by Ivy Asher
It looks like a picture straight off of my what my bathroom will look like if I’m ever filthy rich Pinterest board. Echo checks the back of the door and then nods when he spots the white fluffy robe hanging there. I try my best to ignore my reflection in the mirror that practically takes up the whole wall to my right, but it’s impossible. My bright purple hair looks like a weird mousy brown color thanks to the mask of sludge it’s caked in. At this point, I think Swamp Thing might be more attractive than me.
I catch Echo watching me in the mirror. I expect him to look away quickly when he realizes that he’s been busted, but he just keeps his black eyes locked on mine. He’s intense in a way that’s intimidating, and yet at the same time, it makes me incredibly curious. His eyes are like a black hole trying to suck me in, and I find, oddly, that I’m super into that.
I blink that weird ass thought away and clear my throat. “So...uh...you guys mentioned a Grim Reaper and a scythe?” I venture to say. The term stood out for me like it was a neon flashing sign the other night. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know what that has to do with me, but judging by the little green demon run-in I just had, ignoring what’s going on isn’t going to save my ass. Maybe when it comes to Hell and what it spawns, ignorance is not bliss; it’s a death sentence.
“The Grim Reaper is the most famous Gatekeeper and last of its kind. But Grim guards the Gate between life and death, whereas we’re guarding the Gate between Hell and the Mortal Realm.”
“So you guys aren’t Gatekeepers?”
“No,” he replies. “We’re just Gate Guardians. When the Hell Gatekeepers all died off, Lucifer appointed the duty to prestigious demon families—ones he could actually fucking trust. It’s hard to find demons trustworthy enough to watch the Gate and not fuck it up by letting hordes of demons break through. But over time, it’s required more and more power to stabilize the Gate and keep it strong and impenetrable.”
“Why?” I ask curiously.
Echo shrugs. “We’re not meant to hold the Gate. Only Gatekeepers are. So even though our families have been Guardians for centuries, all we’ve really been able to do is slap a Band-Aid over the thing, hoping it doesn’t burst and flood this realm with demons who don’t belong. But holding the Gate is draining. Literally. It constantly syphons off our power to keep it stable. And now, either we’re being drained faster than we realized, or for whatever reason, the Gate needs more power. We’ve been aware that we need more help for a while. The temps never last more than a few months, and other Inner Ring demons, who are more powerful, refuse to take the position, knowing it will ultimately lead to their death.”
“Can’t the Devil just make a more powerful demon take the job?” I ask, perplexed. “I mean, the dude is Satan. It doesn’t seem like a far-fetched solution.”
Echo smiles, and it makes him even more devastatingly handsome. “Nope. Not even the Morning Star himself can steal our choice. It’s all about balance,” he tells me cryptically.
This information makes me see the four of them in a whole new light. They chose to be here doing this, even though they knew it probably wouldn’t end well for them. It makes me realize how important this job is to them. “So the Gate is broken and letting out demons who shouldn’t be here, because you don’t have enough power anymore to sustain it?”
“It’s breaking,” he corrects. “And yes. We do our best, but demons sneak through from time to time. We can’t close the Gate properly on our own anymore.”
“So what about the green demons who attacked me?”
His arms shift from where they’re crossed over his chest as he leans against the bathroom wall. “I suspect they were either Outer Ring demons or imps. Either way, they detest Inner Ring beings. They must’ve sensed you and attacked.”
“Imps?”
“Sure. Most of the staff here are imps.”
I cock a brow. “Do I want to know what an imp is?”
“Probably not, but I’ll tell you anyway.”
“Goodie.”
He laughs, and I get so distracted from the sight of his beautiful smile that I momentarily forget about the horrible topic we’re discussing. “Demons are born, not made. We’ve always resided in Hell, but it’s not the torturous place that most humans believe. It’s just...another realm. But we struck a deal with Heaven, and the souls that need consequences and growth after their death become imps.”
“So that wart-covered dude in the kitchen is an imp?”
“Yep. The more grotesque they look, the more heinous their sins were while they were alive. They have to live their afterlife in servitude or punishment and hope at some point they get another chance to do life right.”
I nod thoughtfully, my gray eyes darting up to him. “And you’re sure I’m a demon?”
He laughs again. “We’re pretty fucking sure, Delta.”
“And you’re saying that for me to be a demon, my family had to be demons?”
“Yes, or at least breed with one.”
Initially, I want to wrinkle my nose in disgust at the thought of that, but that’s only for the gross-looking demons and imps. These four guys? It’s easy to imagine plenty of humans that would be willing to ravish them. They’re hot as fuck. I’m sure they’re not the only pretty faces Hell has produced either.
Unbidden, my mind shoots me an image of me riding Iceman’s face. It morphs into a vision of Echo on top of me, fucking me hard. So...yeah. That’s definitely a check mark next to tempting as sin.
A throat clears, the sound pulling me from the graphic images. I look back at Echo and see a smile pulling at the corner of his pouty lips. His black eyes rake up and down my body. I try not to pant and ignore the fluttering sensation low in my belly and the wetness now pooling between my thighs. Can demons read minds? That’d be hella embarrassing.
“Uh...I guess…I can see the appeal,” I concede.
“Hmm,” Echo replies, still raking over me with his heated gaze, this time studying my face like it’s the page of a complex book. “Are you ready for what’s to come?”
My cheeks grow hot, but that could just be from the layer of dried sludge insulating them. “Is that a sexual innuendo?” I ask, my voice a little higher pitched than I’d like.
Echo chuckles, making his intense face morph into one of boyish glee. “It wasn’t, but now I wish it had been.”
That was stupid, Delta.
“What’s to come?” I ask, ignoring his jibe.
“You’ll have to be tested. Trained. And then we will have to attempt to close the Gate.”
“Hmm.”
The noncommittal hum slips from my mouth at the same time a glob of muddy goo falls off my pant leg and lands with a slap on the white marble floor. We both look down at it for a beat, watching how it spreads slowly. Grumpy Lurch is going to hate me forever.
“Get cleaned up. We’ll talk tomorrow,” Echo says, and then before I can reply, he turns and walks into a shadow in the corner of the bathroom by the clawfoot tub and disappears.
I stare at the spot, my mouth falling open in shock. I walk zombie-like over to it and press against the wall, but he’s gone. I step back and study the shadow, as though if I look hard enough, he’ll reappear, but nothing happens.
“If I find out you’re watching me through the shadows, I’m going to cut off your demon dick and feed it to you,” I threaten, glaring at all the dark recesses in the room.
When there’s no response, I relax slightly and accept that he’s actually gone. I quickly strip out of my disgusting and sludge-sodden clothes, and then I stand in the bathroom totally naked except for slime, mud, blood, and bits of asphalt still stuck to me. I hold the pile of clothes in my arms, debating on where to put it, before chucking all of it into the wastebasket. There’s just no coming back from this situation, no matter how awesome the washer and dryer is.
Turning on the shower, I step under the hot spray, relishing how big and expensive everything feels. The stone walls gleam, and there’s a long niche fil
led with every soap, oil, and exfoliant available. There are even little disposable razors just ready and waiting for me.
I have to lather, rinse, and repeat four times all over before the water finally drips off my body in clear rivulets. My skin burns a bit from all the scrapes, but once I get all the dirt and grossness off, I feel much better.
Without new clothes to wear, I snatch up the hanging robe and then head into the bedroom. I sigh like a lovesick schoolgirl, because damn, that is a sexy looking bed.
Silver and blue bedding soft enough to sprout feathers and fly, a wooden headboard that looks like it has burnished gold plating on the edges, and it’s piled up with so many pillows that I can’t even count them.
I practically leap into the king bed and burrow under the covers like a hibernating squirrel. I decide to just rest for a moment, because it’s probably not smart to go to sleep in a demon mansion no matter how tired I am.
I fall asleep about two minutes after I decide that.
I wake up sore, with a sour taste in my mouth and a seriously bad case of bed head. There aren’t any reflective surfaces nearby that would allow me to confirm just how bad my hair is, but I can feel that it’s intense. I sit up and cringe at the head-sized puddle of drool I’ve left behind on the silky blue pillowcase. Fuck, I slept so hard I didn’t even move. Just slept face down in the bed like a corpse.
A knock on the door sends my heart racing through my chest, and I realize that a previous knock must have been what woke me up in the first place. I scramble out of the bed, tucking in a boob that’s trying to escape from my twisted up robe. I do my best to tie the front shut and smooth down my bed hair situation as I rush to open the door.
Another knock ricochets through the room, and I fling the door open a little too hard. It slams against the wall and comes careening back to nail me in the shoulder.
“Son of a bitch!”
I shove the assaulting door away from me, but somehow, the belt of my robe is now tangled around the doorknob, and as the door wrenches back, it tugs the belt and unties it. Panicked, I grasp my now gaping robe and snap the front together before looking up into amused crystal blue eyes. Iceman is wearing a mirthful grin, and his lips twitch like he’s fighting a laugh.
“Hmm, good timing,” he says amicably. “I brought you some clothes. I tried to come yesterday, but you were sleeping pretty hard. We didn’t want to wake you. We figured it was best to let you sleep.”
“Uh...thanks,” I reply, trying not to breathe my dragon breath on him.
He tries to hand me the pile, but I quickly learn if I let go of my robe, I’m either flashing him vag or boobs. I stand there awkwardly, not sure what to do because neither one of those things seem like a very good option right about now.
“Um, just tuck them under my chin,” I finally instruct.
He pauses. “Just…”
“Yep, tuck ’em right under.”
I don’t dare look at his face as he does just that. I clamp down on them with my chin and then quickly back away and shut the door, ignoring the chuckle that starts up on the other side.
I stomp into the bathroom and then quickly groan at my reflection. My hair looks like it was styled by Russell Brand back when he liked to tease a giant tangle at the back of his head. I slept on my stomach all fucking night, so I have no idea how the hell this even happened. My face doesn’t look much better, because my cheek is scabbed over, healing from my road rash, same as my side and arm.
Shaking my head at myself, I brush my teeth with the packaged toothbrush and toothpaste I find in a drawer and then tackle my purple mane with a comb I find. Once I resemble a woman again and not some kind of animal trying to nest in my own hair, I sort out the clothes that Iceman brought me.
And...there’s no underwear.
I probably shouldn’t be shocked by this, but I stare at my sludgy delicates in the trash can for a solid few seconds before deciding commando it is. I pull a black tank top over my head and it’s so snug that I think for a minute it’s trying to strangle me. I’m about ten seconds away from accepting that this is how I go, but with several grunts and some serious elbow grease, I get the damn thing down over my boobs and I’m able to breathe again. The shirt is long enough to go down to my waist, but it’s so tight that the hem rolls up, making it look more like a crop top than anything that can really be considered a full-sized shirt.
I have the opposite problem with the light gray sweatpants I step into. They’re so big that even when I tie them as tight as they’ll go, they still sit dangerously low on my hips. One wrong move and I’ll be flashing pubes and ass crack. Great. As if I haven’t made enough of a hot mess express impression on these guys already.
Walking out, I head downstairs, meeting up with the same bald maid from before, and she brings me to the dining room. My eyes immediately find Echo. The pale man is sitting to the left of Iceman, his black eyes looking at me over his steaming cup of coffee. Well, I assume it’s coffee, but I guess since he’s a demon, he could be drinking the souls of the dead.
Echo grins. “I only drink the souls of the dead on Mondays.”
I balk. “You can read my motherfucking mind?”
“No, you said that out loud, Swampy.”
I scowl at him and sit on the other side of the table, to the right of Iceman. The table is covered in platters, with everything from fluffy eggs to a fruit salad, fresh crepes, and a heaping bowl of steaming bacon.
My mouth waters, but before I can pick up my plate, a servant that I hadn’t even noticed was behind me plucks it up. I jolt in surprise, looking back to find none other than Grumpy Lurch. Dammit.
“Oh, uh, I can do that…” I say, reaching for my plate, but the butler holds it out of my reach. “Don’t be silly, Miss Gates. I shall tend to you.”
I grimace at his emphasis of the words “tend to you” because I’m fairly certain he means “fuck with you.”
He starts to fill my plate for me, but instead of the neat little portions that Iceman and Echo have, GL starts piling everything in the middle of my plate with rough spoonfuls, sending some of the food flying at me. I barely manage to dodge a piece of egg white before it slaps against the floor behind me.
I clear my throat, nervous about the destruction of my breakfast. “I’m really sorry about storming in yesterday,” I tell him. I don’t get any response other than another scoop, scowl, and slap on my plate. “And about the mess,” I quickly add. “I hope it wasn’t too bad. I can help if—”
He cuts me off. “Nonsense. I am here to serve, Miss Gates.”
With a jerk, he places the plate down in front of me, and all I can do is stare down at the mess. The watermelon has been mashed over the eggs, staining it in juices that resemble watery blood. I have exactly one piece of bacon that looks like he cooked it in the pits of Hell and only brought it back up once it was charred and smoking. The buttery biscuits are in crumbles, the gravy is drizzled over a strawberry tart, and I’m afraid to ask what the slimy green stuff is.
“Would you like anything else for breakfast, Miss Gates?” Lurch asks, almost daring me to complain in front of the guys.
I look up at him with a strained smile. “Nope,” I chirp. “This is great.”
With a terse nod, he pivots in his shiny shoes and stomps out of the room with his head held high, while I’m left with a plate that looks nearly inedible.
I pick up my fork and start eating. I said nearly inedible. I’m not about to waste food.
I accidentally eat some of the slimy green thing with a biscuit crumb, and it’s so unexpectedly spicy that my tongue nearly goes up in flames. I chug water down from the glass in front of me, only to realize it’s some kind of really awful clear alcohol.
That just sends me into a coughing fit, and tears start licking down my cheeks as I wave off the guys when Iceman gets up like he’s going to try to give me the Heimlich or something.
“I’m...fine,” I sputter, shoving the cup away from me. “What in the Hellgat
e is that stuff?”
“Demon spirits,” he answers with a frown. “Do you not like it?”
“No!” I say, shoving watermelon on my tongue to try and soothe my burning mouth. “And what do you mean demon spirits? Are you saying I just imbibed your essence or some shit?”
Hearing a snort, I look up to see Crux and Jerif enter the room. Crux’s blond hair is windblown, his tan face smirking as he walks in wearing nothing but a pair of board shorts that are dripping with water. In contrast, Jerif is wearing a full-fledged black suit with a deep red shirt that looks damn good against his onyx colored skin and strange flickering orange eyes and hair.
“Not spirits like that,” Crux tells me, sitting down in the chair right next to mine. Grumpy Lurch reappears and immediately starts serving them the normal way, with nice little food piles and zero splattering. “Spirits like alcohol. Except ours has caffeine as well to add a little kick.”
“Well, it tastes like melted plastic mixed with burnt bread left too long in the toaster,” I tell him.
Crux cocks a brow. “Strange. It tastes like honey and chili peppers to me.”
I shake my head. “I don’t understand how that’s better.”
Jerif sits next to Echo, but he frowns over at my plate. “What happened there?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly, darting a look to Lurch. “This is how I like my breakfast. Extra...mixed.”
A breeze tickles my ass, telling me I’m rocking a serious plumber’s smile. I hike up the back of my sweatpants and ignore the knowing cough that Grumpy Lurch gives. I let go of my pants and scoop up another bite of tainted eggs. Let him stare at my ass crack. It’s the least I can do to thank him for this delicious breakfast.
I glare at the green sludge and ignore my watering eyes as my palate attempts to recover from the spicy assault. My poor mouth is pretty much numb now, which means I can’t even taste the awful mixture of food on my plate. Lurch...zero; me...well, zero too because I like tasting good food. But at least he’s not winning.
“How did you sleep?” Iceman asks me politely as he bites into a perfectly cooked crispy slice of bacon. The grease glosses his plump bottom lip in a very enticing way, and I find myself staring at his mouth heatedly for a beat too long. I only snap out of it when someone else clears their throat.
