Accidentally in Love with…a God?(Accidentally Yours #1)(10)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

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 na**d 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.