Grave Consequences (Hellgate Guardians Book 2)

by Ivy Asher

  Echo, Crux, and I continue making our way to where Nefta and Taz are fighting Morax. As soon as we get closer, I can make out the three dark silhouettes, made easier by the fact that night is waning.

  Nefta has a long, bloody gash in her thigh, making her limp, and Taz is holding one short sword now with his left hand, while his right hangs strangely, like his shoulder has been popped out of joint. The three of them are a blur of movement as they attack, then move away from each other, readying to parry again.

  Every time Nefta and Taz try to get Morax stuck between them, the slippery medusa demon moves away or attacks, forcing them to both face him head-on again. With a ruthless swing of his sword, he tries to take off Taz’s head, which Pride barely is able to stop from happening by a quick side step, forcing Nefta to jump out of his way before he bowls her over.

  Morax takes advantage of her split-second unsteady stance. He moves in, but instead of him trying to attack her, grabs her by the face and presses his lips to hers.

  She’s so stunned for a moment that she doesn’t move, which I’m sure is exactly what he was counting on. As soon as she gets her wits about her, she brings up her sword with fire in her eyes, but the fucker dodges her with a graceful spin that I’m surprised he’s capable of.

  Nefta is fit to be tied as she spits at the ground, like his kiss offended and disgusted her. “You’ll pay for that,” she declares, vengeance dripping from her tone.

  “Come now, Nefta. You always liked playing Seven Minutes in Hell with me when we were younger,” he says with a wicked grin, his teeth flashing in the lightening sky.

  “AHH!” She warrior cries toward him, but it seems he was expecting her to lash out in anger, because he’s ready for it. With a precise, aimed kick at her middle, he sends her shooting back, where she lands against a tree, the force of it cracking the trunk on impact. She crumples to the ground and doesn’t get back up.

  Taz tries to rush him, but once again Morax deflects the sword and renews his defense and attack. Without another moment of hesitation, I skirt around the edges of their mock-fighting ring, careful to keep my steps even and quiet. I’m going to scythe this bastard, once and for all.

  “We’ve got your back,” Crux says quietly as he and Echo follow behind me.

  The moment Morax’s back is turned, I close the distance.

  Let’s try this again!

  I lift my scythe and swing like it’s a Louisville Slugger. Morax spins, catching the wood in his grip, and my momentum is suddenly cut off as he presses his own blade against my chest, aimed right at my heart. I freeze as do the guys behind me...but so does Morax.

  Because Taz is holding a blade to his throat.

  “Drop it,” Taz snarls, and to my surprise, Morax actually does.

  The blade falls to the ground with a thud, and Echo immediately kicks it away, out of reach.

  The snakes hiss and snap at Taz, but one growl from Morax and they instantly calm. Morax clearly doesn’t want them provoking Taz into slicing his head off his neck.

  “Hands on your head and drop to your knees,” Taz orders.

  The Ophidian does that too, though he has a manic grin on his face that makes me uneasy. “Not the first time you’ve said that, huh, Pride?” he mocks.

  Luckily, Taz doesn’t rise to the bait, and he’s careful to keep his blade pressed tightly against Morax’s throat. “Tell me why you want Delta.”

  Freaky white eyes snap up to me from the ground. “Because of her bloodline, of course.”

  Taz nods. “Because she’s half Abdicated Pride and half Angelic Legion?”

  The Ophidian lets out a laugh that sounds more like a hiss. “You don’t know, do you?” He looks to me next, and when he sees the confusion on my face, it makes more of that unnerving laugh fall from his lips. “Oh, this is even better.”

  Taz doesn’t enjoy being out of the loop, and I have to admit, I’m with him on this one. He leans down, wrenching Morax’s head back with a vicious yank of his snakes, making the creatures hiss and shriek. “Tell me!” he demands, the blade cutting into his skin and sending a dark trickle of blood down his throat.

  “Yes, she’s half Heaven, half Hell,” Morax tells him, his voice slightly strained from the angle Taz is holding him. “But she’s so much more than that.”

  Iceman and Jerif slip in beside me, just in time for me to send my guys an uneasy look.

  Morax settles his eyes on me again. “Funny how your mother hasn’t told you. But then, she always did like to keep family secrets.”

  I don’t know what to make of that, and it’s obvious that Taz doesn’t either.

  “What were you going to do with Delta?” he asks again.

  “Use her, of course,” Morax says with a slight lift of his shoulder. “Heaven, Hell, the Mortal Realm...it’s all wrong. Untapped. Wasted. I’m going to change that. My new realm is ready to take over, and she’s going to help me do it. You all will be kneeling to me very, very soon. Now, hold still.”

  Morax’s voice has that eerie edge to it again, and in the next breath, I can’t move.

  No one can.

  Terror slams through me as Morax climbs to his feet and dusts himself off. He takes a step toward me, and I know I’m beyond fucked. I thought that Taz was immune, but it looks like I was wrong.

  “You dare to fuck with free will...Ophidian?” Tazreel snarls, only it’s not Tazreel’s voice that shreds out of his throat. It’s Lucifer’s.

  I blink, and Tazreel’s body somehow unfreezes while the rest of us are still completely stuck.

  Morax’s focus snaps to the Prince of Darkness who seems to be wearing my sperm donor’s body at the moment. “Late to the party, as usual,” Morax snarks evenly, but I notice his body is stiff and his snakes writhe like they’re agitated...or nervous.

  “I know what you’re doing,” Lucifer says with a head shake and disappointment in his eyes. “I thought you were smarter than that. But then again, I also thought you were dead, so go figure.”

  “Oh, Bearer of Light, you’ve gotten complacent in your old age. I think it’s time for new management,” Morax declares as he steps back, careful not to let the Tazreel-wearing-Lucifer get too close.

  Lucifer smiles and tsks his tongue, casually and very subtly, moving closer to me and pushing Morax further away. “I may not be able to physically set foot in the Mortal Realm to teach you the proper lesson that you deserve, but then again, I don’t have to.” The Devil himself pauses for dramatic effect. “The realm you created against the Accords—the one you thought you’d hidden and have been exiling demons to without permission—is being purged by the Angelic Legion and Hell’s army as we speak,” Lucifer explains casually.

  Morax’s face goes from calm and unaffected to furious in a single millisecond. He takes a threatening step toward Satan, but then seems to think better of it. His milky-white snake eyes flash to me, and I see the realization dawn on him that Lucifer has expertly herded him too far away from me for him to make a grab and run.

  Thankfully, I can sense movement returning to my limbs too, so whatever Morax did is wearing off.

  “Off you go now, Ophidian. This is once again a game you simply cannot win. Run while you can, because you’re officially being hunted by the wings of Heaven and Hell...and now you have no army,” Lucifer coos at him like it’s just the saddest thing he’s ever heard. Meanwhile, his eyes scream when I find you again, you’re going to wish I never had.

  “I’ll see you soon, Little One,” Morax aims at me, the look in his eyes making my blood run cold. “The Adversary isn’t always watching like you think.”

  With that, Morax’s mud-colored wings rocket him up into the sky, and he quickly disappears. I can’t track where he goes, and I’m surprised that he doesn’t aim for the mausoleum portal and what remains of the demons who retreated from the fight.

  “Niece!” Lucifer commands, pulling my focus back to him. “Taz is going to pass out when I give him back his shell. As soon as he wakes, tell
him I need him in Nihil. And tell Nefta to stop fucking around and explain what you are,” he orders. “I’ll see you soon. Hopefully with good news.”

  Lucifer winks at me, using Tazreel’s eye, and then a shudder goes through him. Just like that, Lucifer leaves Tazreel’s body, and he collapses to the ground, out cold. I stare at him on the blood-soaked ground, and then my eyes track over to Nefta who’s still lying at the base of the cracked tree. I see my Guardians making small, jerky movements, trying to fight off the last of the power that Morax used on us.

  Everything around me is silent, like even the crickets and wind are reeling too much to dare make a sound. My body regains control, but I remain frozen, just standing there as I try to make sense of it all.

  I can’t.

  I have no idea what in the name of Hell just happened.

  23

  Jerif lays Tazreel’s body gently on the fainting couch, while Iceman places Nefta on a larger sofa that’s been angled toward the lit fireplace. I recognize the room we’re in from my first night in the mansion. I woke up on the very same fainting couch after Iceman paused me against my will. Yeah, maybe I was having a slight freak out about the whole demon thing, but still, it was uncouth as fuck.

  I study Taz’s oddly serene face, hoping he’ll be waking up from his slumber very soon. I suspect when he does, he won’t be any happier about the whole fainting couch thing than I was.

  I look around the room, and my eyes land on the shadow-shrouded corner that I remember Echo walking out of before I had accepted what I was. It’s a strange full circle moment, and I’m not sure exactly how I feel about it.

  Really, that shouldn’t come as any surprise though, because I have no fucking clue how I feel about any of this.

  Grumpy Lurch is being surprisingly not-hostile about the amount of demon gore that’s being tracked into the house, but he is quick to tell us that Nefta and Taz will wake in time when they’re healed, and that he’ll keep a close eye on them while the rest of us clean up.

  I’m in a bathroom in a blink with no recollection of how I got there, because my body is just moving on autopilot. I strip out of my clothes and step into the warm spray of a shower, like I’ve activated zombie mode. I couldn’t tell you if I scrub myself or if someone else does it for me, because I can’t seem to focus on anything other than replaying tonight’s cluster fuck of events over and over again and the answers I received—answers that just form more questions.

  The Ophidian.

  The realm he created.

  What I am.

  It all just plays on a loop right alongside every second of the battle, and I can’t seem to escape from it all.

  Is Morax a God? How else could he have created another realm? I thought only Gods could do that. But if he is, then why would he need me? Shit, am I God? I snort at that, because now I’m just sounding like Tazreel in all his arrogant glory.

  I replay his confessions in my mind. No, this isn’t about existing Gods. This is about Morax wanting to become one. Dude has a serious God complex.

  So now what?

  I try to answer that question repeatedly, but nothing I put together feels right or safe. There’s too much that I’m missing, and I need Nefta to wake the fuck up and fill in the missing pieces.

  Still lost in the recesses of my mind, I’m lurched back into the present when pain suddenly ricochets through me. Shock wrenches from my lips as I surface from my deep pool of thought with a screech. I come to with Iceman’s hands on my broken wing, soothing the now straight line where he reset the bone. I Lamaze-breathe through the rebounding pain, tears dripping freely down my cheeks.

  Fuck, that hurt.

  “Warn a girl next time!” I growl at him between clenched teeth.

  “We did. It’s not our fault you went all unresponsive on us. We couldn’t just leave it to heal fucked up like it was,” Jerif barks back.

  I realize that all the guys are freshly showered and dawning various lounge worthy clothing. I’m sitting on the edge of a silvery bed, wrapped in a silk robe with the back cut out for my wings. I don’t even remember getting out of the shower.

  The shakes are setting in, either because Iceman’s touch is cold, or maybe the shock and adrenaline are finally wearing off. I suspect it’s the latter.

  “I’m sorry,” I say as I bring my hand down my face, wiping away the tears and catatonic frustration.

  “You don’t have to be sorry, Jeter,” Crux tells me as he sits down on the bed beside me. “We just want you to talk to us.”

  “And to stop shaking,” Jerif says with a scowl, as if my shivers are personally offending him. I give him a wry look as he makes the flames in the fireplace roar three times bigger and start putting off some major heat. Iceman sidesteps away from the flame.

  “Thanks,” I tell him, grateful for his surly ass. “How long will it take my wing to fully heal?” I ask the room.

  “Not long. A few hours, I think. You could be healed instantly if you stepped into Nihil, but I suspect you don’t want to go to Hell right about now,” Iceman tells me.

  “You’re right about that,” I mutter. The only demons I want to see are these four and Taz.

  I look over my shoulders and give my wing a soft stroke. It seems to sigh against my back at the touch. The pain is still there, but it’s cold and throbbing, slightly numbed again from Iceman’s handiwork.

  When I look back at the guys, they’re all giving me strange looks. “What?” I ask.

  “I thought you hated your wings,” Echo muses, giving my hand that’s still petting my feathers a pointed look.

  I narrow my eyes and drop my hand. “We’ve seen some shit together now,” I reply. “They tried to get me away and got broken in the process. That’s some ride or die shit.”

  Echo and Crux chuckle while I scoot back on the bed, feeling suddenly exhausted. “How long do you think until Taz or Nefta wake up?”

  Iceman shrugs. “Could be hours, could be days. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “Fuck, I’m tired,” I admit. “Is that normal?”

  “We haven’t seen or fought against anything of this magnitude before. We’re all completely wiped,” Iceman confesses.

  I look over at each of them and notice the exhaustion etched in their features. Their eyes are hollow and their bodies in desperate need of sleep. It feels weird to want to crash after all the insanity that just happened, but I feel so run down that I can’t even process anything properly. I’m sluggish and overwhelmed, but there’s so much to do. We have to figure out how to protect ourselves and pinpoint what went wrong.

  I just don’t know how.

  “Sleep, Maverick,” Iceman offers, as though he knows I need encouragement. “Strut will come get us as soon as Nefta or Tazreel are awake. We’ve all been through a lot, and we can’t solve it right now at this moment, especially if we’re dead on our feet.”

  I nod in agreement, but I still feel weird about the need to just shut down and deal with everything later.

  “Our problems aren’t going anywhere,” Echo assures me, and with that, I finally let loose the yawn that’s been building in my throat.

  I don’t think I’ve ever been so exhausted in my life. I crawl into the bed and almost moan at how warm and inviting it feels. I want to worship the shit out of it, sing its praises with the snores of deep sleep, and give it drool offerings in trade for good dreams where all the snakes in the world die.

  I look over at the guys and notice they’re kind of awkward and fidgety in a sloth-like I’m about to fall asleep on my feet kind of way.

  “What?” I ask with budding apprehension.

  “We should rest, too,” Iceman says carefully.

  “Okay…”

  Crux scratches the back of his blond head. “Ah...do you want to sleep in here alone, or…”

  Brow furrowed, I look at the four of them with confusion until realization dawns on me. They all want to stay with me, but they aren’t sure how I feel about that. I thi
nk they expect me to pick one of them and kick three of them out. Fuck that.

  I know we haven’t discussed this, or really any part of our unique relationship, but the last thing I want is to be separated from any of them right now.

  I settle, becoming one with the mattress, and then pat either side of me. “Will you guys stay with me?” I ask.

  Echo and Crux are already in the bed before I can finish my sentence. I laugh as they both aim for the same spot on my left, running into each other in the process. They shove and elbow at each other, trying to get the upper hand as giggles rent through me, my spirits feeling instantly lighter.

  “Easy with her wing. Don’t jostle her,” Iceman says as he comes around on my right side.

  Echo and Crux immediately stop shoving each other. Echo uses Crux’s pause to his advantage and slips onto the bed at my left, blocking Crux with a cocky grin.

  Crux rolls his green eyes and then stretches out on the bottom of the bed on his back, picking up my feet and laying them on his muscled stomach. He starts to massage the arches, making me groan. “Oh man, that feels so good.”

  Crux snorts, giving my arch another squeeze. “Hmm, I think you said that to me before…”

  I kick him playfully, earning a little, “Oomph.”

  Iceman settles on my right, moving his leg beneath mine to tangle together comfortably, while Echo’s arm gets slung over my middle. I trace his pale skin, noting that all of his tattoos are gone. It looks strange to see him without them—I’ve gotten used to them constantly shifting and sitting around his skin. “When will your shadows come back?” I ask, feeling a pang of anxiety at the fact that he’s so depleted because he overworked his power so much that all his shadows are gone.

  “Just a few hours, don’t worry,” he assures me before flinging his other arm over his eyes, his feet half hanging off the bed.

  Iceman tosses a pillow down to Crux, who catches it with one hand and stuffs it under his head. My eyes skate over to my lava demon, who’s still standing at the foot of the bed, dark arms crossed over his chest, his flame-colored hair completely dry from the shower, just like my own hair and wings. I have a feeling he fire-dried me without me even realizing it.