grumbles, and I know
I've won.
"We meet on the training field first thing in
the morning," Marcas says, his acquiescence obvious.
There is little training to be done. The
hybrids have had two months to learn more about their powers. This
meeting, despite its location, will be nothing more than a
debriefing. It is yet another reason I refuse to be left behind.
Before leaving to help rescue Dayton, Alessandro entrusted me with
the hybrids. Any training they lack is my fault.
Luther stretches. "Great. Now that that's
decided, I'm off to find food."
"Of the cooked variety, Luther," Dayton says
firmly.
Luther smiles, his teeth pointed as he pushes
away from the wall and backs toward the door.
"Of course. What else?"
Dayton sighs as he exits the room. "At this
point, as long as his donor is willing, I'm happy."
No one argues with her there. Will shakes his
head at me before following in Luther's wake, stopping just short
of the door to get Deidra's attention. The imp comes to him
happily, her eyes bright, her adoration more than apparent. She
stops only long enough to glance back at Emma who waves her on.
"Sleep well, Con," Dayton says, patting my
arm as Marcas holds his hand out. She takes it, peering briefly
over her shoulder as they too leave the room.
Only Alessandro and Emma remain, and I watch
as he smiles, sharing a joke that makes her laugh. I can't help but
wonder what she would think if she knew who Alessandro really is.
The drex is getting antsy, and Emma motions toward the window.
Alessandro nods, standing back so she can move past him with
Ace.
The late afternoon light coming in through
the window catches Emma's dark brown hair, bringing out red
highlights in places I've never noticed them before. She is a
beautiful girl, Emma. Subtly beautiful, but there is something
about subtle beauty I'm just now beginning to learn. There is
nothing subtle about it. Nothing plain. No, it's downright
disquieting.
Chapter 7
Emma
I'm only half way to the cottage when I
realize I'm being followed. Ace's rubbery skin ripples beneath my
hand as he tenses, and I rub him gently as I pause on the hill. I
force myself to turn around, my gaze searching.
"Above you," a voice says lightly, and I jump
as Conor Reinhardt lands in front of me, his wings folding behind
him before disappearing into his back.
"You gargoyles are amazingly quiet."
My voice is breathless, and I know he must be
aware of my discomfort. My heart is beating rapidly, and I draw in
a quick breath.
"And here I thought I was being loud," Conor
jokes.
It's a bad joke. The smile I give him is
small and his face falls.
"I didn't mean to scare you."
I don't answer and Conor closes the distance
between us. His light blue eyes are serious, his blond hair ruffled
as if he's recently been running his fingers through it.
"Emma, we need to talk."
I don't want to do this. It's blaringly
obvious to me now how little the two of us really know each other.
We were thrown together during a tense week full of life and death
situations, during a moment that was beginning to redefine the
hybrid race. Being separated for two months helped put things in
perspective.
"There's nothing to talk about," I say.
Conor gives me a hard look."That's a lie if
ever I heard one."
His hand lifts to settle gently against the
side of my face. It's still streaked with rust-colored tears, dry
now and irritating against my skin.
"I'm sorry," he says suddenly, and I look up
at him, my eyes round. He's even closer now, his face inches from
mine.
"I shouldn't have left the way I did."
I wave off his words. "You don't owe me
anything."
Conor smiles. "You're wrong, and since I
rarely admit it, I suggest you go with it."
I can't help it. I laugh.
"You haven't changed," I say.
Conor stares at me then. This look is
different. Uncomfortable. There is nothing gentle about it.
"You have. You've changed a lot. You want to
tell me what happened back there?" he asks, motioning
I've won.
"We meet on the training field first thing in
the morning," Marcas says, his acquiescence obvious.
There is little training to be done. The
hybrids have had two months to learn more about their powers. This
meeting, despite its location, will be nothing more than a
debriefing. It is yet another reason I refuse to be left behind.
Before leaving to help rescue Dayton, Alessandro entrusted me with
the hybrids. Any training they lack is my fault.
Luther stretches. "Great. Now that that's
decided, I'm off to find food."
"Of the cooked variety, Luther," Dayton says
firmly.
Luther smiles, his teeth pointed as he pushes
away from the wall and backs toward the door.
"Of course. What else?"
Dayton sighs as he exits the room. "At this
point, as long as his donor is willing, I'm happy."
No one argues with her there. Will shakes his
head at me before following in Luther's wake, stopping just short
of the door to get Deidra's attention. The imp comes to him
happily, her eyes bright, her adoration more than apparent. She
stops only long enough to glance back at Emma who waves her on.
"Sleep well, Con," Dayton says, patting my
arm as Marcas holds his hand out. She takes it, peering briefly
over her shoulder as they too leave the room.
Only Alessandro and Emma remain, and I watch
as he smiles, sharing a joke that makes her laugh. I can't help but
wonder what she would think if she knew who Alessandro really is.
The drex is getting antsy, and Emma motions toward the window.
Alessandro nods, standing back so she can move past him with
Ace.
The late afternoon light coming in through
the window catches Emma's dark brown hair, bringing out red
highlights in places I've never noticed them before. She is a
beautiful girl, Emma. Subtly beautiful, but there is something
about subtle beauty I'm just now beginning to learn. There is
nothing subtle about it. Nothing plain. No, it's downright
disquieting.
Chapter 7
Emma
I'm only half way to the cottage when I
realize I'm being followed. Ace's rubbery skin ripples beneath my
hand as he tenses, and I rub him gently as I pause on the hill. I
force myself to turn around, my gaze searching.
"Above you," a voice says lightly, and I jump
as Conor Reinhardt lands in front of me, his wings folding behind
him before disappearing into his back.
"You gargoyles are amazingly quiet."
My voice is breathless, and I know he must be
aware of my discomfort. My heart is beating rapidly, and I draw in
a quick breath.
"And here I thought I was being loud," Conor
jokes.
It's a bad joke. The smile I give him is
small and his face falls.
"I didn't mean to scare you."
I don't answer and Conor closes the distance
between us. His light blue eyes are serious, his blond hair ruffled
as if he's recently been running his fingers through it.
"Emma, we need to talk."
I don't want to do this. It's blaringly
obvious to me now how little the two of us really know each other.
We were thrown together during a tense week full of life and death
situations, during a moment that was beginning to redefine the
hybrid race. Being separated for two months helped put things in
perspective.
"There's nothing to talk about," I say.
Conor gives me a hard look."That's a lie if
ever I heard one."
His hand lifts to settle gently against the
side of my face. It's still streaked with rust-colored tears, dry
now and irritating against my skin.
"I'm sorry," he says suddenly, and I look up
at him, my eyes round. He's even closer now, his face inches from
mine.
"I shouldn't have left the way I did."
I wave off his words. "You don't owe me
anything."
Conor smiles. "You're wrong, and since I
rarely admit it, I suggest you go with it."
I can't help it. I laugh.
"You haven't changed," I say.
Conor stares at me then. This look is
different. Uncomfortable. There is nothing gentle about it.
"You have. You've changed a lot. You want to
tell me what happened back there?" he asks, motioning
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