Accidentally…Cimil? (Accidentally Yours #4.5)(9)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

Still on the floor, I turned away and pulled my knees into my chest, my now empty, dark, heavy chest, and began to cry.

Yes. I know. Deities don’t cry. But they do when they realize there is no hope for them.

“More of your trickery, I see,” he bellowed. “But your lies and womanly deceits will not work on me.”

“Just go! Leave!” I screamed. It was bad enough I was crying. Me, the Goddess of the Underworld!

I heard the shuffle of his feet across the floor as he circled the bed and made his way over. “I command you to stop crying!”

“No!”

He grabbed my arm and pulled me from the floor, gripping me by the shoulders. “Yes. You will. You will cease this attempt to manipulate me and make your vow to me. You will desist this attempt to make a fool of me!”

“You really don’t get it, do you?” I barked, trying to wiggle from his grasp. “You’ve already been made a fool of! I can’t be your queen. I can’t be anyone’s queen. Deities and humans are not compatible. That little ‘trick,’ as you called it, was just the chemistry of our bodies reacting.”

“What is this thing you call ‘chemistry’?” he asked.

Ugh. It was a futurist term. “It means that your body is like wood and mine is like lightning. Put us together and they create fire.”

He loosened his grip. “You are telling the truth?”

I nodded.

He rubbed his forehead and then turned to leave.

“Wait. Where are you going?” I asked.

“To find magic to fix this.” He disappeared through the doorway.

I dropped my head and made tiny circles with my fingertips over my temples. “What are you doing, Cimil? He’s going to die soon, and you’re playing fantasy hookup! With a mortal.” I sighed loudly. Not because I was disappointed at myself, but because there was no magic to fix this, and for the first time ever, I really wanted something I couldn’t have: a human. A human who was about to expire and would likely end up being one of those stubborn-ass souls I had to drag to the other side by the earlobes, kicking and howling the entire way.

This situation screamed tragedy.

“I must be crazy, batshit crazy.”

Chapter Five

Carrying his favorite knife, Narmer burst into the priest’s bedchamber, startling the old man and the three women who were nude and apparently giving him a full body massage before bedtime.

Disgusting. How can they bear to touch him? Narmer resisted retching.

“Out! All of you!” Narmer roared at the women who grabbed their dresses and fled.

The priest scrambled from his bed and placed his back against the wall. “Now, calm down, my king. I’m sure this is simply some misunderstanding.”

“You tricked me! And I am not your king! You are not worthy of being even my lowliest subject. I am your executioner!” Narmer pushed the long knife to the man’s neck.

The priest clawed at Narmer’s hand. “You are upset, I see,” the priest croaked.

“The goddess is unable to lie with me. She says we are not physically compatible—fire and wood.” Narmer bounced the man’s back against the wall. “I swear by the gods, you will fix this!”

“I cannot.”

“Cannot or will not?”

“Cannot,” Mitnal said. “You may kill me, but what you ask is something I do not have the power to give. My magic is not strong enough.”

Narmer released the man and ran his hand over his hair. He needed a divine queen. He needed to have heirs. He wanted Cimil. Her sharp tongue and obstinate ways made her more alluring than any female he’d ever met, and there had been many. In his earlier years, he would bed two or three women each night. They lined up outside his door, hoping to be the one to permanently catch his eye or mother his child. But the gods had not willed it, and he saw nothing in these women except greed for his wealth and power. They left him feeling hollow, unsated, and more frustrated than when he started. This was why he eventually came to the conclusion that only a female his equal, a truly unique and powerful female, would suit him. Of course, being who he was, the ruler of the most glorious and advanced civilization known to all, meant that no one equaled him. He had the blood of the gods running in his veins. Yes, only a full-blooded goddess would do.

“If what I ask is beyond your powers,” Narmer said, “does this mean you know of another way?”

The evil man smiled with an evil grin.

“Name your price,” Narmer commanded.

The priest laughed nervously. “The price is far too high.”

“I will kill you right here and now if you do not tell me.”

“Very well,” Mitnal said, “the price is your life.”

He was mad. “I am fairly certain that my death would not solve the issue.”

“You will not truly die, but be born again into another form, one which can withstand the touch of a deity. You will be strong and immortal, almost as resilient as a true god.”

“How do you know this?” Narmer asked.

“My people have long pursued immortality.”

This sounded dangerous. If the gods wished humans to live forever, then they would have created them in such a way. “This is impossible.”

Mitnal held up his hands and wiggled his filthy fingers. “No. Not impossible. I have already succeeded with small creatures. We merely lack the power to make a human immortal.” His eyes widened into horrifying orbs of black and red. “You can change that.”

Narmer stepped back. The man is a vile, deceitful creature. He did not trust this Mitnal. There was some ulterior motive lurking inside the man’s head. But what? Did he want the throne? Narmer’s gold? Perhaps he could persuade the crazy man to disclose his true plans.

“What must I do?” Narmer asked.

“You must gain her trust and then convince her to come see me, to trust me.”

Again with this request? Mitnal had this planned all along. He was after stronger magic. Deity magic.

“And what assurances do I have,” Narmer asked, “that you will not use her in some way to make yourself more powerful and then refuse to assist me?”

The priest rubbed his greasy palms together. “You have my good word, my king.”

Disgusting, filthy pile of rotting monkey meat. Whatever plan the priest had, helping Narmer was only a means to an end.

“She will not trust you,” he said. “She trusts no one. Find another way for me to bed her. I give you eight days.”