Accidentally in Love With a God (2012) (3 page)

“I love you guys, too,” I mumbled.

They disappeared behind the curtain out into the hall. The heavy door made a loud
thug!
as it closed behind them.

“
Emma?”

Crap!
I jumped. “Holy Virgin of Guadalupe. Not you.” I covered my face with my hands.

“
We have some unfinished business to discuss, you and I.”

“Go away,” I mumbled with a raspy voice. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

“
In fact, no. I cannot, nor do I truly wish to.”

“Why did it have to be a cab?” I croaked. “Where’s a red Double-Decker when you need one?”

“
Please, my sweetness, do not say such things. Do you know they were ready to pull the plug and dice you into tiny pieces like a pig at the butcher? Damned organ harvesters. It took every ounce of energy I had to bring you back.”

How awful that must have been for my parents. They were both doctors. So if they’d made that choice, it was because they’d lost any hope for me. “Don’t act like my savior.
You
did this to me.”

There was a long pause.
“And now I see that you were right…this cannot go on.”

Could he be saying what I thought? “You’re going to leave?” I whispered. A tiny part of my heart protested; the rest of me rejoiced at the notion.

“
Not exactly.”

The ratio of protest to rejoice flip-flopped. “Then?”

There was another long pause, and that’s when I noticed my ears were ringing. No, they were vibrating.

“
I cannot leave you, but you can free me.”

“Do you hear that?”

“
Hear what?”

I shook my head from side to side. Maybe it was a side effect from the head injury. “Never mind. What did you say?”

“
Free me.”

He was serious. I could hear it in his voice. I didn’t bat an eyelash. He was actually offering me a chance to get rid of him? To get my life back? “What will I have to do?”

“
Travel south.”

“Florida?”

“
Mexico.”

“Sorry?”

“
Mexico. You know, that little country on the map below yours. Home of tequila and the taco.”

“I don’t understand. Why there?”

“
That is where I am, physically.”

Holy crap. “You have”—I swallowed hard—“a body?”

“
Is something wrong with your hearing? Yes, I have a body, and you are to go to the jungle and find it.”

Holy pickles. This entire time I thought he was some nomadic soul who’d simply glommed onto me for kicks.

My head began to spin. What did he look like? What if he was like one of those images my mind had dreamed up on hundreds of occasions? There was the one where he stood like a pillar of destruction, donning ancient armor, overlooking a cliff, the wind ripping through his wild ropes of black-as-midnight hair. Then there was my personal favorite where he lay nude across a plush velvet couch next to a fire, his abs rippling under his bronzed skin, and his golden waves of hair draping down his shoulders as he waited for me.

What was I thinking? Did I have brain damage? Was I really worrying about what he’d look like? “What, exactly”—I swallowed hard—“are you?”

“
You are in no danger from me.”

“How reassuring. Really. Don’t suppose you’re going to tell me more? Species might be nice. Or, how it’s possible your body is in the Mexican jungle, yet I can hear you?”

“
Those points are not open for discussion.”

Of course not. Why should I believe he’d make this easy? “You wouldn’t happen to look like a troll or have a body covered in giant warts?” At a minimum I hoped he’d be uglier than sin; it would help me end my obsession.

He sighed in that special tone, which sounded more like a groan and made my toes curl. “Not even close.”

Dammit.
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me who the hell you really are,” I said.

He let out a soft, arrogance-filled chuckle, as if he already knew he’d get what he wanted without any concessions. “
Rest, my sweet. You need to heal. There’ll be time later to make our plans, but I am truly sorry for this. Sorry for putting you in this position when I am supposed to protect you.”

“Protect me from what, dammit?”

Silence.

“For once, answer me!” I demanded.

“
For starters, yourself.”

“I'm a grown woman. I don't need a babysitter.”
Except around bright yellow taxis.

“
Heads, Emma. Frozen heads. Twenty of them in his fucking freezer. The bastard.”

“Now is not the time for a deranged haiku, Guy.” He always did have a bad, bad sense of humor.

“
Not a haiku, Emma. That male you went on a date with, Jake. They found heads in his freezer. He was a serial killer.”

“I—I don’t believe you.” I cupped my hands over my mouth. I would have gone home with Jake if he’d asked. Not that I was easy, but I’d been desperate to make a stand against Guy, and Jake was too hot.

“
Just ask your friend, Anne. She was here visiting and spoke of it.”
His tone was smug. Too smug. “
I saved your life. Twice.”

I suddenly felt sick. Not because of the heads, mind you—although, that was certainly gross. But because if Guy had been telling the truth about Jake being “off,” then he was also telling the truth about protecting me from that “something else,” he kept eluding to. I was in danger. But from what? Bastard. It was my life. Why wouldn’t he tell me what was going on? “Fine. You were right about Jake. But I don’t care if you saved my life; I’d face the fires of hell to be rid of you.”

“
I do not believe that for one moment, Emma. You. Need. Me. But you might get your wish anyway, little girl.”

Chapter THREE

1940. Bacalar, Southern Mexico.

“For the love of all things big and small, which way?” The towering naked god stood alone in the middle of the dense jungle, dripping like a wet dog.

Silence. Not even the waking birds lifted a beak to clue him in.

Votan growled. He didn’t have time for petty games. Not when there was killing to do, and not when he was in a hurry to return home. Or, more accurately stated, in a hurry to get the hell out of his weak human-like form. It was nothing shy of annoying.

“Amusing, Cimil. Very amusing. Just remember, I never forget. And worse, I never forgive,” he barked into the air above him.

The goddess Cimil, who was on point as his lookout, delighted in tormenting others, and sometimes she simply went too far. Just yesterday, for example, she’d taunted him mercilessly after she had had another vision. True to her sadistic nature, she disclosed only enough information to bring about his suffering. She’d said a female would soon enter his life and emasculate him. “At this very moment”—she’d chuckled and clapped—“I’m watching the future-version of you in my head, Votan, as you grovel and pine for her.” She sighed. “Good times. Good times.”

Who was this woman from Cimil’s vision? And what sort of powers would she possess? Cimil would not say, but for any female to control him, she’d have to be a force of nature. The thought perturbed him greatly.

He’d responded by telling Cimil she was a “head case”—an odd colloquialism he learned from her—which she was, but she also struck the fear of the gods into him; everyone knew that Cimil’s visions were never wrong.

“Well,” he said aloud to himself, “one must face fate head on.”

The cloudless sky rolled with thunder in response.

“We’ll just see who gets the last laugh.” Votan placed one hand on his bare hip, tapping his fingers impatiently, his golden skin glistening with drops of water. He’d already wasted far too much time climbing out of the wet, slippery portal.

Cenotes, as the Mayans once called them, were deep limestone pools. They were also the only portals to the human world. The active ones, hidden deep in the jungle or veiled inside stalactite covered caves, were directly connected to the River of Tlaloc—an underground current of energy flowing between the two worlds. Cenotes were an extremely inefficient way to travel, but they were the only choice.

He looked back up at the sky, trying to gauge the time of day and how many hours of sunlight he had left. He sidled up to a tree trunk and flexed his hands. His new human-like body still felt a bit weak. Sometimes, it took hours for his strength to kick in after the journey, but he didn’t want to wait. No doubt, their enemies were hard at work causing mayhem. Most recently, they had found a way to shield themselves from being viewed by the gods from the comfort of their own realm. This undoubtedly meant the repugnant priests were up to their usual deadly shenanigans, like being behind a rash of missing and dead young women from the local villages.

Votan wrapped his still weak hands around a thick branch, careful not to touch the ants scrambling down one side (bugs disturbed him, too many legs) and then pulled himself up. He climbed until able to peer above the trees. Like a giant, featherless bird, he perched on a branch, looking for any signs of the priests’ encampment—usually a large smoke plume—however, there was nothing beyond the massive span of hazy blue sky and the ocean of treetops.

He shifted his weight to gaze in the opposite direction. Suddenly, the branch gave way. Tree limbs lashed at his flesh as he hurtled back toward the Earth.

Chapter FOUR

Present Day. New York City.

“
Passport, my sweet?”

“Check.”

“
Tickets, my sweet?”

“Check. And stop calling me 'my sweet.'”

“
Do you have a good map”—
dramatic pause—“
my dearest?”

I rolled my eyes. “I bought a guidebook online. It’s got—”

There was a knock at my bedroom door. It was my mom. Sadly, I lived at home again after being moved out of my apartment while in a coma. No one thought I was coming back. Ever. And after hearing I was going to die, my roommates and best friends, Anne, Nick, and Jess, couldn’t stand to live there. Too depressing, they said. They’d moved out right away.

“Be quiet,” I hissed at Guy. My mother couldn’t hear him. No one could, except me. But he had an uncanny knack for provoking a response, so I was constantly covering up my seemingly absurd comments.

“
Make her go away. You still have to pack, and we must review the plan one last time.”

“I’m not leaving until morning. There’s plenty of time,” I whispered.

“
But you must be prepared properly, Emma. We’re not going on a picnic.”

“Don’t you have a nap to take or something?”

“
Only if you’re…”
He lowered his voice,
“coming.”

The sexual innuendo wasn’t missed. My core fluttered with little waves of warmth. I shook my head, trying to get a grip. I couldn’t let him affect me like that anymore. I had to stay in control.

“Right, big man. Like that’ll ever happen if you’re involved. I bet you’re some kind of cave dwelling, telepathic hobgoblin. I bet you’re so ugly, even your cooties close their eyes. I bet the only way you can get a woman is by clubbing her over the head.”

“
Mmm…if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were issuing a challenge. And, you know, I cannot resist those; I'm far too competitive. What's the wager?”

Oh, please.
“Okay, I'll bite. What do you want?”

“
That, my dear, is easy. You will become a nun, never to date again.”

“Ha! Nice try. Not in a million years. In fact, as soon as you're gone, I'm going on a slut-athon.” Not true, but I hoped he got the point: I hated him trying to control me. And since the accident, he seemed more…intense. More protective, more needy of my attention, and more flirtatious. He reminded me of a caged wolf. A horny caged wolf. Was it a defense mechanism? Was he as nervous as I was about meeting face to face?

“
My sweet Emma, how you try my patience.”

“Eye for an eye, bub,” I said.

The knock at my door repeated.
Christ!
I’d forgotten my mom was there. That was the other problem with having Guy in my life. He always distracted me. People thought I was a space-case.