I pause midstep when I reach the chair. Now that I’m closer, and Iceman is still without a shirt, I can see that he has these cool jewels glued down his spine. They have an iridescent, mother-of-pearl effect going on, and I just can’t help myself. I reach out and stroke my finger up one of his spine gems.
“These are epic,” I comment as I pet another one.
They feel dense as fuck, like he has actual opals or something attached to his back somehow. These guys aren’t playing around when it comes to their cosplay. They’d give Heidi Klum and her love of all things Halloween and dress-up a run for her money.
Iceman makes a choking noise that has me darting my eyes from his back to his face. He looks like a mixture of stunned, turned on, and freaked the fuck out. I instantaneously snatch my hand back and stop stroking his jewels while chastising myself. What the fuck, Delta?
I want to give myself a dead arm. He clearly isn’t cool with anyone touching his costume. It probably cost him a fortune. Not to mention, I just seriously violated his personal space in a way that’s clearly not okay. Looks like I will end up getting that lesson in sexual harassment, only it turns out that I’m the fucking creepy predator that people need protecting from.
I adopt a chagrined look and back off. “I am so sorry,” I offer quickly, completely mortified. “I clearly have personal space issues and a weakness for pretty things. It will never happen again. I didn’t break anything. Your jewels are fine and ready to impress.”
This time, Jerif and Iceman both make an odd choking noise, and I do my best to look contrite and send don’t fire me thoughts out into the room.
Echo and Crux take that moment to come walking in, and there must be a weird vibe in the air right now—thanks to me—because they both pause slightly as they look around at everyone warily. I give a cursory glance to the pale tattooed guy and Crux, the surfer dude, as I go for a nothing to see here, folks demeanor and sit my ass in the chair that Iceman is still standing behind. He seems oddly frozen, like he’s not sure what to do or how to respond, and I feel bad for accidentally activating his nickname.
Jerif sits down in a chair across from me, and the noise he makes taking his own seat seems to thaw Iceman, as he moves to sit on a love seat next to Jerif. Echo and Crux set their nice asses on some plush cushioned chairs to my right, and then we all proceed to just stare at each other for a beat, the room thick with awkward silence.
I realize I’m still holding the scythe-slash-walking stick like I’m Gandalf the Grey, so I set it down on the floor to the right of where I’m perched. That seems to encourage my bosses to use their voices, but they all start talking at once which makes them pause. When they start up again at the same time, it makes all of them chuckle.
I just stare at each of them in turn, trying to figure out the connection. They’re the owners of the Perdition Estate, but that seems odd to me because they don’t look like they’re related. Yeah, they’re all good looking in that gym rat, Instagram model on Halloween kind of way, but they don’t have anything else in common as far as the looks department.
Speaking of the looks department, now that they’re all gathered in the light, I can take more time to appreciate exactly how striking these guys are.
I can definitely confirm now that Echo has black eyes. They’re eerie, especially against his super pale skin and white hair, and I wonder for a moment if the contacts he’s wearing bother him. Those, paired with his tattoos that span across his arms and up his neck give him a forbidden look that doesn't quite match up with the smirk on his face.
Jerif’s black skin has this quality that makes it look silky and hard as rock at the same time. His fiery hair makes me want to run my fingers through the multi-colored strands, so similar to flames that I swear he’s radiating heat.
Iceman is just...well, blue in all the right ways. While Crux looks the most normal, with his lazy day at the beach vibe. All four of them are overwhelmingly attractive, and being here, stuck in the middle of their full attention is incredibly intimidating.
“Miss Gates—I mean Delta,” Iceman starts, clearing his throat a little. It sounds more like a nervous tic as opposed to a necessity. “We’re all very curious about what source Ring you’re from.”
I sit back a little in my chair like I’m contemplating his question, but really, I’m freaking the fuck out inside. What is my source ring? Fuck. This has to be some kind of security guard lingo that an experienced professional would know. Did they not look at my resume at all?
Iceman keeps going. “You see, we’ve been receiving only Quīnques for centuries, maybe a Quattour every once in a while, but clearly, you’re not from either of those Rings.”
Umm...what the fuck is he saying? Kinkys and Squatters? Is this some hip new version of sex-speak? Has a cooler way to talk hit the streets and I’m completely oblivious? Dammit, he tricked me with the formal talk. I suddenly feel like an idiot, because something has just dawned on me. Was I was hired for some freaky sex-cult shit?
Iceman goes on, completely oblivious to the turmoil bubbling in my brain. “We didn’t anticipate that an Inner Ring would see the ad, let
