Grave Mistakes (Hellgate Guardians Book 1)

by Ivy Asher

  I pause midstep when I reach the chair. Now that I’m closer, and Iceman is still without a shirt, I can see that he has these cool jewels glued down his spine. They have an iridescent, mother-of-pearl effect going on, and I just can’t help myself. I reach out and stroke my finger up one of his spine gems.

  “These are epic,” I comment as I pet another one.

  They feel dense as fuck, like he has actual opals or something attached to his back somehow. These guys aren’t playing around when it comes to their cosplay. They’d give Heidi Klum and her love of all things Halloween and dress-up a run for her money.

  Iceman makes a choking noise that has me darting my eyes from his back to his face. He looks like a mixture of stunned, turned on, and freaked the fuck out. I instantaneously snatch my hand back and stop stroking his jewels while chastising myself. What the fuck, Delta?

  I want to give myself a dead arm. He clearly isn’t cool with anyone touching his costume. It probably cost him a fortune. Not to mention, I just seriously violated his personal space in a way that’s clearly not okay. Looks like I will end up getting that lesson in sexual harassment, only it turns out that I’m the fucking creepy predator that people need protecting from.

  I adopt a chagrined look and back off. “I am so sorry,” I offer quickly, completely mortified. “I clearly have personal space issues and a weakness for pretty things. It will never happen again. I didn’t break anything. Your jewels are fine and ready to impress.”

  This time, Jerif and Iceman both make an odd choking noise, and I do my best to look contrite and send don’t fire me thoughts out into the room.

  Echo and Crux take that moment to come walking in, and there must be a weird vibe in the air right now—thanks to me—because they both pause slightly as they look around at everyone warily. I give a cursory glance to the pale tattooed guy and Crux, the surfer dude, as I go for a nothing to see here, folks demeanor and sit my ass in the chair that Iceman is still standing behind. He seems oddly frozen, like he’s not sure what to do or how to respond, and I feel bad for accidentally activating his nickname.

  Jerif sits down in a chair across from me, and the noise he makes taking his own seat seems to thaw Iceman, as he moves to sit on a love seat next to Jerif. Echo and Crux set their nice asses on some plush cushioned chairs to my right, and then we all proceed to just stare at each other for a beat, the room thick with awkward silence.

  I realize I’m still holding the scythe-slash-walking stick like I’m Gandalf the Grey, so I set it down on the floor to the right of where I’m perched. That seems to encourage my bosses to use their voices, but they all start talking at once which makes them pause. When they start up again at the same time, it makes all of them chuckle.

  I just stare at each of them in turn, trying to figure out the connection. They’re the owners of the Perdition Estate, but that seems odd to me because they don’t look like they’re related. Yeah, they’re all good looking in that gym rat, Instagram model on Halloween kind of way, but they don’t have anything else in common as far as the looks department.

  Speaking of the looks department, now that they’re all gathered in the light, I can take more time to appreciate exactly how striking these guys are.

  I can definitely confirm now that Echo has black eyes. They’re eerie, especially against his super pale skin and white hair, and I wonder for a moment if the contacts he’s wearing bother him. Those, paired with his tattoos that span across his arms and up his neck give him a forbidden look that doesn't quite match up with the smirk on his face.

  Jerif’s black skin has this quality that makes it look silky and hard as rock at the same time. His fiery hair makes me want to run my fingers through the multi-colored strands, so similar to flames that I swear he’s radiating heat.

  Iceman is just...well, blue in all the right ways. While Crux looks the most normal, with his lazy day at the beach vibe. All four of them are overwhelmingly attractive, and being here, stuck in the middle of their full attention is incredibly intimidating.

  “Miss Gates—I mean Delta,” Iceman starts, clearing his throat a little. It sounds more like a nervous tic as opposed to a necessity. “We’re all very curious about what source Ring you’re from.”

  I sit back a little in my chair like I’m contemplating his question, but really, I’m freaking the fuck out inside. What is my source ring? Fuck. This has to be some kind of security guard lingo that an experienced professional would know. Did they not look at my resume at all?

  Iceman keeps going. “You see, we’ve been receiving only Quīnques for centuries, maybe a Quattour every once in a while, but clearly, you’re not from either of those Rings.”

  Umm...what the fuck is he saying? Kinkys and Squatters? Is this some hip new version of sex-speak? Has a cooler way to talk hit the streets and I’m completely oblivious? Dammit, he tricked me with the formal talk. I suddenly feel like an idiot, because something has just dawned on me. Was I was hired for some freaky sex-cult shit?

  Iceman goes on, completely oblivious to the turmoil bubbling in my brain. “We didn’t anticipate that an Inner Ring would see the ad, let alone respond to it. We would have handled things much differently,” he tells me, his tone bartering for forgiveness.

  He stares at me for a few beats, and I realize he wants me to say something, but I’m fucking lost. I should’ve known as soon as I put on this uniform that this was not a straight-laced “security” job. That ad was probably chock-full of code words for this underground sex ring crap he’s talking about.

  “We understand your hesitancy,” Iceman offers, mistaking my silence for caution. “The times being what they are, we all go out warded all the time, but we swear on The Morning Star’s wings that anything said between us will stay between us.”

  I stare at him, not sure how the hell to respond to anything he just said.

  “Yeah, you don’t have to worry,” Crux says, before giving me a warm smile and tapping his palm to his chest. “I’m a Trēs Ring, and so is Echo. Jerif is a Duo, and Rafferty is an Ūnus.”

  Crux gives me an encouraging head nod, clearly communicating that it’s my turn to kiss and tell, only, I didn’t get the yummy kiss first. Instead, I got a shit ton more confused. I’m fairly certain he just said something about Iceman—whose real name is apparently Rafferty—and his anus.

  Fuck.

  I definitely answered a sex ad.

  I let out a deep sigh and shake my head. “I knew this was too good to be true. It was a sex ad, wasn’t it?” I demand, slapping my hands on my leather-clad knees. “This is some kind of roleplay fetish, right?” I groan. “Fuck, I should’ve seen that coming. I mean, look how you tried to dress me.” I look around the room, realization dawning on me. “Is your big party some kinky cosplay thing? Or some freaky Eyes Wide Shut kind of action?” I ask, shaking my head. “If Tom Cruise is here, it’s a hard pass. Seriously, that dude freaks me out.”

  The four men gape at me without replying. My eyes scan over each of my bosses, but I’m not buying the shock and confusion they’re all wearing on their faces. Next, they’ll be declaring that they’ve never done this before, and for just one night they can make it worth my while.

  Unfortunately, that thought makes my vagina clench, and a zing of interest shoots right to my clit. I mean, fucking any one of these dudes—or all of them—wouldn’t be a hardship by any stretch of the imagination, but then what? I sign on to be some sex slave? Either that, or I have to walk away from all my big plans that crucially involve making good money, and that’s a hard pill to swallow.

  Now, this might be where a smarter person would get up and hightail it out of here, but...I’m weirdly intrigued. And broke. Like, really broke. So broke I can’t even pay attention. Plus, it’s been a while since I’ve gotten my itch scratched. Maybe this isn’t such a bad thing?

  After a few more seconds of stunned silence, Crux suddenly starts laughing, making Jerif and Iceman shoot him disapproving looks. “She’s cagey as fuck
, but at least she’s entertaining,” he announces between fits of laughter.

  “There will be no cages!” I bark out, and that just makes him laugh even harder.

  Echo cracks a smile and brings a hand up to his mouth to cover it while Jerif just stands there shaking his head and looking annoyed.

  “My money is on Ūnus,” Jerif states evenly before leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers like some bad Mr. Burns impression. I wait for him to say excellent, but it doesn’t come.

  I’m on the verge of shouting out no butt stuff, but I’m into that when the circumstances are right, so that feels dishonest. Besides, I’m not going to announce what I will and won’t do before we negotiate the money side of things. I guess that answers the am I really going to do this question that I was pretending to debate about. I hit rock bottom so damn fast.

  “Definitely,” Echo agrees. “I mean, the scythe alone screams I am Ūnus, hear me roar. Bunch of arrogant pricks.”

  “Hey,” Iceman and I object at the same time, but my, “Don’t knock it until you try it,” seems to leave everyone looking even more confused. So much for keeping my cards close to the vest.

  “This is not a sexual proposition,” Iceman-Rafferty declares incredulously.

  “Speak for yourself, Raf, I’ve been hard since she Xena-screamed her way into the mausoleum,” Echo announces as he overtly adjusts himself.

  Do not look at his crotch, Delta. Do. Not. Look. At. His. Crotch.

  Iceman shoots him a glare that screams shut the fuck up, but Echo just winks at him and shoots him an air kiss.

  “I don’t know...” Crux declares, his head tilted and his green eyes studying me carefully. “She could be a Nihil.” Suddenly, the bickering murmur and teasing comes to a complete stop, and everyone turns to Crux. “She looks human and can see through wards—”

  “So can you,” Jerif interrupts, “and you’re only a Trēs.”

  “Yeah, but who else can activate a scythe?” Crux counters. “I mean, think about it, when was the last time you even saw a demon, other than a Grim, carrying one?”

  My bosses seem to consider this ridiculous question, and each of their weighted gazes land on me. I’m too fucking busy tossing words like looks human and demon around in my mind and trying to figure out how they make sense in the context of any kind of rational conversation, but they don’t. I’m so lost in this discussion I couldn’t even find my way out with a map.

  “Demon?” I ask, thoroughly confused. “You mean you want me to dress up as a demon for the costume sex party?”

  The four of them exchange a look until Iceman glances back at me with a frown. “Miss Gates, there is no costume sex party—

  “Yet,” Echo interrupts.

  Iceman shoots him another look and then continues. “Wait...you do know about demons...right?”

  Now it’s my turn to frown. What the fuck is he talking about? “Um…”

  Crux’s mouth drops open as he looks at me. “No way,” he declares, running a hand down his face before turning to the others. “She doesn’t know.”

  “How is that possible?” Echo asks, his eyes narrowed on me like he’s suddenly trying to catch me in a lie I haven’t even voiced.

  “Miss Gates,” Iceman begins carefully, his icy blue eyes watching me. “You’re a demon. And a powerful one at that. You do know this, don’t you?”

  I open my mouth, but Jerif cuts me off before I can speak. “And no, before you say it, this isn’t some weird, kinky sex term,” he says with irritation.

  My mouth clamps shut. Okay...I am in way over my head here.

  So I do what any sane woman would do when someone tells you you’re a demon. I faint.

  6

  I don’t actually faint. Mostly because I have no idea how to do that on cue, but I do slump over in my chair and try to make my eyes roll to the back of my head before dramatically falling down.

  The way I see it, I have very few options here. There’s one of me and four of them. I could try to fight them, I guess, but even with my scary Swiss Army walking stick, I don’t think I could take them. So really, the only thing I can do is get the fuck out of here. Nothing clears the room like a fainting female. I expect that the guys will freak out and scatter, and I can make my great escape.

  I go down like some Gone with the Wind reject, and I give no fucks about how melodramatic it looks, because hello, I’ve stumbled onto some satanic sex cult, and I haven’t the slightest clue how else I’m going to get myself out of this other than to run.

  If I were a smarter fake-fainter, I would’ve leaned back in the chair. But because I’ve never tried this trick before, I tip forward where I’m almost guaranteed to smash my face on something before I go all the way down. But there’s no going back now. Literally. So I just have to go with it.

  Someone catches me though, which under other circumstances, I would be grateful for, but now all I can think is that some mentally unhinged sex cult member is holding me in his arms, and there’s no chance in hell that’s a good thing. Besides, I want him to put me down so I can run away. This plan doesn’t work if I’m going to be clutched like a baby bird who fell out of its nest. Let me fly free, fucker.

  “What in Hell’s Center just happened?” Iceman-Rafferty asks.

  “I think she...fainted?” Crux supplies, and I realize that the surfer dude is the one who caught me.

  “Huh. I thought Inner Ringed demons were made of more grit and fortitude. She just wilted like some useless flower,” Echo says.

  I bristle a little. Flowers aren’t useless. And if they could just leave me the fuck alone for five minutes, I could show his ass just how much grit and fortitude I have by scaling this stupid fucking mansion and escaping.

  “Well, what do we do with her now?” Jerif asks, his tone insinuating that he’s looking at me like something he finds distasteful. It’s still not enough to make me open my eyes though.

  “Should we wake her up?” Crux asks in a non-quiet whisper, his arms tightening around me.

  Dammit, why does he have to smell so good? I expected he’d have a briney, ocean-kissed scent, but he smells like bright summer days with an undertone of warm campfire nights. Demonic sex cultists should not smell this comforting.

  “I don’t actually think she passed out. She’s squinting her eyes too hard for her to be unconscious,” Iceman reveals, his voice sounding closer.

  That little tidbit of information causes everyone to go silent, and my body tenses. Fuck you, squinting eyes! Totally blew my cover.

  “Delta, can you hear me?” Crux asks, and I can tell he’s leaned closer, because I can feel his warm breath on my cheek. It plays with me in ways that I’m determined to ignore for the moment.

  I shake my head no, and someone chuckles. The rumble of it dances around the room, and I find that I want to make them laugh again.

  “Open your eyes, Warrior Princess,” Lava-Jerif snarks, his tone making it clear that he doesn’t think I’m a warrior princess at all.

  I shake my head again. “Nope, I’m good. Utter blackness is working way better for me than whatever you four have going on. In here...” I say, pointing to my head, “this is all still some innocent pre-Halloween party run by anal special-effects aficionados. I am Xena, and demon porn is not my jam,” I murmur.

  Another chuckle rumbles out, this time by Crux. “Up you go, Delta,” he says, lifting me onto my feet so my body is forced to hold my own weight again.

  I peel one eye open and then the other, looking around warily. They all back up to give me some space, and I stare at each of them in turn. I mean, I really take them in, trying to see through the assumptions, and reality cuts through my racing thoughts.

  Demons.

  What if they’re not delusional? What if this isn’t some sex thing?

  I shift on my feet, and the stupid leather of my uniform squeaks loudly. I see Echo’s lips twitch, and I send him a scowl. “You don’t get to make fun of the squeak. This is your uniform,”
I point out.

  I quickly snatch up the scythe from the floor, just in case I need to use it to defend myself. I don’t care that their combined muscles are larger than my debt. I will scythe the shit out of them if they come at me.

  “Alright,” I say, tossing my sweaty purple hair away from my face. Useless ponytail. It’s like I didn’t even try to manage my hair. “What the hell is going on?”

  “I take it you didn’t know you were a demon?” Iceman asks carefully.

  “What do you mean by demon?” I demand. “Costumes? Cosplay? Kink—”

  “It’s not kinky sex shit!” Jerif cuts me off with a scowl, his orange eyes blazing hot. “I already told you.”

  “Fine,” I shout, feeling completely overwhelmed and at a loss.

  He shakes his head, studying me like a bug. “How do you not know?” he asks, baffled.

  I don’t like the judgment laced in his tone, and I tighten my hold on the scythe. Crux grimaces. “Please don’t swing that shit at us again,” the surfer demon pleads.

  “This is a fucking disaster,” Echo growls at the others before taking a step toward me. “Alright, look, Miss Gates. You’re right. This is some weird ass kinky sex shit, okay? There are no real demons. This was all a misunderstanding. Why don’t you go home to rest and go find a new job better suited to your...delicate needs?”

  I narrow my eyes at him and point my scythe in his direction. To my utter delight, he looks nervous about it. “Don’t do that. Don’t trick me into going all weird damsel, oh I must’ve imagined everything I saw mode,” I say in a fake girly voice.

  “You swooned,” he drawls as he scratches over the dark tattoos at the back of his neck.

  “It was a fake swoon!” I shoot back. “I just needed a fucking pause to take in what happened and try to get you guys to leave me alone!”