by Ivy Asher
I climb up the smooth gray fountain, but the thing is really a pool in its own right. In the center, there’s a statue of Tazreel, buck naked, water shooting out of the tops of his wings and landing in the receptacle below him as he glares austerely. Clearly, my sperm donor is very fond of himself, because when I stand up to my full height and look around, I can see that every fountain and sculpture is made in his likeness. I have to be very vigilant not to look below the face. I do not need to be scarred for life any more than I already am.
Standing on the edge of the slippery fountain is very hard in heels. And even with the added three inches, it’s still difficult to see over everyone as they dance and talk and smoke and drink. There are just so many of them. Every time a flash of blue catches my eye, I turn, but it’s not Iceman. Dark skin, but not Jerif. Blond hair, not Crux. Tattoos, not Echo.
“Delta! Delta!”
People call my name, holding drinks and hookah-looking pipes up at me, but I just wave them away and try to turn full circle to continue to look. It’s so damn loud in here, made worse with the pulsing music, the atmosphere making me slightly dizzy. Or maybe that’s all the Stupor smoke people keep blowing toward me.
Where are they?
For some reason, I grow more and more frantic. Red’s words come back to me, and I can’t help the sick feeling that rolls in my stomach like rocks covered in biting acid. What if they are...imbibing in the sins like Red said?
Where else could they be? Either the Abdicated are fucking liars and led them away, or the guys are down here somewhere, joining the party. Otherwise, wouldn’t they have been waiting for me at the foot of the balcony stairs?
Tightening my hold on the scythe, my eyes scan to the right, snagging on the demons gathered around what look like maypoles. There are eight in total, all arranged in a large circle, and the black poles are at least fifteen feet high. They all have multiple red silken ribbons hanging from the top, and there are beautiful demons below them, all naked, dancing, using the ribbons and the poles and each other.
In the middle of the circle of maypoles, there’s a giant orgy. Skin. Movement. Mouths open in ecstasy. Thrusting, curling, bending, arching. They’re just a writhing, living piece of erotica. I have a hard time looking away.
Could my guys be in there?
It’s definitely possible. It looks like there must be at least a hundred participants, and that’s just this orgy. I know I saw more of these groupings from the balcony. Some of the participants are winged, some not, and my eyes bounce around from body to body, but when my eyes get caught on a tanned, muscular, wing-free back with shaggy blond hair, I freeze.
Crux?
The acidic rocks in my gut soften and curdle like soured milk.
I watch as he thrusts into someone right there on the ground, next to the maypole dancers. It hurts me more than I anticipated, and my eyes burn holes into his head.
I just got them back. They just returned from the dead. After my vocal claiming inside, I thought that Crux would at least be intrigued. He’s let me know right from the start that he’s interested.
But then I remember Jerif’s words back in Hell’s Embrace—about how once Crux added my notch to his bedpost, he would drop me faster than a hot potato. Maybe Crux isn’t interested now that I blurted out my claiming in front of everyone. Maybe he was just in it for the chase.
That motherfucker.
I spin on my heel, ready to climb down from the fountain and stomp over to him, orgy be damned, and give him a piece of my mind. Except in my anger, I’m not careful, and my heel slips on the wet edge. I try to compensate by stepping forward, but my long lavender dress gets tangled up in my feet, and then I go pitching forward, right for the water.
I squeal, arms spinning, but instead of falling face-first into the fountain, my wings suddenly lash out on either side of me, and I’m lifted off the ground.
“Oh, shit!” A loud girl-scream pops out of my throat, and I can hear people below me cheering, like I’m doing some kind of funny fucking trick.
My wings flap of their own accord, lifting me up higher, making the bystanders cheer louder. I scream again when my body tilts forward, and I do a fucking cartwheel in the air, three times in a row, and then my wings just start doing loops.
At another terrifying loop de loop, my dress gets all tangled up around my waist and I nearly flash everyone. I grab my skirts just in time, much to the disappointment of those below me, and stuff the fabric between my thighs.
Without warning, I’m forced into a dive-bomb. I’d squeal again, but the sudden g-force I’m experiencing only allows for me to grimace and for my lips to flap in what feels like a supersonic rush of wind. The scythe nearly gets ripped out of my hand, so I stuff the thing between my legs and ride it.
Like a fucking broomstick.
Too late, I realize that I probably look like I’m the boss bitch witch, Winifred, from Hocus Pocus. A hysterical, is this really happening laugh pops out of me that sounds way too close to a witch’s cackle.
But you know what? This walking stick-scythe-broomstick has turned out to be fucking versatile as shit. It’s really helping my center of gravity right now too, so I’m not gonna move it, no matter how it may look. Instead, I grip the scythe in my hands, tighten my thighs around the middle, and embrace the fact that I’m Hell’s first Nihil demon witch as I lean on it for support while my wings continue their scary fucking joy ride.
I swoop right past the maypoles like a fighter jet, and I realize too late that I’m heading for the orgy, and my wings’ missiles are locked right on Crux.
Oh, shit.
“Wings…” I admonish, but they don’t listen.
I get closer and closer, and the wind is rushing at my face so fast that it’s blowing tears in my eyes. I grip the scythe tighter and try to tilt away, using the scythe like I can steer it, but my wings tilt the opposite way to ruin my efforts.
I body check him, clipping Crux enough to shove him off-balance. As soon as I hit him, my wings swoop me back up, going way too fucking fast, and I’m suddenly soaring up and circling back for round two of this fucked up flyby ride.
Crux gets to his feet in all his naked glory, looking around for whoever unseated him from between the thighs of the demon still on her back and moaning. Clearly, she hasn’t realized that no one is still fucking her, and I feel some sort of sick satisfaction in knowing Crux’s partner is faking the shit out of her pleasure or just getting off on her own.
I’m heading straight for him again, my wings and my laser beam angry eyes homing in like I’ve become an asshole-seeking bullet. Just when I’m ten feet away from clipping him again, he looks up, our eyes locking, and I realize that...that’s not Crux.
I just dive-bombed a complete stranger. Oopsie.
This dude has three eyes, warthog fangs, and apparently, a very similar back as Crux. Then again, I’ve only seen Crux’s back a couple times, so what the hell do I know? I should’ve probably made sure it was actually Crux before I went all Mission Impossible winged-style on his naked ass.
My wings immediately lift up, stopping our projectile, and I throw an awkward apologetic wave at him as I jolt around in the air. “My bad!” I shout out to him before my wings sweep us quickly away, silently flapping, retreat!
Well, that was fucking embarrassing.
“Way to go, assholes,” I snap at them. They fluff up argumentatively, like they’re reminding me that I’m the one who thought it was Crux first. I really hate these things.
They start flying and flipping me around again, and I have to dodge a body out of nowhere, my body practically falling off the side of the scythe as I lean. I realize that some of the other Abdicated have taken to the sky and are doing all kinds of aerial tricks, like I’ve just started a trend and everyone wants in on the action.
Finally, my wings balance me out, with absolutely no help from me whatsoever, and I hold onto my scythe for dear life, telling them to knock it the fuck off. But like they’re answe
ring some kind of unspoken dare, they start really flying. They’re soaring, flapping, doing fucking laps above the fountain, going as fast as they fucking can, and my stomach lurches into my throat.
With wide, panicked eyes, I slap one hand over my mouth, instantly hit with a violent, crushing wave of horrible motion sickness.
Oh my fuck, I’m gonna puke. Right on Tazreel’s buck ass naked statue.
9
Puking my guts up right in the middle of my own damn progeny party is a level of mortifying I’m not ready to face. Puking my guts up because my own wings gave me motion sickness is really just adding insult to injury.
I look over my shoulder, internally begging my wings to stop fucking with me before I projectile vomit that horrible dinner Tazreel forced me to take bites of. I cannot suffer that shit again.
“Unghh!” I yell at my wings, my hand still firmly over my mouth to hold off the hurling.
The wings swoop me around, really showing off to the crowd as they lift me higher and higher, flying over the masses, ignoring me completely.
Oh God, please stop.
I try to kick my foot and head butt the top of my wings, but that does absolutely nothing except make me start somersaulting again. I know I must look like a fucking loon, and people are laughing below, but I ignore them. I can die of embarrassment after I’m safely on the ground.
“Stop fucking flying!” I scream at my wings, but they just loop around some other Abdicated soaring near us. I don’t fucking know how to fly, let alone land, and I need these things to work with me and get me down ASAP.
“I will snap you off my back if you don’t fucking stop right now!” I tell them on a growl.
To my surprise, my outstretched, attention-whore wings actually listen to that threat. But instead of them nicely gliding me down to the ground, they just snap flat against my back, just like that. Fucking purple assholes!
I go plummeting to the ground.
“Come back out, come back out!” I scream at them, but the stubborn feathered pricks don’t listen. Wind whips at my hair and face as I go falling feet-first. The scythe slips out from between my legs, and I hold it in front of me, wishing it would go all Transformers on me again and turn into a fucking parachute, but nope.
I’m going to go splat, right next to the damn orgy.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight and embrace for impact like I’m a pilot crash-landing in the Hudson, but instead of my body splattering all over everyone’s Stupor hookahs, a pair of strong, hot arms catch me.
“Oomph!”
My eyes fly open at the masculine grunt, and I look up at the person who cradled my fall.
“Jerif,” I breathe out in relief.
“That was a terrible landing, Warrior Princess.”
I let out a somewhat hysterical laugh as my nerves leave me shaking. But I only have about a second of comfort before my stomach tilts again, and I wriggle out of his hold. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna puke.”
Jerif lets me go as I hop down onto my feet and plant my legs, bending over to brace my hands on my knees, my scythe still in my grip.
I feel a cool hand on the exposed skin of my upper back, and hear a calm voice. “Just breathe, Maverick.”
I look over at Iceman standing beside Jerif, and then see Echo and Crux right beside them. Fully clothed. At seeing the four of them standing here, I actually am able to take a deep, calming breath. “You weren’t imbibing in the orgy,” I blurt before stealing another few gulps of air until my stomach doesn’t feel like it’s revolting anymore.
Echo shares a smirk with Crux. “Were you worried?”
“Kind of,” I answer honestly.
I straighten up, but even as I do, Iceman keeps his hand on my back, and his touch sends delicious chills down my spine.
I look at the four of them standing around me, and it’s finally sinking in fully that they’re okay. They’re here with me, and we’re all okay.
“I thought you died. All of you,” I say, my bottom lip wobbling.
“We thought we were going to,” Iceman admits.
“That was a close one.”
“Too fucking close,” Echo says, his shadows moving around his pale skin with agitated twitches.
“Now that we know some fucking demon called the Ophidian wants you, we’ll be more prepared,” Jerif tells me. “We knew there was unrest, but we didn’t know they were that organized. We learned a lot from what happened, and there won’t be any repeats of anyone almost taking you.”
My heart swells with the fierce protectiveness that just fell from his mouth. The other three guys look at him with surprise. Hell, even I’m looking at him in surprise. But there’s no denying it. Something between us changed down there during the Vestibule battle. It’s like we saw to the core of each other, and somehow there’s no going back to the distant tense relationship we had before.
We both fought with everything we had to get to each other, to protect each other, only to be ripped away. I saw Jerif’s true feelings in his flame-filled eyes that night as he got up and battled over and over again. The anguish. The regret. The heartbreaking sadness. I recognized it all because I felt it too.
I look at all four of them, so damn grateful. I know how close we were to losing everything for good. To losing each other. I’m not going to waste this second chance or get caught up in petty, stubborn arguments.
“So what do you want to do?” Crux says with that heartbreaking surfer-dude smile of his that I adore.
“Yeah, it is your first Nihil party,” Echo points out as he looks around.
“It is,” I agree. “Yours too,” I point out, wondering what they think about everything. Do parties like this happen in their Rings? Are orgies the thing to do in Hell? I suppose that wouldn’t be too far-fetched, but I can’t really tell how they’re feeling about everything going on around us. Do they want to stay, enjoy themselves? Or go like I want to? I study them for a moment longer and then decide just to confess what I want and see what happens.
“This isn’t really my scene,” I tell them on a shout as the music changes over to something even more fast paced. “What I’d really like to do is just get out of here. And I was hoping...you guys would come too?” I declare, going out on a limb. “If you want to stay, you can stay, of course. Not that you need my permission, because you don’t. I’m just saying, if you want to come with me, that would be great, if you don’t, then that’s fine, and—”
“Delta.” Iceman’s voice cuts through my long-winded rambling.
“Yeah?”
“We definitely want to go with you.”
A whoosh leaves my chest, my shoulders losing their tension. “You do?”
“We do,” Jerif replies gruffly, looking around like everything around us is giving him the heebie-jeebies.
“Lead the way, Little Dove,” Echo jokes as he and Crux start pushing the crowd to part for me.
“Ugh,” I groan. “Don’t call me that; you know how I feel about those vile birds,” I shudder. “Representation of peace, my ass! Those things are mean. Besides, I’m still trying to pretend I’m just carrying a purple backpack.”
The guys chuckle. “What was with the air show?” Crux teases, his eyes full of mirth. “You looked like Hermione Granger trying to play Quidditch. It was bad.”
“Thanks,” I say dryly as we start making our slow way across the yard. “It wasn’t my fault. These prick wings just took off on their own with no fucks given about how I might feel about it. And apparently, I get fly-sick, which is just icing on the disgustingly feathered cake. The broomstick scythe was the least of my worries.”
Echo and Crux bust up laughing so hard that I think they might start leaking happy tears.
“Shut it,” I tell them, though my tone isn’t as harsh as I was going for. Their amusement is contagious.
“You’ll get better, and I think your wings are beautiful,” Iceman tells me, a cold finger grazing over the top of them. I nearly jump out of my shoes at the sensation,
making him snap his finger back. “Apologies.”
“No, don’t be sorry,” I say quickly. “It just...it was sensitive. I wasn’t expecting it.”
He shares a loaded, full-of-heat look over my head with Jerif, but neither of them say a word. My stomach tightens, but in a good way this time. I suddenly feel nervous, like I’m on a first date and I’m wondering if I’m going to get a first kiss. Will it be good? Will we have chemistry? I mean, in my dreams we definitely do, but that shit’s never real life.
In real life, the salad you ate for dinner so that you wouldn’t look like a pig gives you gas, and then you rip an SBD in the car on the way to the epic doorstep scene you’ve been envisioning in your head all night. He looks at you, you look at him...you both know who tainted the precious air in the car, and screaming, the one who smelt it dealt it just isn’t going to cut it in that scenario.
Would the four of them be the kind of guys that laugh? Would it become one of many stories over time that bond you and set the foundation for beautiful intimacy? Or would they crack the windows, hold their breath, and peel away with screeching tires just as soon as you’re out of their car, the magic of the night ruined?
We weave through the crowd toward the main house silently. Iceman leads the way, Jerif stays right behind me, while Crux and Echo stay on each side of me. Our movements are in sync, connected by an invisible thread as we part the crowd in search of a peaceful place to just be together.
I’m surrounded by the Gate Guardians’ strength again, and I feel right in a way I was too nervous and insecure to admit before. I have so much I want to talk to them about. I want to make sure they’re okay, run my hands over them to be sure all of this is real. And at the same time, what is there really to say to each other?
We’re all battle forged now, different and tempered, because of what we went through. I feel it. They feel it. No amount of talking can change the charge in the air between us now. We all know what it felt like to think we’d lost it all.
