Grave Mistakes (Hellgate Guardians Book 1)

by Ivy Asher

  After a few more grounding breaths, I get up and trade the scythe for the baseball bat in the umbrella stand. Maybe knocking a wall down with nothing but my rage and this Louisville Slugger will get me closer to the much-needed REM that I’m desperate for. And Jerif’s right. It will also double my kitchen space. Win-win.

  13

  Roughly six hours later, I’m sitting on top of my countertop, staring at the hole that used to be a wall. I’m wearing nothing but my old AC/DC sweatshirt and my underwear, and my hair’s thrown up on top of my head haphazardly. My kitchen is covered in enough powdery dust to set at least a thousand Instagram artist’s makeup.

  “Now, you want to make sure that your wall is not load-bearing before you knock it down,” Bob Builds-A-Lot says from the YouTube video streaming on my phone.

  “Way too late for that, Bob,” I tell him, eyeing the exposed studs I left on the ceiling. I’ll have to patch that. And fix the floor where the wall used to be, and fix the wall that used to connect to this one, and...a shit ton of other things that I mangled in the kitchen.

  Bob Builds-A-Lot keeps droning on and on about the proper way to do things, and nowhere in his spiel does he condone someone blaring rock music at four in the morning and taking a baseball bat to their wall over and over again until paint and drywall exploded all over the place.

  My house is a disaster, and I definitely shouldn’t have been so impulsive, but hey, it was a really good rage release. I just poured all of my anger and hurt and frustration and fear into every hit. At one point, I started kicking the wall too, which wasn’t too smart, considering I was barefoot and only had on leggings, but I was too caught up in the moment to stop myself.

  I wish I had, because I accidentally sent my whole leg through the wall, got stuck, and then skinned my knee like a bitch trying to wrench it out. Once I got unstuck, I peeled off my leggings—and had to toss them since I put a hole in them—and then bandaged myself up. You’d think that with a bloody knee, the rage haze would’ve cleared, but no.

  I blame my demon side.

  I took down the whole wall, and that’s when I spotted the cracked tile on the floor. So I took the baseball to that too. And once I started with one tile, I had to do more, because it’s not like I could just replace one tile. I wanted hardwood anyway. So I smashed it. It was a real if you give a mouse a cookie kind of situation, but in this case, if you give an angry demon a baseball bat would be more accurate.

  Once I smashed the floor tile up in the kitchen, I started staring at all the stained grout on my countertops, which is how I ended on top of my island, with a metal pick in hand and the remains of my frustration. The last of it is draining away, and now I’m just sitting here, soaking in the disaster that is my house. I’m also soaking in the drywall dust, because I think it’s embedded into my pores at this point.

  Bob Builds-A-Lot keeps talking, but I’m not listening to his experienced advice anymore. I’m just staring off into space, noting how the morning sunlight is trying to filter in past the edges of my curtains. Not today, happy sunshine. Not today.

  I feel bone-tired. Like all the way past my skin and through my muscles, right down to my marrow, tired. And not just because I’ve been hacking at my house for the past six hours like a crazy person, but because of my life. I couldn’t help but recap my entire twenty-eight years as I smashed and tore apart more of my existence.

  An only child to two awesome parents who were too good for their rebellious, snarky daughter. I hated school, got in too many fights to count, and then when the few friends I had graduated from high school, they went off to college where we lost touch, while I stayed here in Sandpiper and got a meaningless job for meaningless pay, and then one day, as fast as a snap of my fingers, my parents were dead. Gone. Just like that.

  The only two people I had in my entire life were buried in the ground, and I’ve been floating in space ever since with nothing to secure me. I hate to admit it to myself, but I’ve been stuck for nine years in a shitty life that I had no way to escape. And now this? Now I get tossed from a luke-warm frying pan into the acidic air of Hell? I just don’t understand how this can be real or how I’m supposed to play the hand that I was dealt.

  Somewhere in my foggy brain, I hear a low whistle, and I turn around to see Iceman standing in the middle of my house. His presence is so unexpected that I just stare at him for a moment. He doesn’t fit in the catastrophe that is my house—not with his pristine gray suit that accentuates his perfect navy blue hair and cool skin. Even with his curling horns and the slightly sinister arch of his brows, he’s a gorgeous being, and just the sight of him makes my stomach tighten.

  “How did you get in here?” I croak, my voice surprisingly sore. I guess it’s the physical manifestation of the rage-screaming I’ve been doing all morning.

  “I have my ways,” he says simply, his icy blue eyes sweeping over the chipped concrete and broken tiles that litter the floor.

  “Did you find a way to reapply the block?” I ask.

  “No,” he replies as his eyes come back up to me.

  I nod, picking at the bandage on my knee. I wasn’t really expecting anything else, but I’m surprised Iceman came here. I haven’t seen him since that night I left the graveyard.

  “I’m afraid that type of demonic skill is beyond the people I can ask. If I were to dig deeper, it would only make things worse. Right now, the four of us have been able to keep your existence between us and the few Outer Ringers who’ve seen or sensed you. But if Inner Rings know about you, it will...complicate things.”

  “Complicate things even more than they already are?” I ask.

  “Yes. They could report you. Lobby to force you to live in Hell permanently. Some would argue it’s where you belong.”

  “I belong here,” I snap, feeling the backs of my eyes burn. I pick up the metal pick and start working on the grout again, just to give myself something to do so that I can hide my face from Iceman’s perceptive gaze.

  From the corner of my eye, I watch as he stuffs his hands into his pockets and leans against the wall. “You want to tell me what happened in here?”

  “Jerif told me I should open up the wall because it would expand my kitchen’s feet,” I answer numbly, my aching hand screaming as I continue to hack away at the grout.

  He nods slowly, and even though he’s quiet, I know he’s taking in everything about me and cataloguing it. I know what this must look like. My house in tatters, I’m half-dressed and filthy, sitting exhausted on top of the countertop as I chip away at old grout. It’s an entire kettle of crazy tea that nobody wants to drink.

  “I’m surprised you listened to Jerif,” he finally says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

  “He was right,” I say, throwing my back into the movement to get a particularly stubborn piece of grout to come out. I grind my teeth and scrape harder, ignoring all the aches and pains I feel not only on the outside, but on the inside as well.

  “Well, I suppose it does open up the space,” Iceman says, but I shake my head.

  “Not about the wall. About the other stuff,” I explain. “Those things about me...he’s right. I am a selfish coward,” I admit, feeling the admission of my words like a lead weight falling into the pit of my stomach.

  I take a deep breath, trying to put to words all the jumbled thoughts I have spinning in my head.

  “But I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do,” I grit out as I hack away at my countertop while my vision goes blurry with tears. “I mean, for fuck’s sake, I’m a twenty-eight-year-old woman with no family, no friends, and no job. I have no one. Nothing. And now all of a sudden, I’m supposed to guard a Gate to Hell?” I ask, emotion leaking out of my tear ducts like the first signs of a cracked dam. “I can’t do that, Rafferty...but I can’t do this either,” I say, waving around at the disaster that is my life before dropping my hands again and scraping the grout harder.

  My shoulders start to shake not just from exertion, but from a sob
. “I can’t live the way I’ve been living, with nothing, just an empty life. But the thought of doing something so important like help with a Hellgate...I can’t do that either,” I confess, swiping my cheeks against my shoulder and hating myself for breaking down like this in front of Iceman. I mean, out of all of them, he’s the most put-together and commanding. He must think I’m pathetic.

  I don’t hear him move, but suddenly he’s next to me, his blue hand over mine, stopping me from hacking at the grout. “Let go, Delta,” he rumbles quietly, and I find myself looking up at him as he gently pries the tool out of my hands. I hear him set it down, and then he picks me up like I weigh nothing, carrying me with one arm braced beneath my knees and the other behind my back. I don’t even struggle or ask him to put me down. I just melt against his chest, because I’m so damn weary, heart and soul.

  His shiny black shoes crunch over the shattered, uneven flooring, and then he’s heading out of the kitchen and living room, down the hallway, and into my bedroom. I’m too emotionally overstrung to be embarrassed about the piles of dirty laundry in the corner of the room as he gently sets me on the bed.

  I curl over on my side and tuck my knees against my chest as he sits down on the edge of my bed, handing me a box of tissues from my side table. I gratefully take it, wiping up the tears as my eyes stay trained on my legs.

  “Look at me, Delta,” he says, and I can’t help but do as he says. “I know this is a lot to put on your plate. But if you choose to do this with us, then I can promise you one thing—you won’t be alone. Your life won’t be empty. I believe you were led to us because this is your calling. That scythe came to you,” he says, his hand gently resting on my unharmed knee. “It wouldn’t have chosen you without a reason.”

  “But this is your fight. Not mine,” I argue, shaking my head. “I have nothing to do with demons. Before I met you guys, none of this even existed.”

  He purses his lips thoughtfully. “You keep saying it’s not your fight, and I can understand how it could feel that way, but it is. It just may be hard to see how you can fit into all of this right now. It’s a lot to take on even if you’ve known about our world your whole life. But, Delta, if you’d allow it, I’d like the chance to show you what I mean. I think it could be good for you to see other perspectives. It might help you understand more.”

  I watch him for a few moments, my mind like a seesaw as I consider his words. “I don’t know…” I say hesitantly.

  “Please,” he replies, and that one word stops me, because even though I’ve heard it thousands of times, I have a feeling Iceman isn’t used to saying it, and he wouldn’t have unless this was really important.

  I study him, taking in the pleading light in his eyes. I know he’s not trying to push me. He’s made it clear that whatever I decide, he’s going to respect it, even if he doesn’t agree. He’s just asking me to listen, to learn more, to try and understand.

  “Okay,” I hear myself accede.

  He smiles softly, showing just a hint of his bright white teeth. “Good. Now rest, Delta. You need to sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

  Feeling like his words just added to the exhaustion already settling on me, I find myself turning over and sliding down until my body is fully reclined on the bed.

  Iceman gets up and pulls the covers over me, but when he turns to walk away, my hand shoots out, and I grip his arm. “Could you stay? Please?” I ask, because even though it feels pathetic, I know that I won’t be able to sleep if he leaves.

  He hesitates, but when I bite my bottom lip, he relents. “Alright,” he says quietly, and I instantly relax.

  I watch him through a heavy-lidded gaze as he shrugs out of his suit jacket and dress shirt, hanging both over the top of my dresser, leaving him in a plain white cotton T-shirt. He toes his shoes off, setting them neatly against the wall, and then comes around the bed and lies down.

  It takes all of two seconds before I turn to face him, and just his nearness makes me feel so much better. “Thank you,” I whisper, feeling the first ounce of relief I’ve had since I found out about the Gate. Iceman is gentle and kind, and I’ve never had someone just stay beside me like this before. Not since my parents died.

  “You’re welcome, Maverick,” he says softly.

  My eyes close, a yawn cracking through my jaw as I settle into my pillow, sleep already dragging me under.

  I sleep better beside a demon I just met than I ever have alone with myself. And that, right there, tells me a lot.

  I watch Iceman move around my tiny kitchen like he’s a panther hunting prey. His movements are so fluid and predatory. Just grabbing a pan from a cupboard is packed with raw power, and it’s impossible not to watch his every move without being completely mesmerized by it. When I woke up this morning, I discovered two things: Iceman wasn’t lying with me anymore, and I had passed out for over twenty hours.

  I was grateful that he had decided to give me space this morning. I don’t usually break open and leak vulnerability everywhere like I did yesterday, and I’m not quite sure how to navigate the aftermath of it all. I spent the entirety of my shower coming up with ways I could brush off everything that happened the morning before, but there’s just no wrestling my demons back inside of me. They’re out now, staring me in the face, demanding I do something about them, and for some reason, I feel relieved about that.

  I dried my hair and got dressed feeling lighter than I have in a long time. Then I walked out into what I expected to be pure mayhem in my kitchen, to find all the brokenness and sharp edges were cleaned up and what’s been left in the wake of the mess is still a rough situation, but it’s a hopeful rough situation now. With all the broken pieces of cabinet, counter, floor, and wall, along with the layers of dust gone, it’s easy to see the potential and not just the damage.

  “I’m making eggs,” Iceman calls out, his back still to me. “It was either that or unsweetened oatmeal. Who doesn’t have sugar in their house?” he asks with amusement, and his whole body starts to move in this appealing way as he whips the eggs together before pouring them into a warm buttered pan. He’s dressed in his pristine suit once more, whereas I’ve donned a pair of jeans and a purple T-shirt that matches my hair.

  “I keep forgetting to buy it,” I confess as I wander toward a section of my kitchen that’s now counterless and lean against the cabinet that’s still there. “I have honey,” I offer instead, but he just keeps going about his work like I didn’t say anything. “Uh, thank you for cleaning up. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “It was nothing. The others helped,” he tells me, his spatula moving the liquid eggs around the pan.

  I try not to cringe at the thought of the others being in my house and seeing the physical manifestation of my breakdown. I know the next time I see Jerif will be a hell of a lot more awkward.

  “How are you feeling?” he asks, his strong back still to me. He’s good at this whole prying without making it feel like prying thing, which I appreciate.

  “Good,” I admit, actually meaning it. “I really needed the sleep, and I also really needed to come to terms with this whole demon situation.”

  “Feel any differently than you did when we last talked?” he asks me casually, but there’s a hint of something in his tone that makes me pause. I think he’s nervous, which is crazy to me, but it shows me how much he cares about what I decide.

  “No, I meant what I said. I was being selfish, and I don’t want to be anymore. I’m still not sure exactly what part I play in all of this and what it means for me, but you said you’d help with that right?” I ask him.

  “I did, and I will,” he tells me, shooting me a stunning smile as he turns and hands me a plate of scrambled eggs. “If you’re up for it, we’d like to show you some things today that might help you see just how important and needed you are.”

  I nod tentatively and give him a small smile before I pick up the fork and shove a bite of eggs into my mouth. They melt on my tongue like butter, and one chew
coaxes out an appreciative moan. Iceman’s smile goes from kind to pleased, and his gaze flickers from my eyes to my lips.

  I point at the plate with my fork. “Damn, those are good,” I confess, like the sex noises I’m making weren’t a dead giveaway.

  “I’m glad you like them,” he declares, a glint of naughty satisfaction in his rich blue eyes.

  “How’d you make them so good?” I shovel in another delicious bite, my stomach doing a happy clap.

  “I think extra dirty thoughts as I whisk and season. It always gives them such a sinfully good taste,” he tells me seriously, watching intently as I swallow another bite down.

  Holy shit. Talk about a new twist on the made with love theory. I swallow hard, feeling butterflies circle around in my stomach.

  “Are you for real?” I finally ask, unable to curb my curiosity. Was he thinking about me when he made these?

  Whoa, Delta, he agreed to show you why you should consider guarding the Hellgate, not what his cock looks like as it slides slowly into your vagina. Get a grip.

  Iceman dazzles me with a heartbreaking smile, his eyes boring into me like he can read my thoughts as he leans in from across the counter. My breath hitches, and I’m not sure what I want him to do next. Kiss me with his blue lips? Feed me more dirty-thought-laced food?

  “No. I just add fresh cream and a little swiss cheese. That’s what makes them so fluffy and flavorful.”

  My brain skips right past the fact that I didn’t have either of those things in my fridge, and settles instead on his full lips and their proximity to mine. His lips are blue, a slightly deeper shade than his skin, and all I can think about right now is leaning forward and claiming his mouth. I wonder if he’s as good at orgasms as he is at eggs?

  I shake that thought away and take a massive bite of my food, mostly to give my mouth something to do other than kiss demons and get my ass into more hot water than I can doggy paddle in right now. Fuck. One vulnerable moment, and I’m becoming that girl. You know, the one who starts reading into every kind action like it’s a declaration of interest. The one who has a million ridiculous crushes on people who barely even know she exists. If I keep this moony shit up, I’ll start building shrines and keeping every insignificant thing my crush touches.