is the blood in the
battle scene. Blood.

Bruno pulls the door open, and I stare into
the dark hall. The doors that had once felt so safe upon our
arrival now feel like a trap.

Chapter 4

Conor

"I feel like I'm suffocating," Will
grumbles.

He makes a show of pulling at his collar, and
I find myself imitating his actions. I throw him a look and
immediately drop my hands.

"It's the room," I say quietly.

Will raises his brows.

"Right, so the big, black-haired Demons have
nothing to do with it. Gotcha."

I throw him a look.

"Smartass."

S.O.S. headquarters is built to intimidate,
and the dining room is no different from any other room in the
estate. Everything in it shines, from the lengthy, polished table
to the china cupboards filled with glistening silver and ivory
dishes. A massive chandelier hangs from the vaulted ceiling, the
low light reflecting off a long crystal candleholder running almost
the entire length of the table. Every round, beige candle within is
lit and is surrounded by some type of prickly foliage. The
flickering wicks throw shadows across the faces of the people
opposite us: Dayton Blainey, Marcas Craig, Luther Craig, Alessandro
Mancini, and Maria Mancini.

Beside me, Will Reinhardt, Marion Durand, and
Grace Withers all shift uncomfortably. I don't blame them. We've
faced these people before in a similar meeting two weeks ago, but
it doesn't lessen the effect. Every single person we face is
intimidating in his own right. Even Dayton, as short as she is at
only five foot, manages to hold her own.

"You realize the hybrids may say no?"
Alessandro asks.

This question wasn't asked at our previous
meeting, and I know it's because no one wants to face the
possibility the hybrids may not agree.

Marcas glances at me, and I hold his
gaze.

"Then they say no," I answer firmly.

Marcas doesn't argue, and I am grateful. As a
powerful hybrid who risked his own position as Lucifer's right hand
man to fight for hybrid neutrality, he has every right to challenge
my response. Instead, he nods.

"Then they say no," he repeats. "I will force
no one to serve me."

His gaze remains locked on mine. He may be
the hybrid king, but he knows I feel a responsibility for the
half-Demons I helped free from the Acropolis. In a way, I am
chained to them now by my actions. I killed for them. I respect
Marcas' motive for rising against Hell, but the hybrids are under
my protection until they decide otherwise. Marcas' fight for hybrid
free will now allows half-Demons the same choice as Exiled Angels.
If the Fallen are allowed sanctuary on Earth, then why not afford
hybrids the same luxury? Marcas' kingdom is a hybrid refuge, but
his rule is new and precarious.

"We really only need one hybrid's support,"
Luther says calmly from Marcas' left side.

I place my hands deliberately on the table in
front of me, my eyes on Luther's.

"And if she says no?"

My gaze is cold, hard, and I can feel power
moving along my skin. I am stone. I am gargoyle. I am a Guardian.
I've managed to convince myself my feelings for Emma are nothing
more than a need to protect, but there are times, like now, when it
seems like something more. I'll be damned if Luther goes anywhere
near the girl. His actions have almost gotten us killed before.

I don't blink as I stare into Luther's face.
Marcas glances at his brother, and I see the warning in his gaze
from the corner of my eye. Luther's jaw tightens, and Dayton
reaches behind Marcas to lay a hand on Luther's bicep, her own gaze
sharp. Bound by blood, Marcas and Dayton have the power to force
most hybrids into subservience. But I know they won't. I trust
Marcas despite our rocky past, and I trust Dayton with my life. The
redhead and I have been best friends since preschool. Luther, I
don't trust.

"Then she says no," Dayton says firmly, her
eyes on Luther's.

He frowns. "Her mother . . ."

"She would be a great asset, but I won't
force anyone," Marcas interjects as the door to the dining room
suddenly bursts open. Will places a hand on my shoulder, and I
force myself to relax as I turn to face the door.

Rosemary Graham, a member of the S.O.S.,
stands in the open space, her pale face flushed as she glances over
her shoulder at the hallway beyond. I know immediately the hybrids
have arrived.

"I'm betting Bruno has something to do with
her expression," Will murmurs from my left.

"Or Lyre," Grace adds.

Marion snorts. "You're forgetting
Deidra."

I chuckle despite my attempt to remain stoic.
Marcas raises a brow. If he expects a tolerant, even-tempered
group, he's going to be highly disappointed. Emma, however . . .
.

Dayton's eyes catch mine, and I look away.
She reads me too easily, and my interest in the hybrid Demon is too
uncertain, my separation from the gargoyles too raw.

"No need to introduce us. We're expected," a
throaty voice breaks in, and I groan inwardly as Lyre taps Rosemary
on the shoulder before blowing her a kiss. It's enough to make the
older woman flush and she clenches her jaw, her lips tightening as
she looks to Alessandro. He nods and Rosemary wastes no time
rushing from the room.

Lyre's gaze finds me as she advances on the
table. She is dressed to impress, her midsection bare.

"Well, if it isn't our magnificent savior
returned from his travels," she says icily, dipping forward, her
hand fluttering as she bows. Obsidian eyes drill into mine as she
straightens. I don't reply.

"He couldn't resist your
sparkling
personality," Bruno answers
her sweetly as he approaches, throwing a fleeting look at us
gargoyles before moving to face the new people in our midst.
Bruno's gaze is intense, wary, but his expression remains
impassive.

"Sparkling my ass," Fiona Windgate murmurs as
she steps up behind Bruno, her eyes shooting daggers at Lyre's
back. She sweeps long, blonde hair behind her shoulder, her blue
eyes wide. It's an innocent look she's perfected, but looks can be
deceiving and underestimating Fiona is a mistake no one repeats
twice. She is the daughter of the she-Demon Ephippas, and she can
do a lot of damage with fire and electricity.

"Mmmmmm . . ." a freckled redhead croons
suggestively, her lowered lashes sweeping her cheeks as she glides
through the door followed closely by her freakishly identical twin
sister.

Hesther and Gwenyth's entrance takes the
attention off of Lyre and redirects it to the Craig brothers as the
sisters' unabashed stares hone in on the dark Demons. Together,
they emit a low, admiring whistle. Luther winks, but Marcas remains
still, his arm going around Dayton's shoulders.

The freckled twins giggle, dramatically
snatching Luther's invisible kiss from thin air before pretending
to lock it into their hearts.

"Drool on your own time," Gray Harris
complains as he saunters past, his gaze full of disgust.

The twins simultaneously roll their eyes, but
Gray doesn't notice as he moves to a chair at the table and sits
down heavily. No standing for Gray. His regard for authority is
sorely lacking. He trusts no one, and this is apparent in the way
he slouches before pulling a worn, grey hood up over his shaggy
brown hair.

"And then there was one . . ." Will whispers
near my ear.

"Two," I correct.

The doorway darkens, and I stand taller, my
eyes on the silent figure within its frame. Emma Chase. Her head is
down when she enters the room, the wary imp, Deidra, clinging, as
always, to the back of Emma's jeans. Emma's dark hair looks damp,
and she is dressed simply in a royal blue tank top over a pair of
dark jeans. At 5'10, she towers over the rest of the females
present, but she is so quiet no one notices. Bruises mar her arms
from her fight with Bruno earlier in the training field, and she
hides them behind her back.

My chest tightens. I had hoped two months
away would lessen the pull between us, but it hasn't. I'm bombarded
with thoughts instead: a scared girl, an ocean journey, late night
conversations, her strength, her ridiculous drex, a kiss that never
should have happened . . . .