Accidentally in Love With a God (2012)

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

I sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed my face. Oh, god. Maybe it was a premonition. I’d never had one, but that didn’t rule out the possibility. Not only had the man been powerful and irresistibly seductive, even without a face, but he was definitely dangerous.

  “Guy, your eyes wouldn’t happen to be turquoise, would they?”

  Several moments passed before he finally answered. “Why do you ask?” his tone irritated.

  “Answer me.” I grabbed my floral, terrycloth robe from the hook behind the door.

  “You first.”

  I suddenly felt my stomach lose altitude. Why was he pushing back? If he didn’t have turquoise eyes, then the question was innocuous. “Don’t. No games. Not now.”

  “They are not turquoise. Now tell me, why you ask?”

  Was he lying? I didn’t feel the conviction in his tone like I normally did when he spoke. Would it really change anything if he was? I decided it wouldn’t. I was committed to seeing this all the way through. Even if it killed me. “No reason. The troll in my nightmare had turquoise eyes,” I lied.

  He hissed with frustration. “Go get ready. You’re wasting time.”

  ***

  Predictably, General Temper-Tantrum wasn’t feeling quite so calm about the situation, which meant it really was going to be dangerous. It seemed the closer we got to the airport, the worse his foul language became. He was giving me a massive headache.

  Once finally airborne, I slipped the hood of my pink sweatshirt over my hair and turned my head nonchalantly away from the passenger to my side toward the window to my left. “Would you please chill out?” I snapped quietly.

  “Chill out? I am perfectly calm!”

  I wanted to pull out my hair. “Please?” I begged.

  He sighed. “I’m sorry. Emma? Did I thank you?”

  “About ten times. But if you really want to thank me, how about some of those answers you promised.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why not? We had a deal, remember?”

  He growled. “What do you need to know, my sweet?”

  “What are you?

  “Any question, but that.”

  I huffed in protest. “Fine. Who are you?”

  “And that.”

  Before I protested again, he threw me a bone. “Do you recall how upset I became when your grandmother disappeared?”

  How could I forget? I remembered every detail from that day. It was when my life went from frustrating and weird to downright miserable. My grandmother was the heart of our family. She was…amazing. And I don’t mean it in a “never forgets my birthday” or “or bakes the best cookies” kind of way—although those both applied—but people were drawn to her. They adored her. Maybe it was her wide green eyes or her inviting smile, but I think there was something else. She radiated life and people flocked to her like moths to a flame. And when she disappeared, it tore me apart. My entire family spent months looking for her, even hiring private detectives, but she was gone. Just…gone. The authorities—idiots—officially concluded she ran away. Her passport was missing, and she’d personally cleaned out her bank account. The video at the bank confirmed it. But I don’t think any of us, especially my mom, could accept that she’d leave us like that. I knew in my bones she was dead because only death would keep her away.

  “I remember. The day is permanently seared in my brain. Why?” I asked.

  “I knew her” He was barely audible over the roar of the engines. “And, I’d like to think she and I were friends. So, you see, you have nothing to fear from me.”

  My heart stopped. “You’re joking,” I whispered. Hiccup!

  “No, I’d never joke about something like that.”

  I jumped from my seat, hiccuping and ignoring the disgruntled passengers who had to stand to let me into the isle. I needed privacy for this conversation, so that meant the bathroom.

  The line was three people long, and the wait felt like an eternity of foot-tapping, watch-watching, and hiccuping. When it was finally my turn, I slammed the door. “What the hell are you talking about?” I hissed at the wall.

  “Like I said, I knew Gabriela.”

  “How?” Hiccup!

  “I am not prepared to answer that question.”

  “Were you in her head, too?” I asked.

  “No. You are the only one—”

  “You have to give me answers here,” I interrupted.

  “I just did. Weren’t you listening?”

  I balled my fists in my hair, pulling from the roots. He was the master of aloof. “God dammit! How did you know her? Why are you and I connected?”

  “Not yet, Emma.” His vehemence reverberated through my bones.

  Crap. I hated how he tried to manipulate me with his voice like that. “Why can’t you tell me?” I croaked, leaning over the tiny stainless steel sink.

  “Because you’d never believe me without seeing the truth for yourself. I’ve explained this many times.”

  “No. We had a deal. I would ‘vow obedience,’” I used his own stupid words, “and you’d—”

  “I want to keep you out of danger. Your hothead is hazardous, and the gods only know what you might pull if we get into trouble. As I’ve explained, Emma, we’re not going—”

  “On a fricking picnic! Yes!” Hiccup! “I get it. But a deal is a deal. I vowed. Now, you speak.”

  “The ‘deal’ was that you’d vow to follow my every instruction. No questions asked. In exchange, I will tell you everything I know—about me, about you—right before we met.” He lowered his tone, sending inappropriate shivers down into my core. “You have yet to meet your end of the bargain. Therefore, I have not gone back on my word.”

  “Bastard. That’s not what we agreed, and you know it! You’re playing with me, you arrogant…” I was about to say “monster” when the realization struck me. What if he was one? Maybe that’s why he refused to tell me anything. This entire time I’d been blinded by that seductive voice and the fantasy of the body that might go with it. I’d grown attached to him in a sick and twisted kind of way. But what if he was a monster and the moment I freed him, he knew I’d run. Maybe he really never planned to let me go.

  “I-I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I’m not going, Guy.” I felt the panic overtaking me as I realized something worse than death existed, being his prisoner for the rest of my life. “It’s too much. I’ll help you any other way I can, but I’m not going.”

  “Emma, you can’t back out now! You must release me before I do further damage to your life. I could not live with myself if anything happened to you!”

  There was a loud knock on the door as the fasten-seatbelt sign illuminated.

  “I have to go back to my seat.” I reached for a tissue from the wall dispenser and patted my face.

  “Emma, I can help you find out what happened to Gabriela.”

  My heart stopped, sank, and then began pounding furiously. “Wha-what did you say?”

  “You heard me. I can help you find who took her. I know where to start looking.”

  “You know something? Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “If you want answers, you’ll have to free me.”

  “How could you go there? How could you use my love for her like this?”

  “I always intended to find out what happened to Gabriela. I was going to tell you later.”

  “I don’t believe you. You’re just saying that.”

  “Believe anything you like. But you want to know what happened to her? Get your ass here.”

  He went there. He definitely went there. He’d pulled the one string that could get me to do anything. It was the one place in my heart that was raw and sad and needed closure. And he’d used it. Without a doubt, he couldn’t be trusted. And now I had to go to him because if he really could help me find out what happened, it would bring my family closure—peace to my mother—if I survived.

  “Fine.” I opened the door and slid past the glaring flight attendant, then returned to my seat and p
opped in my earbuds.

  “Emma,” he screamed over the music.

  I turned up the volume, closing my eyes to hold back the tears.

  “Emma, I’m sorry. You left me no choice.”

  I toggled to Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go, by WHAM! He hated eighties music with a passion. Opera was his thing. I could practically hear him cringing in my head. A tiny satisfied grin crept across my face. I’d take the wins, no matter how minuscule, where I could get them.

  Chapter SEVEN

  1940. Bacalar, Mexico.

  “Hello,” said a small voice, startling Votan from his half-sleep, causing the hammock to tip. He landed with a soft thump in the dirt and craned his sore neck upward to find a bright-eyed little girl staring down at him.

  Her face, with its delicate features, glowed with innocence. And something else. Something familiar. It wasn’t her shocking green eyes or the intensity of her gaze. It was the energy radiating from every pore of her body.

  “Hi. I’m Gabriela,” she said in the same Mayan dialect as Petén used. “I’m five.” She held out her tiny hand to display five miniature fingers. “Who are you?”

  Votan slowly rose, continuing to study the tiny child, unsure of what he was really witnessing. “This cannot be.”

  The little girl continued staring with her wide, curious eyes. “Who are you?”

  Votan blinked. “I am Votan.”

  Petén entered the hut just then, carrying a bowl and then dropped it to the floor.

  “Gabriela! Leave here immediately!” Petén screamed. A woman with long, dark hair and equally dark eyes peeked out from behind Petén.

  Gabriela began to cry and ran straight for the woman’s skirt and buried her face. The woman seemed to be paralyzed and simply stared at Votan, ignoring the wailing child, gripping a large polished black stone hanging from her neck.

  Petén suddenly shook the woman and commanded her to leave. She made an absent-minded nod then scurried away with Gabriela in tow.

  Petén turned and eyed Votan cautiously. “You are the Votan?” he asked.

  Votan ignored the question. “What exactly did the man do to your cousin? That was her, wasn’t it?”

  Petén kept his distance, clearly shaken. “We are not sure what happened.”

  “Tell me what you know!” Votan screamed.

  Petén held out his hands in self-defense. “I speak the truth. My cousin, Itzel, has told us very little. She was brought to a small village with other females who’d been taken from the south. She will not tell us what happened during those few months, other than one night a group of dark priests, the Maaskab, came and began slaughtering the women.”

  The Maaskab. Images of priests with black souls and bloodshot eyes, their naked skin covered in a sooty paste, flashed in Votan’s mind. Their long, blood-caked hair hung in putrid dreadlocks that dangled to their waists. Their black teeth only served to strain the blood-streaked saliva pouring from their lips as they growled in his mind. He could almost smell the rotting stench of darkness seeping from their pores.

  Petén continued, “My cousin escaped. When she returned here, we immediately knew she was with child—our Gabriela.”

  Votan’s jaw dropped. Of our blood? he thought, still unsure he could believe what he’d just heard. “Gabriela’s father is the man who took your cousin?”

  Petén nodded. “Yes, though, Itzel will not discuss the matter.”

  This cannot be. But there she was. Proof. Undeniable proof. One of his brothers had found a way to make a child. With a human, no less.

  Votan pressed his hands to the sides of his throbbing skull. None of this made any sense whatsoever. His brother was secretly stealing virgins and mating with them. The priests were possibly hunting the women down.

  Votan’s head hurt, and he could not think straight. Deal with the priests, then confront your brother.

  “The Maaskab,” Votan ground out the words. “Where can I find them?”

  Petén continued staring, seemingly transfixed by the six-foot-nine shirtless man with the massive hulking frame, thick waves of long blue-black hair, and fierce turquoise eyes.

  “Are you truly the God of Death and War?” Petén whispered.

  Votan nodded.

  “I will draw you a map immediately,” Petén replied.

  Votan crossed his arms. “I’ll thank you for some weapons, too.”

  “Of course, whatever you need.” Petén turned to leave.

  “And bring me the girl,” Votan added. “I want to see her again before I set out.”

  Petén’s weathered face turned pale. He nodded stiffly and left.

  ***

  As Votan finished anchoring the last leather-sheathed dagger to his bicep, he approached Gabriela and her mother. Votan closed his eyes, tilted his face toward the sky, and recited the ancient prayer of Loyalty and Protection. Votan intended to bond himself to the girl.

  He then grasped the end of his long inky braid and, with one swift motion, drew a dagger. He severed his lock at the nape of his neck and shoved it at Itzel. “Burn this tonight in your fire with a lock of Gabriela’s hair. Her light will then be tethered to mine.”

  He looked down at Gabriela who was standing happily at her mother’s side. The bond would put her under his protection and the protection of the gods—the ones who hadn’t turned evil, anyway. The bond would also help him to track the child, if need be, as it allowed him to sense her presence. Gabriela’s mother nodded and then accepted the rope of hair.

  Votan looked down into the girl’s inquisitive green eyes. Suddenly, the world had new meaning. He knew it was odd for the God of Death and War to think of such things; yet, it could not be helped. Could he too create life, as his brother had, instead of simply taking it? The thought fascinated him.

  He crouched and whispered into Gabriela’s ear, making her giggle, and then kissed the top of her head. “Goodbye, my little one. I’ll be back for you.”

  Chapter EIGHT

  1940. Near Tzolicab. Yucatán, México.

  “Twenty-two,” said Votan as he marched down the path cutting through the dense jungle.

  Why the hell did I leave Gabriela behind? I am a fool, he thought.

  “Twenty-three.” I should have taken the girl, hid her somewhere safe, and then completed my mission. The others would have—“Twenty-four”—understood. Well, maybe not, but who the hell cares. “Twenty-five. Twenty-six.”

  Votan stopped and stared up at the cloud of swarming black flies encasing the scalped Maaskab priest hanging in the tree. Like the other twenty-five he’d just counted, the man’s dreadlocks had been tied into a crude rope and then used to hang him.

  “Irritating. This is just irritating.” Finding the priests dead not only meant a delay in returning to Cimil for answers about his vision of the redheaded woman, but now, it prevented his prompt return for the girl, too.

  He could only pray nothing bad happened to the child while he was away. The bond was in no way foolproof. And frankly, she was the first true miracle he’d seen during his excruciatingly long life.

  Again, he dwelled on which one of his brothers had fathered her. And how? Gods could not be intimate nor procreate. Period.

  Humans aren’t even the same species.

  Yes, gods could take a human-like body, but ultimately, it was just a shell to house their true form. They were made of light, of pure energy. Humans, even those who’d become immortal through the various ways—given the gift by the gods, turned into vampire or other immortal creature—were still made up of tangible mass.

  A god having a child with a human was like fire mating with a log. Sure, they could touch each other, but one would end up cooked to ash.

  Votan shook his head and began listening carefully to the animal noises echoing from the green-hued shadows. The creatures were riled, calling out to each other. Votan closed his eyes to listen. He caught fragments of each tiny voice but was unable to piece together any coherent story from them. He just saw flashes of
white men with guns and clouds of smoke.

  He proceeded cautiously, counting more bodies.

  Dammit! What the hell is this?

  By the time he reached the smoldering Maaskab village hidden deep in the jungle, he counted thirty hanging bodies. From the markings on their chests, all had been the more senior priests. In their society, one line, one heinous raised scar straight across the chest equaled one level of rank. The bodies in the trees donned two or three, but none had one—the lowest—or four—the highest. So where had their leader and the others gone?

  In the Maaskab village, what was left of it, another fifty dark-priests lay scattered across the ground like leaves fallen from a tree, their nearly naked bodies riddled with bullet holes. Whoever had killed them hadn’t taken their sweet time like they had with the human tree ornaments. After examining a few bodies, he noticed they had one line across their chests. That answered his question about the peons, but not their leader.

  He canvassed the rest of the area and determined no one was left. Not one damned, bloody soul. The situation was a disaster. Sure, he’d wanted them all to die, but he needed to interrogate them first, find out how they were learning their new dark tricks and confirm why they’d been killing those innocent women.

  “Cimil!” he screamed. “A little assistance, please?”

  He waited, but there was no reply. “Still behaving like a child, I see.”

  With the agonizing pain from his earlier fall still coursing freely through his head, Votan clamped his eyes shut. Had someone purposefully murdered the priests to hide something from him? Or had one of the priests’ many enemies simply bested them? One thing was certain: the killers had worked over the more senior priest. Ruthlessly. Same damned thing he would’ve done.

  Distracted by pain and frustration, he turned and walked straight into a tree, his nose crunching on impact. “Son of a bitch!” he wailed and kicked the mammoth tree that had toppled over. “I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry,” he said, looking at the decimated tree, cupping his bloody nose.