Grave Consequences (Hellgate Guardians Book 2)

by Ivy Asher

  Out of nowhere, my scythe warms in my hand, and in the blink of an eye, the blades pop out of each end. The action startles me, forcing me to stand up straighter. A lanky, wingless man jumps back from me with a shout like I just tried to burn him.

  “How am I supposed to detain her, sir, when she has that?” he asks, an Irish lilt to his worried voice.

  Detain me?

  I shove thoughts of my wings to the back of my mind with a shiver and force myself to focus. I hold my scythe out threateningly and narrow my eyes at the blond winged man and his little friend.

  “I need to get out of here now,” I bark, still not sure where here even is. The blond prick said something about his house though, so I’m hoping that means there’s a way in and out of it.

  “You,” I snarl at the lanky guy, pointing at him with the scythe, since it seems to scare him the most. “Show me the way out.”

  He looks over to Not-God, like he’s not sure which of us is scarier. The crazy bitch with the scythe, or his boss.

  The winged blond eyes me with a hard look, his jaw tightening as he glances over the scythe. “Do as she says,” Not-God instructs, and relief floods me. “But, kitten, know that I will find out who sent you, and when I do, I will hunt you to the Outer Rings of Hell. You’ll learn very soon that you’ve messed with the wrong Abdicated.”

  I brush off Not-God’s Liam Neeson-eque threat and focus on the lanky Irish guy. He doesn’t have wings, so I like him more. He’ll get me out of here, and then this douche can search Hell all he wants, because I’ll be back in my world, trying to not get killed in an Outer Ring demon attack or dissected by scientists because I now have wings. I’ll just buy a big trench coat like John Travolta in Michael. It worked for him.

  Goosebumps rise up all over my arms at the thought that I have these things stuck to my back, and a chill licks up my spine like some kind of bad omen.

  The Irish guy leads the way, and I follow him, moving my scythe in warning toward Not-God, just in case. The don’t you even think about trying anything is clear in my glare, and he sends his own haughty sneer right back at me. Only when I’m far enough away do I turn my back on him. The lanky man leads to what looks like a white endless wall, but he touches something I don’t see, making a door magically open.

  I quickly follow him out of the white nothingness, beyond grateful to see there’s colors on this side of wherever I am. The moment I’m through the doorway, I immediately feel like I’m in some kind of tropical destination. I don’t spot any palm trees, but there’s a heavy humidity in the air, and I’m surrounded by lush greenery and flowers that are clearly thriving in the comfortable climate. I look behind me at the white nothingness of the room I was in and then back at this tropical paradise in confusion.

  “This way,” Lanky urges, and I quickly hurry forward, my legs brushing against fauna as I stumble past the plants and into some kind of courtyard, but I falter slightly when the sounds of sex immediately fill the air.

  There are tall white pillars lining both sides of the picturesque garden I find myself in, but instead of plain white colonial columns, each pillar looks to be a sculpture straight out of the Kama Sutra.

  I’m completely befuddled by the sights and sounds all around me. I spin in awe, trying to take it all in, and that’s when I feel someone tackle me from behind.

  I go down like the chick on her knees who’s carved into one of the columns in front of me. My attacker elicits a pained grunt from me as I slam onto the ground and feel my scythe go bouncing away.

  Shit.

  I knew that needy pussy was going to be my downfall.

  2

  Welp, I’m in a dungeon.

  It’s a far, far cry from the sex pillars and multicolored hibiscus plants, I can tell you that much.

  I guess when Not-God ordered do as she says, that was really code for befuddle her senses with a fake sex garden of paradise vision and then shove her into a dungeon.

  I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. While I was reeling from the tackle and my head’s subsequent meeting with the unforgiving ground, Lanky dragged me backward and shoved me into this cell. I heard the sound of metal bars slamming shut just as my vision was blinking back into focus.

  The sight of my new prison overwhelms me with trepidation. I’m surrounded by spiked walls and ceiling, the jagged, uneven metal thorns looking like they’re trying to leap out at me. I guess I should be thankful that the floor isn’t covered in them too. Small mercies.

  Lanky left me in here with nothing but a metal bed and bucket for company, and I’ve gone through four different stages of freak out since then. I’m not sure how many stages there actually are until I can get to the end, or even if I can come to terms with my reality right now.

  I pace the room for a while, but my sore body puts a stop to that pretty quickly. I know for a fact that I was injured badly during the Vestibule battle, but all I’m suffering from are simple aches and pains. I feel sore all over, inside and out, and the weight at my back doesn’t help things at all, but I don’t feel like anything’s broken or damaged beyond repair.

  “Hello?” I call out, my hands gripping the bars of the cell as I try to peer down the flame-lit hallway. “I didn’t do anything wrong!” I cry, wincing as my voice echoes back to me.

  Echo.

  I clamp my eyes shut, leaning my forehead against the metal bar as pain overtakes me again. It keeps coming in waves, crashing right over my head and sending me sprawling and choking.

  “Let me out,” I call, but my heart isn’t even in it, and my voice is already scratchy from yelling the same things many times before. As far as I can tell, no one else is down here, and there’s no one to hear my pleas.

  Dragging myself away from the bars, I settle on top of the metal frame that’s nothing but a hellish exam table posing as a bed. I really hope its presence in this place isn’t foreshadowing anything. Wiping my feet free of dirt and grit, I’m really regretting that whole angry shoe toss I did earlier, because I’m pretty sure I’m going to step on something and catch some form of hepatitis or tetanus or both. Plus, it’s kind of cold.

  I lie down on my back, but when my wings touch the smooth metal, it sends a weird, unfamiliar sensation through me that I’ve never experienced before. I cringe away, turning onto my side, and hug my knees against my chest with a shudder.

  So many questions swirl in my head. I have no idea where I am. I’m pretty sure I’m in Hell still, but am I dead? Did I end up in Nihil—the Center Ring of Hell? Or am I in some jail for demons who try to go places they’re not supposed to?

  My chest aches for everything I’ve been through and lost in the last twenty-four hours. I’m not even sure how to process anything. With nothing else to distract me, the memories of the fight assault me. Jerif’s last plea is like a broken record beating on my eardrums.

  Don’t let me die for nothing. Run.

  He knew, right then and there, that was it for him. Maybe if I’d been paying more attention, I would’ve seen that same grim look of acceptance on all of the guys’ faces. But I just couldn’t fathom it. Even when we were overrun, I thought we could get away. The four of them are larger than life. Powerful. Other. So fucking special that I couldn’t really even begin to believe that they could possibly die.

  But we didn’t stand a chance. Five against hundreds? Thousands? I was so fucking naive. So totally unprepared.

  Bring her to the Ophidian.

  The memory of those words being growled makes the hairs rise up on my arms. Something or somebody wants me. They attacked us, killed my demons, because those Outer Ringers were told to come get me.

  How the fuck did they even know I was there in the first place? And more importantly, why? Why me? What the Hell could anyone possibly want from me?

  These questions plague me, but try as I might, I don’t fucking know the answers, and I have no way of finding out. I have no one to ask. I’m so terrified and brokenhearted that it feels like I’m being
weighed down with cement blocks and water is slowly, threateningly, rising up from my feet. It feels like it’s only a matter of time before I can’t breathe anymore and everything is over for me.

  I can’t help but wonder what’s happening with the Hellgate. I know I didn’t really want anything to do with it, but now, I feel some sort of kinship to the damn thing. We both lost who we were counting on to stabilize us.

  Is the Gate broken beyond repair? Are imps and Outer Ring demons pouring out into the mortal world right now as I’m stuck here? Am I still a Gate Guardian even though I was never inducted?

  My gray eyes blink at the spikes on the wall across from me as I stare off into space, questions swirling in my head. The metal is black and rough, and there are stains in some of the crevices between the sharp points. Not only does it look intimidating as hell, but it also makes all the sound in the room muffled, as if whoever built it wanted to make sure your own sobs suffocated in the air, not allowed to drift out.

  That’s exactly what I feel like—like the sadness is going to smother me.

  What would Jerif do if he knew that he would die just for me to end up here?

  It makes me angry on his behalf. He wanted me to get away, not to be stuck in this place. I need to get out. But my one and only weapon is gone. The scythe dropped right out of my hands, and I didn’t get to see what happened to it before I was dragged into this cell.

  Exhaustion tugs at my eyes, making my lids feel heavy. I try to fight it because it terrifies me to sleep in this place and to be caught unaware. So I force myself to get up and pace again, but the soreness in my body screams at me to sit back down.

  I grip the bars, yelling once more, shouting words that get swallowed up in the darkness. Defeated and utterly drained, I lie down on the bed again, and then I just cry. My tears go hot and cold. My body sweats and shivers. My mind whirls until my overflowing emotions make me go numb instead.

  A long time passes by the time my heavy lids take over, shutting my burning eyes against my will. Sweeping the last of my tears away, my eyes force me into sleep, like I’ve been strong-armed in a wrestling contest and the only thing I can do is tap out.

  I dream about them dying over and over again.

  I wake up because of a sound, but my groggy body doesn’t pinpoint it right away. I groan at the hard metal bed that I’m lying on and rub my hands down my face. I was really hoping that when I opened my eyes, the spiked walls and overall doom of my circumstances would have been gone, nothing but a nightmare.

  One look over my shoulder sends all hope away. Those grotesque, horrible multihued-purple wings are still attached to my back, some of the feathers nearly matching the shade of my hair.

  I always thought it was weird that I’ve been dyeing my hair purple since I was sixteen. I just...had to. I’ve always been drawn to it. My mom didn’t even mind it; she said it suited me. I can’t help but wonder if that’s because she knew I had wings to go right along with it. It’s like every time I got a purple box of dye, I was fulfilling some omen or giving fate a hand up. Maybe this is why I only have to dye my hair every six months. It takes to the color like it’s claiming it as its own.

  Did my parents know that if these blocks on me were removed, this is what I would really look like? Was I born with violet purple hair and wings? Is that why they put some sort of demon power block on me, because there was no way for me to blend otherwise?

  I dismiss the barrage of frustrating questions. I shouldn’t keep looking for answers when I know I’ll probably never find them. Instead, I search my body for any other hints of change. I don’t feel any horns or tails. I still have two eyes and normal teeth, and my skin is what it’s always been. I don’t have a forked tongue like Crux, or blue skin like Iceman, or moving tattoo shadows like Echo. I don’t have fiery hair like Jerif. Aside from the wings and what I now suspect is the real color of my hair, I’m still me.

  Sitting up, I look around, testing out my body as I stretch and crick my neck, trying to work out the soreness from the bed and figure out what the noise was that woke me up. When my eyes scan over to the bars of my cell, I jump so hard that I ram my wings back against the spiked wall, instantly piercing one.

  With a pained yelp, I stand up, nearly falling face-forward as I overcompensate for the weight of the wings at my back. I’ve been awake for about forty seconds, and life already sucks.

  With a hand over my racing heart, I stare at Lanky who’s just standing in the shadows, watching me like a creeper.

  “Fuck, how long have you been standing there like the king of pervs?” I demand, reaching around to rub my smarting wing. I try not to flinch at the feel of feathers against my hand, but I don’t succeed. Fuck. I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to this.

  Ew.

  I pull my hand away, and luckily, there’s no blood, so I guess that’s a good thing. I doubt leaving my blood cells behind in a place like this would be a good thing. Who knows what could happen? I don’t trust this Lanky fucker.

  “So what’s going to happen to me now?” I ask my audience of one, not at all expecting that he’ll answer me.

  He looks pretty determined to just stand there and creep me out, but what he doesn’t know is that I’m on board with not being down here alone. Slap my ass and call me misery, because company—whether silent and voyeuristic or not—is better than nothing.

  I notice that he doesn’t have a chair, so either he’s an epic stander or he’s not planning on being down here for too long. I try not to think about what that means for me.

  “Next time your friends come to you and say, hey let’s pop down into Hell real quick. It’ll be fun and totally fine, don’t believe anything they say. Run as far away from them as you can. And if you’re being attacked by Outer Ring demons like I always am, stick with your posse. But overall, just say no to Hell,” I advise him.

  He doesn’t crack a smile, and even trying to joke about the other Gate Guardians hurts my heart. I shake my head and try to get comfortable on the morgue table that’s doubling as a bed.

  “I have an idea,” I announce. “I’m going to ask you a bunch of questions. You can stay perfectly still and creeptastic. If I’m right, you can snort, and if I’m wrong, then you can blink twice or something. Okay?”

  Lanky just stares at me blankly.

  “Perfect, that’s exactly right, I’m so glad you got the rules of the game so fast,” I encourage sarcastically.

  “Okay, first question, am I still in Hell?”

  I study his face, but he’s got this stony thing nailed. I nod like answers are just pouring off of him.

  “Okay, still in Hell, good to know. This next one is a little harder...am I in Nihil?

  Nothing. Hmm.

  “Am I somewhere else?”

  Lanky sniffs, and my eyes widen. I spring up from my lunch tray bed and stare at him excitedly. “So I am in Nihil?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just had to sniff,” he defends, his Irish lilt making his words sound more appealing than they are.

  “Did you really?” I challenge. “Okay, so I’m in Hell. I’m in Nihil, which means that I am a Nihil?” I recount to myself as if that’s going to help everything connect. “But how? Jerif said that it was impossible.”

  “Who’s Jerif? Is that who helped you break into Tazreel’s house?” Lanky asks.

  “Tazreel?” I ask. “Is that the name of Not-God with the blond wings and hair and a Gaston complex?”

  Lanky stares at me, unmoving.

  “Tazreel…” I repeat again, like saying the name will jog my memory. “Nope, no idea who that is. And no one helped me break in anywhere; I fell through the Ring portal and woke up in that creepy white room,” I supply. “Blame the Gate, not me.”

  “Everyone knows Tazreel,” Lanky argues, like he’s not buying my defense at all. “He was part of the original wave of Abdicated. Everyone knows that.”

  “Abdicated?”

  Why did I know that word? I quickly recall th
e blond winged dude claiming he was one, but that isn’t it. I’m pretty sure one of the guys used the term before, I just can’t quite remember.

  “Yes,” he says, looking at me like I’m an idiot. “Tazreel is one of the angels who left Heaven.”

  Understanding dawns on me, and I look at Lanky excitedly as I piece it together. “Holy shit, the blond dude is a Fallen Angel?”

  “Abdicated, not Fallen Angel. No one fell from anywhere. Fallen…” He snorts, like the thought is ludicrous.

  I stare at Lanky as my mind wraps itself slowly around what this all means. I’m in Nihil, the Center Ring of Hell, where only the Abdicated and very powerful live. I have wings. I shiver. And I’ve been hidden from the demon world my whole life up until now…

  “Shit, am I the Anti-Christ?” I ask, shocked. “I mean, I don’t feel like I want to burn the world to the ground, but what other explanation is there?”

  Lanky busts up laughing. I turn a glare on him, not appreciating the levity he’s experiencing during my existential crisis.

  “You are not the anti anything. All you are is in big trouble for messing with Tazreel. As soon as he finds a Savor who can come on such short notice, we’ll know who you are and just what to do with you.”

  “A Savior?” I ask, confused, because that sounds like a good thing and not the ominous threat that Lanky meant it as.

  “A Savor,” he repeats.

  “Sailor?”

  “Savor!” he mouths more slowly.

  “Shaver?” I ask, feigning confusion.

  “SAVOR!”

  I got it on the second mention, but fucking with him right now is just too good of a distraction. We go for another minute until I run out of things that sound like Savor, and he finally clues in.

  Lanky glares at me, not at all amused, and silence spreads out between us like slowly rising bread. As soon as I stop talking and focusing on only the here and now, loss ripples through me, reminding me of things I wish I could bleach from my mind. Or maybe it’s just the guilt and responsibility that I wish I could run from.