Accidentally in Love with…a God?(Accidentally Yours #1)(12)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

“What?” Votan reached for a machete from the leather bundle on his back.

“Like you! I mean—her eyes.”

Votan was startled. One of his own sisters? Dear gods, what next? First Petén’s story of women being taken by one of his brothers and now this?

“She paid upfront and promised us more money—a lot of money. She wants the jars,” he said frantically. “She also told us to take out as many of those dreadlocked demons as we needed to make them confirm the location of the other jars, but they wouldn’t talk.”

Jars? While hiding in the hold, Votan had seen dark gray jars inside the crates, but didn’t think much of them. Humans often collected useless objects. His priority was finding out who’d been schooling the Maaskab in the art of manipulating dark energy.

“How did you trap and kill so many priests with only sixty men?”

“We stunned them with teargas,” Captain Pizzaro replied. “They never saw us coming.”

Ah, yes. Humans were busy inventing all sorts of new weapons and using them in their new war against that nasty Hitler man. Why couldn’t Votan have been lucky enough to draw the short straw when that guy’s name came up? But, nooo. Instead, he got the malodorous, pesky, fanatical Maaskab to deal with.

But this journey led me to the child, Gabriela, he thought. I cannot forget the importance of fate.

“Did you at least kill them all?”

Pizzaro stared at the floor. “Some got away.”

“Dammit all to hell!” Votan screamed. It could take him months to track them down, including the missing leader, and finish them off.

“What’s in the jars?” Votan asked.

“I don’t know.” He panted. “She made us promise not to open them. She said the jars would kill us.”

Idiots. What could possibly be inside that could do that? Killer bees?

“Okay,” Votan resisted laughing. He didn’t want the captain to think this was some kind of joke. Next Pizzaro told him about the map she’d given them that showed the location of more jars. Dozens of them scattered across the globe. They were told to find them and bring them back to Port Rota, Spain, where the woman was waiting.

“Aren’t you the least bit concerned about your ship getting blown out of the water by a U-boat or bloody navy ship?”

Pizzaro shook his head no. “She told us to stick to the routes she charted on the map. So far, so good.”

Votan’s mind was a jumble of frustration and anger. None of this made any sense. “What did the woman look like?”

“Flaming red hair, bright turquoise eyes, and a glare to make you wish you were never born. Like yours, actually.”

Cimil? No. It simply cannot be. She had been behaving oddly lately, but then again, they all had. The world was gradually spinning out of control. Violence. There was so much uncontrolled violence everywhere now. It wasn’t supposed to be that way. In fact, once he returned, there was to be a meeting to discuss what to do.

“I’ve told you everything I know.” Pizarro stared at Votan. “So?”

“So, what?” Votan pulled out another machete.

“You’re still going to kill me?” Pizzaro said with arrogant disbelief. It almost made Votan like the man.

“Of course. You do not deserve the light inside you. You are a cold-blooded killer.”

“I could say the same of you,” Pizarro said.

“Cold-blooded? Me? Hardly. I’m the ultimate purveyor of justice—an executioner with a flawless track record and crystal clear conscience.”

There was a startling knock at the door causing Votan to glance away. Before he blinked, the captain produced a knife and lunged.

The blade struck Votan’s arm. “Hey! That hurt.”

A squatty bald man pushed open the door and went slack-jawed at the sight of Votan. He quickly gathered himself and yelled for help as he turned up the stairs toward the deck.

Votan jerked the knife away from Pizzaro and rubbed the spot, watching the wound close instantly. He slammed the door shut, turning toward Pizzaro who cowered in the corner of the room.

“What—what are you?”

“Ahhh, now that’s more like it!” Votan said, shamelessly contented by the other man’s terror. He paused for a moment, his thoughts vacillating between extracting the man’s heart with a spoon or making him watch as he executed the crew.

Votan couldn’t help but feel grumpy at the whole situation. Eenie, meenie, minee, moe. “Perhaps a spoon is a bit harsh—you did kill the Maaskab with admirable ruthlessness. I will be back to deal with you.” Votan pointed at Pizzaro. “Stay.”

Votan marched up the stairs, gripping a razor sharp machete in each hand. Several large men lunged as he emerged on deck. He could smell the darkness seeping from their skin. No. The Maaskab weren’t the first these men had killed. That foul smell only came from a lifetime of dedicated, unrepentant violence. Votan turned into a whirlwind of slicing blades. Before he took one breath, five men lay gasping in a tidy heap, their dark red blood forming a puddle.

The others stopped their advances, careful to step away from the syrupy crimson pool spreading at their feet. Their bearded faces, dirty and pale, transformed from angry to fearful.

Votan wiped away the splatters of blood from his face and smiled. Feeling a set of eyes on his back, Votan spun to find Pizzaro standing behind him, shivering with repulsion at the pile of bloody corpses.

The captain hitched up his pants as if rallying his bravery and ran his eyes over the faces of his terrified men. “I—I, uh,” he stuttered, “th-th-think this demon has come for our souls, gentlemen, and I do not believe any of us are going to heaven.”

“Right you are, my friend. No heaven for you. But, I am no demon. I am a god. A very, very cruel one.”

Chapter NINE

Present Day. Mexico.

The bus driver pulled to the side of the highway. It was late afternoon, but with the heat, it felt like high noon in hell. “Señorita, aquí estamos.”

“Here? You want me to get out here?” I questioned, having no idea where “here” was.

The last road sign said it was still several kilometers to the town of Bacalar and to its nearby lake, but which direction? I was one of those people who immediately lost their sense of direction if I wasn’t driving, which, obviously, I wasn’t. I’d encountered several mechanical difficulties with my rental Jeep, including not one, but two flat tires and an overheated engine.