Grave Mistakes (Hellgate Guardians #1)(56)
“What are we doing at a hillbilly bar?” I ask, my brows pulling together in a frown.
“One of the Hellgates is here,” Iceman replies as he hands me back my scythe and smooths his suit jacket over himself. I don’t know how the hell he looks so good or how he’s not dying from being overheated. I’m already sweating balls out here, and I’ve only been out of the boat-made wind for about sixty seconds. The underarms of my purple shirt are damp with circles, and I can feel how clammy my skin is.
“Why aren’t you guys sweating?” I ask, my tone accusatory. I point at Crux. “Crux is the only one who is.”
“Hey, I’m not sweating, I’m glistening,” Crux retorts before running a hand through his damp sideburns and sweeping back his blond hair.
“Yeah, but the rest of them aren’t even glistening,” I reply. “It feels like Satan’s asshole out here after he’s had fiery diarrhea. What the fuck?”
Echo tips his head back and laughs, and my attention is immediately drawn to the fact that the tattoos usually wrapped around his arms have moved—again—and they seem to be stretched into long and widening shadows that are currently protecting him from the oppressive sun.
“I can shade myself,” he answers. “Hot Lava over here doesn’t feel hot, because his blood legitimately runs as hot as lava. And Rafferty, your proclaimed Iceman, doesn’t get hot. He always runs ice-cold. Crux is more susceptible to the Mortal Realm’s elements because he’s a Trēs demon.”
I let all of that soak in. Iceman always runs ice-cold? Huh, guess I was wrong in thinking he chose that call sign because he was a Val Kilmer fan. It makes sense though, when I remember how he wrapped around me during my overheated freak out at the mansion. “Well, why don’t I get any handy no-sweating demon tricks?” I ask, picking my hair up off the back of my neck to fan it.
“Not sure, but you look cute with your cheeks all flushed and your brow beaded with sweat like you’ve just gotten fucked for two hours straight and you’re still boiling with lust,” Crux says casually, elbowing me slightly with his tanned, muscled arm.
I choke on air, and my eyes widen, while my stomach tightens. A salacious smile sneaks across Crux’s face, and my vagina really likes the things that smile is doing for us. My coughing fit ends, and I try and fail to think of a witty comeback.
“Wow, that was quite the visual,” is all I manage to come up with.
To keep from slapping a hand to my forehead like I want to, I braid my hair over my shoulder instead. I should really remember to bring extra hair ties. Maybe I can wrap a couple around this scythe thing, since it seems to be my destiny to have it with me. I make a mental note to do just that the next chance I get.
“Yep. It’s just one of the many delicious thoughts I have going on up here,” Crux replies, pointing to his temple and sucking me back into the dirty talk.
I snort, doing my best to pretend like I’m not flattered or flustered by his words as the thoughts crash through my mind. I shove them away for review at a later, more private time, as Iceman starts to lead the way down the dock and toward the bar. The five of us walk single file on a pathway that’s made of smashed beer cans shoved into concrete. When we make it to the building and past the swinging doors of the bar, I see immediately that there’s a lot of what the fuck going on in here.
I stop in my tracks, taking in the large room. My eyes don’t really pay attention to the bar that seems to be made up of old wine barrels, or the banjo player who’s sitting on top of one of the tables in the middle of a fiery ring, or even at the dozens of demons that are inside showing off their horns, tails, wings, and fangs. Instead, my eyes are glued on the white canines that seem to have been glued to every inch of the ceiling.
“Are those…”
“Alligator teeth? Yep,” Echo replies before stuffing his hands in his pockets as his black eyes seem to soak in the shadows of the room.
I drag my glance away from the toothy ceiling and look around, the stench of alcohol overwhelming. At least there’s A/C in here. I feel gloriously cool air blowing around me, despite the flames in the center of the space. “What is this place?”
“Demon bar,” Crux tells me as we start following Iceman, who’s moving toward a table near the back. When we walk by one of the tables, a demon with four arms reaches out and slaps me on the ass with two of his hands, one right after the other.
“Keep your hands to yourself, fucker!” I say, my mouth popping off before my brain can warn me away from telling off the scary demon who could definitely kick my ass.
“You smell real nice,” he drawls before reaching forward to snag my arm.
I don’t even have time to wrench away or smash this prick in the head with my scythe like I want to before Iceman is there, standing between us. “She’s with us.”
I peer over his arm and see the demon blanche. “Rafferty, that you?”
Iceman nods tersely, and the demon whistles, revealing a mouth with a row of sharp black teeth. “Sorry, didn’t know she was yours. I won’t touch her.”
“Good.”
Iceman turns to me and places his hand on the middle of my back, steering me away. I know I shouldn’t preen at the protective and possessive gesture he just displayed, but I can’t help it.
When we get to the empty table, he pulls out a chair for me to sit in. I slide into the wooden seat and lean my walking stick from Hell against the table, while he and Crux take the chairs on either side of me. Echo and Jerif sit across from us, and a barmaid immediately comes over.