Grave Mistakes (Hellgate Guardians #1)(38)
“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 filled 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.