Grave Mistakes (Hellgate Guardians #1)(58)
I open my mouth, only for Echo to cut me off. “Don’t lie. We’re demons. We can sense that too.”
Well, fuck. Is this the demon spirits talking? Are they lightweights? They each had a couple sips, but I wouldn’t think it was enough to encourage randy, blunt, sex talk. I look at each of them in turn not quite sure what to make of this conversation. Has my agreeing to talk to someone about the Hellgate opened up this can of worms? Do I really care?
I swallow hard, noting that all four demons are hyper-focused on me. Part of me wants to flip them the finger and tell them to fuck off, but what the hell? I’m not shy about sex.
“Fine, I’m attracted to you,” I admit, thankful that my voice is steady and that I don’t sound like a nervous teenager. “But I don’t fuck anyone with strings,” I tell them honestly.
Echo tilts his head. “What does that mean?”
I shrug and fidget with the crack in the wooden table top. “I’m not good at relationships or messy hookups. I’m a have sex and X kind of girl. We have sex, I X you off the list.”
Crux’s hand slaps on the table. “I volunteer to be the first one X’ed off.”
A surprised bubble of laughter emits from my throat. “You’re ridiculous.”
He shrugs, not at all concerned. “I still volunteer.”
I shake my head at him, but I can’t help the part of me that’s intrigued. I’m not going to lie, I’m dying to know what sex would be like with a demon. If the pictures I saw at Perdition Estate are anything to go by, then I’m in for a serious ride.
But as much as my interest is piqued, I might be better off playing with someone like banjo boy over there instead of someone I could potentially be working with. I know I can keep things light and easy after getting all carnal, but Crux still has those excited puppy vibes, and I’m just not sure if he can.
Well, damn, Delta. You agree to consider guarding one Hellgate and suddenly you want to let your demon freak flag fly. I side-eye myself for a second. Maybe I’m the lightweight. I mean, I stand by what I’m saying, but I just can’t figure out why I’m confessing to it now.
Crux looks across at Echo with a satisfied grin as he leans back in his chair. “She’s definitely going to pick me over you.”
Echo rolls his eyes. “Yeah, we’ll see.”
My heart stumbles over itself, and I look between the two demons, noting that they just started some sort of sex contest in regards to me and feeling oddly excited about it.
“She’s barely agreed to think about the Gate. We don’t need you two fiddle dicks making things more complicated,” Jerif says with a sigh, tipping his cup back to drain the last of his drink. “Stop thinking with your cocks, will you?”
“Impossible,” Crux replies. “My cock always has the best ideas.”
I choke out a laugh while Echo nods. “Sadly, that’s probably true.”
Iceman shakes his head, but I don’t miss the amusement in his blue eyes. “Focus. Flint seems to be finishing up.”
“Who’s Flint?” I ask.
“The demon you were ogling,” Echo replies.
My eyes fly over to the marble-faced banjo player, who does in fact end his song. He gets to his feet and then jumps down, ignoring the smattering of applause he receives as he walks off, passing right through the circle of flames without even flinching.
“He’s the demon who watches the Gate?”
“One of them,” Iceman answers before standing up and tossing down a wad of bills on the table. He helps me out of my seat and tucks my hand in the crook of his arm. “Come on. Time to go meet another Gate Guardian.”
15
Iceman leads us across the bar and through another set of swinging doors like he owns the place. We spill out into a small dingy looking kitchen, which answers my question about whether or not they have food. But when an imp that looks to be made of dirt clods pulls an angry screeching squid thing from a bucket and then throws it directly into a deep fryer, I make firm plans to dine elsewhere.
I’m led past the kitchen, down some dimly lit hallway where we all stop outside a door marked Office. Iceman knocks, and a smooth voice calls out for us to come in. He opens the door and we all file in, and I’m suddenly caught up in a flurry of man hugs and hellos. I scurry to get out of the way of the boisterous reunion and plant myself against a wood paneled wall. I look around, taking in the two desks with stacks of papers on them, the computer that looks like it might be a first edition original model, and absolutely nothing else that could possibly be a Hellgate.
I catch sight of Flint—the black haired, gray-eyed, marble-skin-looking banjo player—as more back slapping and some ball busting starts to go down amongst the group. I also get a hint of another large male demon in the back with dandelion yellow hair and skin the color of faint lavender. I think I spot a flower behind his ear, but Jerif steps in my line of sight, and I immediately question why I would think that. These are big gruff demons; I doubt they’re rocking ear blooms.
I feel awkward standing on the side while they all catch up. I feel like I’m at a party where everyone knows everyone, and my wingman forgot I was here and is just ignoring me while they’re off having the best time. I would pull out my phone and pass the minutes until someone decides to include me, but I forgot to bring it. So instead, I study my scythe and try not to feel left out.