Accidentally in Love With...a God?

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  He reached inside his coat pocket and handed me a small pad of paper and a pen. “Anything else you need, write it down.” He turned for the door.

  Don’t give up, Emma. “But, my family—everyone’s going to think the worst. After what they’ve been through with my grandmother, they have to know I’m okay.”

  He paused, gripping the doorknob. A tiny flicker of emotion moved across his face. “If you contact them, they won’t have to think the worst. The Maaskab are very skilled at their spying and magic. They will trace the call, and you’ll be as good as dead.”

  “That’s not possible. Who would want to hurt me? I’m just some girl from Manhattan. That’s it.”

  “You still don’t get it, do you?” He flashed a glare.

  “No. Matter fact—I don’t. Even if Guy was right about the priests, how in the world would they know who I am, or who my parents are? You guys brought me straight here, right? Not a soul knows I went to the cenote except for that little boy—who has no clue who I am—and…”

  I stood up, now too confused and shocked to care about modesty. “Unless. Rosa and Arturo? You think they’d help the Maaskab?”

  “I don’t think, I know,” he said.

  “No way. That sweet old couple wouldn’t do that.”

  Did I really know that for a fact? Just because Rosa was my beloved grandmother’s sister didn’t mean she cared about me. But I had to believe the blood tie meant something. I had to. I was fully planning to talk to Rosa again and learn all I could about her and any other relatives I might have. There could be a whole slew of second aunts and uncles, even cousins. But why hadn’t my grandma told me about them? Or my parents? Did they even know?

  Then another thought sprang into my head.

  Oh, no…

  “My parents? Are they okay? Are they safe?”

  “You may rely on it,” he said with that exotic accent.

  “Sorry. I don’t speak Magic 8-Ball.”

  “They are acting like parents who have a missing daughter. If you contact them, if they behave differently, the Maaskab will know and use them as leverage—they are hoping for this.”

  This situation was far worse than I imagined. How had my life taken such a sad little detour when I was supposed to be on the road to normal?

  The tears began streaming down my face. “Why do they want me? Why won’t anyone tell me what’s going on?” I asked. Yes. Yes. More questions.

  He opened the door and stepped out shaking his head. “I should have known getting the short straw wouldn’t be worth it. You do ask too many questions.”

  Short straw? The lying, heartless thug.

  An hour later, a nameless, cold-faced man returned with a tray of fresh pasta, warm bread, and a few bags of brand new comfort clothes: yoga pants, tees, a few sports bras, and…pink thong underwear? Well, of course. Wouldn’t want to be held prisoner and have panty lines.

  I rifled through the bathroom and found tons of other supplies, like the most amazing conditioner, a fresh toothbrush, and a bottle of Flower Bomb. A five star prison.

  But despite the attention to detail and hundred dollar hair products, I was still being held against my will and I was very cranky. My parents would be worried sick, and for what? There had to be a way to let them know I was alive and warn them about the Maaskab without putting them in more danger.

  Heck, I wasn’t even sure I bought this whole Maaskab, evil-threat thing to begin with. When I thought about it, what did I really know? Only what Guy and his evil crony told me. Who the hell were they, anyway? For all I knew, they could be the bad guys.

  Chapter SEVENTEEN

  Captivity. Day Two.

  I snuggled deeper inside the bed, grimacing and trying to ignore the buzzing voices; once again the volume had been turned way up. I wished I could understand what they were saying.

  My eyes fluttered open. “Christ! Where’d you come from?” Tommaso was lurking at my bedside, staring down. Cree-py.

  I flicked on the bedside lamp. Needless to say, he looked way better than me. He was dressed in a pinstriped suit with a dark blue shirt that molded perfectly to his sturdy man-model frame. Sickening. Men really shouldn’t be so pretty. Especially when I had a very bad case of bed-fro from tossing and turning for hours.

  I sat up, grabbed a stretchy rubber band thing I’d found in the bathroom, and wrangled my madness of curls into a ponytail.

  “Always with the questions,” he said, shaking his head.

  I glanced down at my clothes just to be sure he hadn’t played Barbie and redressed me in a pink negligee.

  Relief. Still wearing my tee and yoga pants, and yes, pink thong. “Shove it. What do you want?”

  “You looked distressed. Are you not feeling well?” he asked.

  How could he...“What, you guys are watching me? Are there cameras in here?” My head swiveled around the room.

  He didn’t answer, so that meant “yes.”

  “Darn it. I’d better not end up on Youtube,” I warned. I pulled the white down comforter to my chin.

  “Is something wrong with you?” he asked again. I assumed he meant my physical health, but he may have been questioning my overall sanity. In either case, I refused to answer him; I wasn’t big on polite lies, so I wasn’t going to say “no.” And whining seemed pointless, not to mention weak. But truthfully, I felt utterly sick; the buzzing from the other voices was getting louder, and I couldn’t sleep.

  “Do you have any Ambien around here?” I asked. If he said “no,” my next request would be for a dozen, hot dogs or some other equally fattening, comfort food.

  “Are you not feeling well?” Tommaso asked again robotically.

  “I’m the question-asker, remember?”

  “Mr. Santiago wants you well cared for. So, if you’re not feeling well, I will send for a doctor. There—not a question.”

  Was he for real? “Ambien. Please bring some. There—not a question,” I said with a deep, mocking voice.

  There was no hint of amusement on his face. Maybe making fun of him wasn’t the best tactic. I needed him in my camp so I could find out what was going on, and perhaps, even get a message to my parents. If I were super lucky, he’d help me strangle Guy when the time came.

  Time to switch tactics again. “I can’t sleep because I’m worried sick. My family thinks something awful’s happened, and I’m their only daughter. Can you imagine how that feels for them when I’ve never been away for more than a few days—”

  “This doesn’t concern me,” he interrupted coldly.

  I saw it again, emotion undulating just below the surface. “Of course it concerns you,” I argued. “You’re the one keeping me here.”

  “Your family would feel much worse if you were dead. Do you have any idea of how much danger you’re in?” he asked.

  I shuffled out of bed and planted myself squarely in front of him. “How would I know? No one’s telling me anything, even though this is my life. Shouldn’t I decide if I want protection? What if I die like my grandmother? For what, I don’t know because you won’t tell me, but then you’ve robbed me of my last chance to see or speak to the people I love. Don’t I deserve to know what’s going on, to make the choice?”

  His golden eyes looked troubled. I was definitely getting to him. “Please,” I grabbed his arm and stared into his eyes, hoping to dig an emotional grappling hook in him. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want my parents to die, but I’m not a child. Guy has no right to keep me in the dark like this or to keep me prisoner. Let me decide if I should take the risk and tell my parents I’m alive.”

  He let out a long sigh and ran both hands through his tousled hair. His strong jaw worked a bit, and then, as if someone had pushed a button reactivating robot-mode, he went rigid.

  He cleared his throat, tugged at one sleeve, and then straightened his square, silver cufflink. “I’m sorry—”

  “Emma, my name is Emma Keane.” I remembered that the first thing about connecting with people
was getting them to remember your full name.

  “Miss Keane, I understand everything you’re saying, trust me. But I made a vow, and I don’t intend to break it. There would be far greater consequences for everyone if I did.”

  “What sort of consequences? From Guy? Would he hurt you if you helped me?”

  “Mr. Santiago would be one of many consequences, yes.”

  “What would he do? What is he?”

  Tommaso’s eyes flushed with amusement.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You really don’t know, do you?” He made a small chuckle.

  How rude. “Why do you keep asking me that? Obviously, I don’t. Thus the incessant string of questions pouring from my mouth with an irritated tone.”

  “Then, you’ll have to trust me. You don’t ever want Mr. Santiago or any of his…associates on your bad side.”

  “Mr. Guy Santiago can kiss my ass.”

  Tommaso snickered. “Well, you can tell him when he arrives. I’m sure he’d oblige you since you look like his type.”

  Guy has a type? “How would you know?”

  He flashed a dimpled smile, and I have to admit, even for a jerk, it was a really nice smile. “You’re everyone’s type, Emma.”

  Everyone? News to me. Maybe someone should send “everyone” a memo.

  He added, “And I doubt he’d go through so much trouble keeping you safe if he didn’t feel something for you.”

  “You’re wrong. He’s just got some twisted, overly protective, father-complex.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said condescendingly.

  “When will he be back anyway?” I sat back down on the bed, crossing my arms.

  “Mr. Santiago doesn’t share his schedule with anyone, but he calls once a day to check on you, so I’ll advise him that you’ve asked.”

  “Please also tell him that he’s an arrogant bastard. And if he doesn’t get here soon to tell me what’s going on, I’m going to kill him.”

  Tommaso’s smile melted away. “Don’t say that. Ever. People around here wouldn’t take those words lightly.”

  “What people?”

  He turned toward the door. “Trivia hour is over. I’ll send the doctor.”

  Chapter EIGHTEEN

  “This is bad. Very, very bad. Emma will have my head.” Grasping a silver flashlight, Guy sat with hunched shoulders on a boulder at the edge of a large underground cenote. This particular cave, hours from any roads, was the least used of all the portals, and sadly, had been his last hope.

  His hands trembled as the gravity of the situation purged all arrogance from his body. In its place, an utterly new sensation flourished: vulnerability. He felt helpless. Him. Votan. One of the most powerful gods in existence shined the light on the surface of the water and didn’t know what to do next.

  “More weakness.” Revolted, he shook his head.

  After he’d escaped the Maaskab with a nearly comatose Emma, the Uchben arrived and met them near the old fort by the lake. They quickly debriefed, also confirming the absence of the other gods for nearly sixty years—all except for Cimil who had been spotted multiple times in the area, near several Maaskab strongholds, up until about a decade ago.

  Then the guards gave Guy the supplies, weapons, and clothes he’d requested, including one of those tiny square phone devices, and left with Sleeping Beauty along with his elaborate instructions for her care. Guy traveled back to his cenote—the one he’d been trapped in for seventy years—but when he immersed himself in the water, reciting the ancient words to open the portal, nothing happened. Not even a pathetic little flicker.

  Perhaps the curse, which had imprisoned him, somehow sealed the passage to his world, too?

  It wasn’t until he traveled to another portal and yet another, finally arriving at this last cenote, that he realized they were all impassable. Hexed. He could smell the poisonous energy wafting from surface. He didn’t dare enter.

  This can’t be. It’s impossible.

  What disturbed him most was that had the other gods needed to, they could’ve easily created new portals. Of course, the creation had to be done from their realm, but it took little effort to tap into the River of Tlaloc, the underground channel of energy flowing in this part of the world. But that hadn’t happened, and now a startling realization swept over him: those buzzing voices in Emma’s head weren’t random echoes or meaningless noise she picked up with her powerful, satellite-dish-like-mind. Those voices were the other gods. Trapped.

  How had this happened? How was it possible Emma could hear them? Through her connection with him, perhaps? And why couldn’t Emma understand them?

  Hell, he didn’t come close to understanding this connection with Emma. In fact, there was no explanation for their link in the first place; no one had ever inherited a bond. On the other hand, Payals were a completely new breed. There was much to learn.

  For now, he had to focus his energy on more important things. “I will be back to free you, my friend,” he said to the water, suspecting one of the gods was inside.

  His thoughts immediately returned to Emma. She was the whiniest female to ever walk the planet, but she had the heart of a warrior like him. She would be beyond livid for being kidnapped, but she would go ballistic when he told her she’d have to return to Mexico and free the others—a task he couldn’t do himself without risking his freedom once again. But Emma had been able to break the water’s hold, break the curse. She was the only solution he could think of.

  An uneasy pressure began building inside his chest. He didn’t want to upset her. He also missed her. Twenty-two years he’d shared his existence with hers. The separation was almost too painful to stand.

  “Wait. Am I actually afraid? Of facing a girl? And…I miss her?” he said aloud. “I need to get home; being human is driving me insane.”

  Chapter NINETEEN

  Barolo, Italy.

  I stood inside the steaming hot shower, letting the powerful jets pulse at the back of my aching neck. Eyes closed, I began floating the silky bar of rose-scented soap over my body. It was the first time in days that my stomach felt calm. Heaven.

  I turned to let the water work on the tightness in the side of my neck.

  “Emma, you look irresistible in that outfit,” said a melodic voice infused with evil.

  I gasped and jumped back against the cold white tile. Standing in the shower, his bright turquoise eyes glowed with amusement, piercing through the dark shadows that hugged his body. “I’ve been waiting for the opportunity to speak to you again, but apparently, you don’t REM sleep much these days.”

  Sleep? Of course. This is a dream! I let out a sigh of relief, wondering if I could summon a delicious hot dog to the scene. I hadn’t gotten my fix of junk food lately. Or maybe a Belgium chocolate. I closed my eyes but nothing happened. “Darn. Okay then, I’ll settle for that black cloud going away.”

  He made a soft chuckle as the haze began to evaporate. “As you wish.”

  I stared at his face in shock; he looked almost exactly like Guy. His skin was a silky smooth golden brown. His long black hair was wetted back, and his stomach rippled all the way down to the ropes of muscles that ran diagonally across the front of his hips, creating a V shape that ended right at his large thick penis.

  Well, hats off to my subconscious for the effort, but somehow, this vision didn’t quite stack up to Guy. Don’t get me wrong, this man was stunning. It was like comparing crème brulee to that Belgium chocolate truffle I’d just tried to conjure. I’d blissfully gobble down either one, but only the chocolate made my eyes roll into the back of my head. Guy’s skin had a hint more glow to it and his hair was a bit longer. He was also a bit taller and undoubtedly much huskier. Then there was the size of his man-gear—not that I’d measured, but it was pretty substantial. Guy was definitely a Belgium chocolate.

  Well, dammit. Now, I officially double-hated Guy. Not even my dream-men could survive the side-by-side comparison. That just wasn’t right.

&n
bsp; “Done yet?” his black brows shrugged with amusement.

  No, not really. “But since this is just a dream, and you’re not real, can you wash my hair and shave my legs?”

  “A dream, yes. But I’m as real as you are. This is the only way I can reach you.”

  Suddenly, I wasn’t liking my hot dream so much. Hoping to change the scenery, I squeezed my eyes shut and began thinking of shoes.

  “Emma, that won’t work,” he said. This time the tone had changed. It reminded me of when Guy wanted something. “I need you to promise you won’t run,” he commanded.

  My eyes widened. “Run?”

  “I’m sending someone for you, several people, in fact. Their appearance will frighten you, but you mustn’t run. If you do, bad things will happen to those you love.”

  Oh, pickle. That sounded ominous. What a crappy dream. I shut off the water and stepped out, wrapping a fluffy white towel around my body. “What kind of bad things?”

  “You want to find out? Then run.”

  “Why do you want me?” I shoved a towel at him.

  “You belong to me,” he said coldly, letting the towel drop to the floor without even attempting to grab it.

  A prickly shiver quaked through my body. I walked to the bedroom and looked around. Was there something I could use to wake myself up? I didn’t like where this was going, and for some odd reason, I was beginning to believe him; this was more than a dream, and my self-preservation radar sensed it somehow. “Sorry, but I belong to no one.” I picked up a pen from the nightstand. “Wake up. Wake up, dammit.” I jabbed my palm.

  Suddenly, the man grabbed me and threw me to the bed, pinning me under him. “Promise, or I’ll have them kill you on the spot.” His voice was like a low vibration ricocheting inside my head, leaving behind painful shards.

  I squirmed beneath him. “I don’t know what kind of sick game this is, but if you’re real, then you should know I don’t respond well to bullies.”