Screw the chitchat. Let’s get down to business.
“Tommaso, listen to me. You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to be here. You don’t want to be one of them. And I know that I was supposed to be Andrus’s mate—whatever the hell that means—but I don’t want him. Yes, yes, I love his look—what woman can resist leather pants?—but that’s not my heart speaking. My heart wants something that my brain can sign off on. It wants a best friend who’s sexy and strong and who can kick ass when needed. So even though we don’t know each other, I’m asking for the chance to find out if that’s you.” I drew a trembling breath. “Because I think it is. I mean to say—I want you.” And I meant that. I really did, though it was difficult to imagine why at the moment. He really smelled.
His cold gaze narrowed on my face. “We will cut out your heart at sundown.”
What? “What! How can that be your respon…” My voice trailed off as he simply disappeared. Like, as in, disappeared-disappeared. Gone. Poof. “What the…? Tommaso! Come back! You don’t want to do this!”
Praise for Mimi Jean’s Books
“Mimi Jean Pamfiloff is a paranormal romance (PNR) author that never disappoints. She writes the type of PNR that has readers smiling and laughing one moment, and cursing and making stabby motions the next.”
—Reviews by Ruckie, on Immortal Matchmakers, Inc.
"Pamfiloff injects smart-ass humor into every scene…plot and characters are pure fun."
—Publishers Weekly, on Sun God Seeks Surrogate
“Smark, snarky storytelling and an inventive plot will keep readers turning the pages. Throw in a host of amusing, distinctive characters, and Pamfiloff’s latest is hilarious, sexy and just plain fun.”
—RT Book Reviews, on Accidentally Married to a Vampire?
“Every time I read one of these books in the series I think it is the best one. I get proven wrong by each one. They just keep getting better and better.”
—Romancing the Book, on Sun God Seeks Surrogate
“This first book in the spin-off is everything I love about Mimi Jean Pamfiloff's paranormal. Sarcasm, snark, smartassness, and big sexy alphas in leather pants. Getting down and dirty no holds barred romance.”
—Hannah’s Words, on Immortal Matchmakers, Inc.
Other Works by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
COMING SOON:
TAILORED FOR TROUBLE (Standalone/Romantic Comedy/The Happy Pants Series)
IT’S A FUGLY LIFE (Standalone/Contemporary Romance/Fugly Series, Book 2)
GOD OF WINE (Standalone/Paranormal/Humor/Immortal Matchmakers Series, Book 3)
THE TEN CLUB (Standalone/Dark Fantasy/The King Series, Book 5)
BRUTUS (Standalone/Paranormal/Humor/Immortal Matchmakers Series, Book 4)
AVAILABLE NOW:
FUGLY (Standalone/Contemporary Romance)
IMMORTAL MATCHMAKERS, Inc. (Standalone/Paranormal/Humor/Book 1)
FATE BOOK (Standalone/New Adult Suspense/Humor)
FATE BOOK TWO (Standalone/New Adult Suspense/Humor)
THE HAPPY PANTS CAFÉ (Standalone/Prequel/Romantic Comedy)
THE MERMEN TRILOGY (Dark Fantasy)
Mermen (Book 1)
MerMadmen (Book 2)
MerCiless (Book 3)
THE KING SERIES (Dark Fantasy)
King’s (Book 1)
King for a Day (Book 2)
King of Me (Book 3)
Mack (Book 4)
THE ACCIDENTALLY YOURS SERIES (Paranormal Romance/Humor)
Accidentally in Love with…a God? (Book 1)
Accidentally Married to…a Vampire? (Book 2)
Sun God Seeks…Surrogate? (Book 3)
Accidentally…Evil? (a Novella) (Book 3.5)
Vampires Need Not…Apply? (Book 4)
Accidentally…Cimil? (a Novella) (Book 4.5)
Accidentally…Over? (Series Finale) (Book 5)
TOMMASO
The Immortal Matchmakers, Inc. Series
Book Two
Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
A Mimi Boutique Novel
Copyright © 2016 by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the writer, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Cover Design by EarthlyCharms.com
Editing by Latoya Smith and Pauline Nolet
Formatting by WriteIntoPrint.com
ISBN-10: 1-943983-00-3
ISBN-13: 978-1-943983-00-1
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Contents
Praise for Mimi Jean’s Books
Other Works by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
Dedication
WARNING:
PROLOGUE
PART ONE – TOMMASO
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
PART TWO – CHARLOTTE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
AUTHOR’S NOTE
WHAT’S TOMMASO REALLY ALL ABOUT?
Acknowledgements
WHAT’S IN CIMIL’S BASEMENT?
Glossary
Character Definitions The Gods
Not the Gods
IT’S A FUGLY LIFE
GOD OF WINE
THE HAPPY PANTS SERIES IS BACK!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dedication
To Javi.
Thank you for letting me live my dream. In D.F., Bacalar, Cali, AZ, New Jersey, or Michigan, you’ve always dug in hard when it mattered most. I love you.
TOMMASO
WARNING:
This book contains F-bombs, unicorns, golf clubs, random references to TV shows, disco balls, imprisoned clowns, leather pants, evil Mayan priests, large scary bugs, insane deities, hot immortal men, and, of course, references to extremely large penises.
If you do not like F-bombs, unicorns, golf clubs, random references to TV shows, disco balls, imprisoned clowns, leather pants, evil Mayan priests, large scary bugs, insane deities, hot immortal men, and extremely large penises, then this story is likely not for you…
PROLOGUE
Lying in bed, I sifted through the darkness with my tired eyes, in search of the strange noise coming from…
Holy crap! It’s above me!
The dark figure came into focus, and I let out a yelp that should’ve been a terror-filled scream. What in the name of fuck is that? I thought, feeling my entire body turn ice cold with fear.
In the yellow light of my alarm clock, I saw the monster’s face hovering over mine, its eyes pits of glowing crimson swirling with black.
Oh shit. Oh shit. What is that? I opened my mouth to finally deliver that scream, but the beast quickly slapped its sickly hand over my lips to muffle the noise.
Oh, God. Help me. He smelled like death and evil. He smelled like desolation and despair—everything bad in this world mixed together.
Knowing I was about to die, I felt my eyes begin to tear.
“Please,” I mumbled through the gaps in its sticky fingers, the unmistakable smell of dried blood filling my nostrils. “Please don’t kill me.”
Slowly, it dipped its head, allowing me to see its face up close.
Christ. He’s human. Or something humanlike, resembling a man covered in black soot and the stench of death.
“Please, I’m begging you—just let me go,” I whimpered.
The man slid his hand from my mouth, studying me. Then there was a flash of something I didn’t expect in their depths: fear.
“Save. Me,” he mumbled in a deep gargle. “Please…save…me…”
What the…? I was the one who needed saving!
“I think it’s the oth-other way around,” I stuttered and then reached for the reading lamp to my side and swung. He stopped it inches from his face, and an icy rage replaced any semblance of kinder, gentler emotions.
He roared and then grabbed me by the hair, dragging me from my bed.
“Let go!” I yelled, and he did. He tossed me to the floor as if I were completely weightless.
Oh, God. He was so strong.
I yelled for help, but no one was coming. I lived alone out in the middle of the desert.
Looking pleased by my fear, he reached into the waistband of whatever he wore as clothing and drew a buck knife or machete or something one might use to murder an innocent twenty-six-year-old golf instructor who lived ten miles outside of Palm Springs, liked to binge on crunchy food, and owned two Jeeps, a cat that hated her, and four rescue chickens. Yeah. It was that kind of knife. A really, really big fucking knife.
“Oh, God. Please no. Please…I’m sorry,” I cried. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry!” Of course, I wasn’t sorry. I was simply terrified and wanted to live. Unfortunately, the odds were not in my favor.
I watched in terror as the blade barreled down toward my face.
PART ONE
TOMMASO
CHAPTER ONE
9:42 a.m., Los Angeles
Covered in bright red blood, Tommaso Fierro stumbled from his sleek black Mercedes and staggered across the litter-filled 7-Eleven parking lot, clutching the front of his sticky gray dress shirt.
“Sonofabitch,” he groaned. This can’t be happening. He’d gone through far too much, survived far too much, only to end up like this.
No. No. No. You are not turning evil again.
But then why had his turquoise eyes—the telltale sign of his godsgiven immortality—turned black? Why did his heart feel like it was being prodded with a red-hot poker?
And where the fuck did all this blood come from? It sure as hell wasn’t his.
He looked at his sticky red hands, suddenly seeing images of the dark-haired woman in his head. She was bound and gagged in his closet, screaming at him through a rope knotted between her lips.
Shit. Please don’t tell me I killed her. Because she was the one. Yes, the one. And no, he couldn’t explain why he had no clear memory of what happened, but he did remember the wave of intense desire he’d felt the moment he spotted her leaving the singles mixer last night—Wait. Was it last night? Everything was a blur after that, like watching a violent movie on a dark screen that sporadically flickered.
Godsdammit! Wouldn’t this just be his godsdamned luck? He finally meets the woman of his dreams—his true mate—only to turn evil for no other reason than the Universe had decided to be a huge bitch and mess with everyone.
More blurry images swarmed his mind: the woman screaming and then…images of him letting her go, only to start chasing her, like a cat playing with a mouse it wanted to torment before the kill.
That is very fucked up.
Tommaso suddenly felt like his skull was splitting open. Aaagh… He shoved his fingers into his sticky short hair, pressing the sides of his head. Then his lungs began closing up. I can’t…breathe. He fell to his knees on the hard asphalt. And godsdammit, he had just gotten his awesome pin-striped slacks back from the tailor. Three hundred bucks just for the hem.
A candy apple red Mustang tore into the parking lot, nearly colliding with a parked car before coming to a tire-screeching halt a few feet in front of him. The driver door popped open and out stepped a familiar face: Zac, God of Temptation.
The sound of Zac’s heavy biker boots thumped toward Tommaso as he tried to keep his vision from blacking out.
“Wow,” said Zac in his usual cocky tone while brushing back his mane of shaggy black hair with his usual affected gesture. “You weren’t joking. You really are turning into a Maaskab—not such a great look for you, by the way.”
Maaskab were an ancient sect of powerful, bloodthirsty Mayan priests who excelled in the dark arts. With their blood-caked dreads, soulless pits for eyes, and grime-covered bodies (they believed bathing robbed them of their powers), they looked like death warmed over, reheated in a microwave, and then deep fried in evil waffle batter. And though they were talented at many malevolent things, manipulating dark energy and enslaving others to do their bidding were their claims to fame, something Tommaso knew firsthand. For two loooong fucking years, he’d been pumped full of Maaskab poisons and used to spy on the gods’ army. It was a miracle he’d escaped, but an even bigger miracle the gods had chosen to help him versus ending his life after he’d been discovered.
Only now, he wasn’t so sure that he’d been cured (or what had happened over the last twenty-four hours or why he was in a 7-Eleven parking lot covered in blood with only a vague recollection of taking his newly found mate captive). In any case, Zac had been the first name that came to mind when he’d called for help
.
Perhaps not such a wise choice. Zac wasn’t known for being the most compassionate of the gods. Okay. None of the gods were compassionate. Bat-shit crazy, the whole lot of them.
Tommaso looked up at Zac, seven feet of pure conceited asshole in leather pants. And topless?
“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” Tommaso grumbled. Proper attire was essential, even when one was in the process of transforming into a monster, as in his case. Didn’t see him ripping off his clothes and acting uncivilized.
“Casual Friday.” Zac shrugged and then bent to help Tommaso to his feet.
Tommaso’s gaze gravitated toward the hazy figure of a petite blonde standing beside the god, wearing only a pair of enormous flowery granny panties and matching brassiere. He recognized her to be Tula, the new assistant at Immortal Matchmakers, Inc., which was run by Zac and Zac’s insane redheaded mess of a sister, Cimil—the Goddess of the Underworld.
“What’s with Tula’s outfit?” Tommaso mumbled, wondering if he wasn’t dreaming.
“Casual Friday,” Zac answered for Tula. “Did I not just explain that?”
“Okay, you two,” said Tula, in a sugary tone, “let’s get out of here before the police show and suck up another day with all their questions. I’m still trying to get them not to press charges for the singles mixer.”
Tommaso hadn’t stayed for more than a minute at that party, but he could only imagine the long list of reasons the police had been called. Things tended to end up decimated or lit on fire when a group of immortals got in a room and started drinking. Belch, aka the God of Wine and Intoxication, for example, held the all-time record for destroying the most hotels. Five hundred and twenty. All burnt to the ground. All by accident.
Tommaso (Immortal Matchmakers, Inc. #2) Page 1