His only reply was that some things had to be seen to be believed.
No kidding.
I turned to my mom who had concern written all over her face. “I promise you, Mom, there’s absolutely nothing to worry about.”
***
“Finally, I thought she’d never leave” Guy grumbled after I had one final safe-travel talk with my mother.
I sat down on my bed and covered my face with both hands. Was this real? Was this finally going to happen? In twenty-four hours, I’d meet him and be free forever.
I felt the sharp pang of loss in my stomach. I mentally shooed the pang away.
“Emma? Why are you groaning? What’s the matter now?”
I didn’t want to talk about my irrational conflict. “What do you mean?”
“You’re sighing and making funny noises. I know something is wrong. And…why do you insist on calling me Guy? What happened to Mantastic? Which you say with blatant disdain and sarcasm. Or, your all-time favorite, A-hole?”
He was trying make me laugh, but I wasn’t in the mood. “You’re the one who keeps saying you’re ‘just a guy,’ so tell me your real name, and I’ll use it.”
“You can call me Hunk of Burning Love or Cupcake.”
Okay. That was funny. I laughed. “Those sound like porn stars. And sorry, but I doubt you’re fantasy material. How about I call you selfish bast—”
“Guy, it is.”
“Fine.”
“We need to go over everything one last time,” he said in that special voice he used when he didn’t want any argument from me. It was stern, yet hypnotic and enchanting. My toes began to tingle along with several unmentionable parts of my body. It was cruel to play with me like that. Why did he do it?
“Stop with the voice thing, or we’re done talking.”
“I have no clue what you mean, but I love the way your heart accelerates when I do it,” he said in the same penetrating voice.
My nipples hardened. Jerk. “Goodnight.”
“All right,” he said in his normal tone. My body instantly relaxed. “Did you memorize the phrase I gave you? You can’t lift the curse and release me without it.”
He warned that reciting the phrase incorrectly could create some kind of bad energy. So hokey. “Yes, and I’m not saying it again.” I clenched my fists, preparing to resist his voice if he used it again.
“One more time.”
“I’ve got this. Okay? I’m driving straight through to that little village with the stupid name, Bacaloo—”
“Bacalar,” he corrected.
“Whatever.” Like it mattered. “Then I’m following the trail into the jungle.”
Damn. That sounded crazy. Was I really, really doing this? Yes. Yes, I was.
“And the cardinal rule is no—”
“Deviations,” I cut him off. He’d already given me the two hour lecture about how dangerous that part of Mexico was. Drug dealers were rampant near the border. Which made me wonder, were those the “bad people” who’d trapped him with a spell? If yes, holy crap, the world would be in heaps of trouble. The Mexican Feds would have to trade in their guns for Harry Potter books. “I get it. Can I finish packing, take a shower and get to bed now?”
“You know, I’m eternally grateful for what you’re about to do.”
I hated when he was nice to me. It just made me more confused about my feelings for him; mean was easy to leave. “Yeah, you keep saying that, but it’s not like you gave me a choice. And I’m not doing this for you—it’s for me.” It was both, actually, but he didn’t need to know. After I learned about him being trapped all these years, I felt sorry for him.
“Has it occurred to you?”
“What?”
“That you might miss me once I’m out of your life?”
I can’t stop thinking about it, I thought. I’m terrified. No—relieved. No—terrified. He’d been a part of my life longer than I could remember. Sure he was a major pain, but I’d clearly grown attached. “I’ll miss you like an ingrown toenail.”
He laughed. “Ouch. Such a nasty bite you have, my little meerkat. But what if I said that our stimulating relationship does not have to end? I know this is what you secretly long for, to be by my side and gaze into my handsome, masculine face,” he said.
“Don’t. This isn’t a joke. You've ruined a significant portion of my life, and now you’re making me risk it just to get it back.”
“It wasn’t my intent to hurt you. You know that. You are by far the most important thing in my world. All I’ve ever wanted is to look after you.”
Did he truly see things that way? When I was little, I remember feeling like nothing in the world could harm me as long as he was around. But that feeling quickly ceased when I was six, after the school insisted I get a psychiatric evaluation. My hunch is it had something to do with me inexplicably singing the lines from Madam Butterfly in Italian—Guy’s favorite opera. I also kept insisting my imaginary friend was real. Sort of freaked people out.
Right after that, he said he had to leave for a while, but that he’d stay close in case I ever needed him. I was devastated, and for weeks, I begged him to answer me, but he didn’t.
When I was fifteen, he finally returned. He wouldn’t say why, but I suspected it was because I’d discovered boys. Sadly, they didn’t discover me back until I was much older, and by then, it was too late. I was hooked on the mystery of Guy.
Did he have any clue how hard it was to listen to the sound of his dark, melodic voice every day? Or to share my life with him, not knowing what or who he was?
He was an enigma my mind couldn’t stop trying to solve. And his refusal to give up the answers drove me to the brink of insanity. That’s what made my feelings so…so irrational. How could I pine for someone like that? Part of me loathed him. The other part ached for him.
“I am sorry, Emma. I sometimes forget that I am not the only one trapped.”
“What about you? Will you?” I picked up a pair of socks from the bed and began folding them into a ball.
“Will I, what?”
“Miss me.” I wanted him to say “yes.” I wanted to know I meant something more to him. I was a pathetic.
Several moments passed. “You see, you love being with me. Admit it, just say the words, woman,” he gloated.
Arrogant toad. “I think my actions speak for themselves, and they’re saying ‘take a hike.’ I’m flying two-thousand miles just to get rid of you.”
“Or, they’re saying ‘I’d do anything for you.’ After all, Emma, you are taking a huge leap of faith to free me. You have no idea what you’ll find.”
“You’re such a...” I paused, trying to come up with some clever word to hurt him, but it was a waste of time. He was too arrogant to hurt. “I have something to tell you,” I said, changing subjects. I rubbed my palms on my jeans and then continued bundling my clean socks. Could never have too many clean socks or undies when going to meet your fate head on.
“You’re not backing out, are you?”
“No. It’s something else. Something I’ve wanted to say since the accident.”
“I know, I know. But you don’t have to thank me for saving you.”
“Actually, I’ve started hearing other voices.”
“Are you certain?”
Was he going to scream at me for not telling him sooner? “Yes,” I replied quietly. I picked up the pile of neatly bundled socks and put them in my backpack.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” he said, his voice more concerned than irritated.
“I don’t know. I guess—I thought, maybe, I really was going crazy this time. And honestly, I can’t understand them. But I’ve been able to pick out different pitches, kind of like instruments in an orchestra. They all sound like bees. Busy, buzzing bees. I think there are eleven.”
There was a long silence. Then he said, “Sometimes after traumatic experiences, the human brain becomes hypersensitive, and yours is already like a giant satellite dish—one of th
e reasons you hear me—the noise is probably static, perhaps resulting from your head injury.”
I let out a sigh of relief. Yes, that’s what it has to be. Besides, the noise hadn't been nearly as bad as during that first week. In fact, most days I didn’t even notice them.
“Guy?”
“You’re not going to tell me some other secret, such as you now shoot fire from your eyes?”
“No.” I snickered and ran my hand through my tangled curls.
“That you’re madly in love with me and want to spend eternity listening to the sound of my manly, seductive voice?”
Yes. Definitely, yes, I thought instantly. Some days, I wanted to bath in it. Wait! No! “I want to be alone the rest of the night. I need to think."
“Yes, you should rest, my sweet. It’s the least I could do for the woman I...”
I waited for him to finish the sentence.
Silence.
“The woman you…what?”
“Goodnight, my sweet Emma.”
Ugh. “Night.”
I finished packing in blissful silence and then took a long hot shower, trying to focus my thoughts away from the trembling in the pit in my stomach. Instead, I basked in visions of my life after he’d be gone. Dates, real conversations, going to the bathroom without wearing my iPod so he couldn’t hear anything. God, I could practically taste my new life. I knew the moment I freed him, his hold over my heart—and other body parts—would sever. I’d finally be free. And then maybe, just maybe, I could confront the neglected skeletons in my closet, like getting over losing my grandmother. A thought never far from my mind.
Chapter FIVE
1940. Bacalar, Mexico.
“He’s mine!” screamed a woman off in the distance. “I saw him first!”
“Over my dead body!” screamed another. “I’m the oldest. He’s mine!”
Several more female voices chimed in, all speaking an ancient Mayan dialect. The voices turned into a blur of death threats and hisses. Slaps and grunts echoed through the air.
“Stop! All of you,” a deep older male voice commanded.
“My brothers found the stranger,” screamed the first female. “He’s mine!”
“Have you lost your minds?” the male scorned. “He is the stranger who took Itzel. He’s dangerous. Go warn the others to stay away while I take care of this.”
Must get out of here, thought Votan as the footsteps approached. Females tended to go crazy when in his presence; it was a natural reaction to his otherworldly energy. He moved to sit up, but a sharp pain in his head and a warm hand placed firmly on his bare chest prevented him.
“No. You are not well. Lie still,” the male commanded.
Disoriented and groggy, Votan finally eased open his eyes, taking note of the dull aches blanketing his body. Bright light poured through the cracks of the walls, but it was the rocking motion that prevented his eyes from immediately focusing. He was lying in a hammock, which he unequivocally hated; hammocks were quite possibly the worst sleeping contraption since the pea-shuck filled sacks of the 1400’s.
“Wh-where am I?” Votan stuttered, unable to fully control his mouth.
“You are in my village.” The old man smiled stiffly. “I am Petén.” The muscles of his face moved under his aged skin, causing dark leathery wrinkles to gather around his eyes and mouth.
“How long have I—I been here?” Votan mumbled.
Petén, who only wore a pair of simple white cotton pants, sat down on a wooden stool in the corner and began picking his teeth with a small twig. “Some boys found you a few hours ago. Your head was split open by a rock, your back broken in two. But you’re healing quickly, as would be expected for…someone like you.”
Votan rubbed the back of his head, feeling a mammoth knot and a slimy wetness in his long hair. He then noticed a brightly colored sarong wrapped around his waist. His chest had also been decorated with red and black paint. Votan cocked one brow and looked back at the old man.
Petén shrugged. “The women seem to have gotten carried away when they cleaned your wound.”
Votan craned his neck and moved his eyes over the small dirt-floor hut.
Petén cleared his throat. “We weren’t expecting you, again.”
“I’ve never been here.” At least, this is what he believed, though the fall had clearly disoriented him. Damned human bodies. So weak!
Petén spoke of another male with a similar appearance and set of turquoise eyes who came through the cenote many years ago. The man demanded several young women, virgins, for sacrifice. When the village refused, the stranger scorned them, warning they’d be punished. The very next day, the entire village fell sick, and the man returned.
“Against my wishes,” Petén explained. “My cousin, Itzel, who was just nineteen at the time, volunteered to go with him. The man took her, and the village was cured.”
The story of the virgins set off alarm bells in Votan’s brain. So did the description of the male.
Votan nodded for Petén to continue.
“She came back several months after, changed. Her mind scarred. We thought, perhaps, you were the man, returning for her.”
“No. I am not that man, nor am I here for the woman.” But everything just became much more complex. Only a handful of males had a similar appearance to his, and if any were stealing women, he had a much bigger problem on his hands.
“So then?” Petén asked.
It was clear Petén knew he was not human, but the gods did not discuss their matters openly with anyone except the Uchben. The Uchben meant “ancient” in Mayan, and like their name implied, they’d been around for centuries, acting as the gods’ human eyes, ears, and muscle. They were a secret society of highly educated and fiercely loyal people deployed throughout the world. Right now, Votan was kicking himself for not having alerting them to his trip, but there hadn’t been time.
“I am just passing through.” A sharp pain suddenly racked Votan’s head. He winced and moaned.
Petén scrambled away and returned with a bowl. “Try this medicine.”
The sweetness ignited a blur of strange images: powdered-sugar dusted cookies, miniature chocolate cakes, and a dozen others. He could see himself standing in an enormous white kitchen, wearing an apron, rolling dough on a board, and singing to Madam Butterfly that played in the background. A redheaded woman with deep green eyes crept up behind him and slipped her slender, pale arms around his waist, planting a tender kiss on his shoulder blade. Who was she? The woman from Cimil’s vision?
His heart filled with warmth as he emptied the bowl and the pain dissipated. “Delicious, may I have more?” Such an odd sensation was running through him. He wanted to see her again. No. He needed to see her again. The loss of the vision ignited an instant hollowness in his chest.
Petén nodded again. “I will return shortly.”
Votan lay staring at the thatched roof above, feeling the tingling of his body as it repaired itself, the heat of the tropical air soothing his skin. His mind raced. He had the urge to return to Cimil immediately and beg for more information about the female. But he wasn’t going anywhere until he’d dealt with the priests he was after. And now, the situation had just become infinitely more complicated; the man Petén described was, without a doubt, one of Votan’s brothers.
Chapter SIX
Present Day. New York.
The hair on the back of my neck stiffened like quills. I was being watched. Should I run? What if the person followed me? No, I couldn’t leave. I had a plane to catch. A damned important plane.
“Guy? You there? Someone’s watching me.”
Silence.
“Guy? Where the hell are you?”
No answer. Crap.
A minute earlier, I’d just been enjoying leisurely sips of my icy rum and Coke while people-watching—my all-time favorite sport—from a small wobbly table in the airport bar with a view of the terminal. Something about drinking at five in the morning felt trashy, but the flash
ing neon beer signs and small army of flip-flop-clad fellow rule breakers, kicking off their vacations, somehow made it acceptable. I swiveled in my chair, searching for the discomforting vibe. My nerve endings were tingling.
There, in the corner, I noticed an enormous man with thick waves of long black hair, emerging from the shadows. Or, at least, I thought he would emerge. Instead, the shadows hugged his body like a heavy cloak as he approached. His eyes, the color of a tropical ocean, suddenly pierced the darkness. Before I could run, we were toe to toe, but he wasn’t there to dance or buy me another drink.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he said in a smooth, deep voice.
“You have?” I said, involuntarily rising toward him. I inhaled deeply. He smelled like black licorice.
He reached out his hand and cupped my cheek. His touch was electrifying. “You know you belong to me, don’t you.”
My alarm clock shrieked, and I catapulted from bed, drenched in sweat. I ran my hands through my sopping hair. “Jesus H. Christ. What was that?”
“Another hot dream about me, my sweet?” Guy said in a heart-stopping lathery voice.
It was true; I dreamed about him way too much, but this was different. “My only dreams of you involve kicking your man-nuggets,” I lied. “And, by the way, you usually look like that troll from Lord of the Rings. I’m sure it’s a premonition.”
“In about twelve hours, you are going to be very disappointed. I hear a nunnery in your future.”
“I never agreed to your wager. Remember? Besides, what’s with you and this nun thing? Do you have some weird fetish? Is that normal for decrepit cave-dwelling creatures?”
Guy laughed and it instantly ignited every cell in my body. His laugh was the kind that could melt a polar icecap. It was powerful, yet inviting. It was infectious to the nth degree. I could hear it every day for the rest of my life, and it still wouldn’t be enough.
The man from my dream suddenly flashed in my mind.
Accidentally in Love With a God (2012) Page 3