Accidentally…Evil? (Accidentally Yours #3.5)(5)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

Regardless, she melted on the inside, becoming a lusty heap of loosely joined skin and bones.

He flashed a smug smile and continued down the shoreline with a victorious swagger. “Like you,” he called out, “I have no idea what the hell is going on, but unlike you, I’m wise enough not to question.” He stopped and looked at her with those piercing turquoise eyes. “I have suffered thousands of years watching others enjoy the exquisite delights of the flesh, and it is finally my turn. I will be inside you tonight, Margaret O’Hare. Fate has demanded it be so. You cannot fight fate.” He shrugged happily and continued walking away.

The moments ticked by before she scrounged up a coherent thought. “You’re a madman,” she screamed, “if you think Maggie O’Hare is going to stand here waiting for you to return!”

“I would never be so foolish,” he called out, not bothering to turn around or stop, “to underestimate a determined, headstrong woman such as yourself.” He snapped his fingers.

The black jaguar appeared from the brush at Maggie’s side. “Raaar?”

Oh, hell!

“Women.” Chuckling, Chaam shook his head and kicked a few pebbles into the water. Didn’t matter which species, they were all the same. Stubborn, petty, and stubborn.

And mine. He stopped in his tracks. Holy saints. Mine. He still couldn’t believe it, but the vision clearly showed they were destined to make love tonight. Thank the gods, but what does it all mean?

Perhaps, he supposed, she was the Creators’ reward for many millennia of hard work. Yes. Gods save him, but his existence was a tedious one. One that required he ensure everyone—excluding himself or the other gods—had sex. He was even obliged to help the animals. After all, if they did not propagate, humans certainly wouldn’t survive. But to make matters worse, his brethren held no respect for him. They called him His Holy Horndog and Deity of the Dick. Didn’t they know sex was the necessary ingredient to cement the bond between two souls?

The epiphany hit him hard.

Yes, that was it! The answer. He would make love to her tonight. If she was his mate, their souls would unite. He would feel the powerful connection.

So simple.

He smiled brightly until another thought, this one dismal, smacked him upside the head like a cold brick. Whether or not she was his mate, he realized he could not keep her. He simply had no way to do so. His bond with the universe compelled him to serve humanity. That meant he traveled years at a time to the most remote corners of the world, sometimes by foot or by horse. When he did not travel, he aided humans with less severe issues from the comfort of his realm.

Christ, the universe is so damned cruel.

Suddenly, he hoped she was not his mate; it was one thing to suffer an eternity hoping for her, but it would be an unfathomable torment to have found her and always be separated. He could not stomach the thought.

His heart sank into a deep, dark hole.

Yes, as painfully disappointing as it might be, he hoped she was simply a human immune to his touch. Or, perhaps, not human at all. In either case, he prayed she was a woman he could walk away from.

He rubbed his face with both hands. Christ, you’re in deep shit. He already knew that walking away from Maggie—mate or no mate—wasn’t likely to happen. He wanted to keep her.

All right, man. You’re a f**king deity. You’ve faced far worse, and you’ll figure this out.

Unfortunately, he had a few errands to complete—a confused bull who enjoyed making it with a bush, a cricket who favored ladybugs—so, so disturbing—and a twenty-year-old human male who had met his soul mate, but hyperventilated and passed out every time she came near. Yes, he would quickly do his magic and then gather supplies for his own magical evening with…

My woman. Gods, he loved the sound of that.

For the first time in Chaam’s entire existence, he smiled a smile that touched his soul.

Chapter 3

Maggie stood on the dock, swapping out two equally weighty emotions: fury and her old friend fear. Fury over being trapped by this madman and fear because her father was still missing.

Son of a biscuit! This couldn’t be happening. At her mother’s funeral, she’d silently promised to whoever was up there listening that she’d take care of him. It was the one damned thing she’d sworn to do, a commitment she would finally keep. Yes, her past was littered with broken promises. Promises to the men she’d dated—to seriously consider their offers; promises she’d made to herself—to stop being afraid of commitment; but mostly, promises to her mother—to try harder and make something of her life. It wasn’t that she hadn’t cared or respected herself, but Maggie simply never understood the point to any of it. “Life is precious and fleeting, Margaret,” her mother would say. “Find your passion and the one thing you were born to do. Out of that, you’ll find happiness and bring joy to others.” Maggie simply didn’t believe she had anything special to give, so she absorbed herself in passing the time. But when she’d sat at the funeral, looking out across a sea of faces who’d adored her mother, Maggie finally got why trying mattered. But that didn’t make opening her heart to others, as her mother had done so freely, any easier. In fact, it was just the opposite. Now Maggie cared too much. And that was the reason she clung to her father. That was also the reason she couldn’t stomach letting anyone else in. It hurt too much to lose.

Yes, and because of this, you will never fall in love. You will never commit to a man. Face it: you were born broken.

Then why are you feeling so strongly for—

“Well, hellooo there, cutie pie!”

Gah! Maggie jumped like a Mexican bean on the creaky dock. The tiny redhead had popped out of nowhere.

“You scared the lunch noodle out of me, lady.” Maggie clutched a fist over her heart. “Where did you come from?”

It registered that the woman was wet and nude. Could this day become any stranger? Or more naked?

The crazed nudist wiggled her shoulders, “Obviously, I came out of the lake, sugar. Where else? Hey! Why are you on the dock, facing off with The Jungle Book? You must be a fan of anthropomorphic tales! Get it! Tales! Anthropomorphic!” The woman chortled and pointed at the gaggle of assorted animals now perched on the mouth of the dock—that enormous jaguar, a tiny furry pig of some sort, a black and white striped monkey, a bright green parrot, and, yes, to make the ensemble complete, a three-foot-long iguana.

Each time Maggie attempted to move in their direction, toward land or into the lake, the animals barked, hissed, and growled. Or snorted. Lots of snorting from the little pig thing.