Accidentally in Love with…a God?(Accidentally Yours #1)(15)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

“A walking stick? Is it a difficult hike?” I asked.

“No, for protection—from snakes and other animals. We even have jaguars, but if you see one, say a prayer. Don’t bother with the stick.”

Oh, goody. Jaguars.

“Here we are.” She stopped in front of the very last hut and handed me a small key.

The cabaña didn’t look like anything special—palm-frond roof, stone and mortar walls, a few random geckos playing “you can’t see me”—but when I turned toward the other direction, I saw a breathtaking view of the water a few yards down the hill. It sparkled like a jewel composed of every luminescent shade of blue, green, and turquoise. The lush shoreline was peppered with wooden docks. “That’s a lake, not the ocean?” I asked.

Rosa nodded.

I’d never seen anything like it before. It reminded me of that man’s eyes from my dreams. “How come this place isn’t infested with all-inclusive resorts?” I asked.

She chuckled. “Oh, the gods would never allow that.”

Okaaay. “Thanks, Señora Rosa. I’ll probably hop down to the lake for a quick swim and then hit the hay as soon as the sun goes down.” I faked a yawn. “It’s been a long, hot day, and I want to get started early.”

Once again, she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Very well. There’s a flashlight on the shelf next to the bed. The generator shuts off at nine.”

I nodded, tucking a few loose, humidity-crazed curls behind my ear. “Thanks.”

“Hasta mañana, my dear.”

I flashed a polite smile, trying to hide my frayed nerves, and shut the door. “Is it just me, or is that lady a little strange?” I wondered.

“I don’t want you to panic, but you need to get out of there.”

I dropped my backpack on the cement floor and froze. “Why? What’s wrong?” If I weren’t already sopping from head to toe, I would have started sweating; I knew in my bones he’d meant what he just said. I felt his fear for me.

“What she said to her husband—it…”

“What?” I was moving quickly into panic mode.

“She said that he needed to go get the others, to tell them that you’d finally arrived.”

“Oh, shit. Guy, right about now would be a good time to start talking.”

“Emma, I don’t know how they could possibly know you.”

“Shit. Shit—”

“Stop swearing and get moving. Put your bathing suit on, and pretend you’re going down to the lake. Wrap your wallet, map, and water bottle in your towel.”

“Okay. Okay.” I panted, emptying the contents of my backpack onto the hammock that stretched across the room. I threw off my drenched clothes, which felt fantastic, and put on my bikini. I rolled up a fresh t-shirt and shorts, along with the other items in my towel. “Guy?”

“What?”

“I really have to pee.”

“Oh Christ, woman. You have the bladder of a guppy.”

“It’s been over five hours, which qualifies for ‘camel.’ Can you hum? My iPod’s out of juice.”

Now’s no time for modesty, Emma. They could be coming for you any minute!

“Fine. Did I tell you that I hate you?”

Chapter TEN

1940. Pizzaro’s Ship. Gulf of Mexico.

Votan moved the ten, waist-high crates to the deck of the ship to make room for the crew in the hold below. He herded them in and locked the door, planning to cull out any souls worth salvaging later. Hell, who was he kidding? There weren’t any. He was very much going to enjoy lighting up this dry-rot infested vessel. He’d have to row his way back in one of the dinghies, but it would be well worth it.

First, however, he wanted to learn more about these jars before they ended up on the bottom of the ocean. Why did Cimil want them? Clearly, she was knee-deep in this mess, but he couldn’t understand why.

Was it possible she’d been responsible for teaching the Maaskab how to harness dark energy and block the gods from spying on them? But then, why hire the Spanish pirates to kill them? Maybe the Maaskab had turned on her? Maybe she was trying to cover her tracks? She knew Votan was on his way; everyone had been present when he was chosen for the mission.

Votan pried off the already loose top of the crate and lifted out the jar. He stalked around it, inspecting carefully, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Votan gripped the round, dark gray ceramic lid with both hands and slowly lifted, bracing for the worst. He wasn’t afraid of dying—after all, he was immortal—but he still felt pain, especially when his human body got damaged.

He waited several moments, squinting. Nothing. Why would Cimil go through so much trouble for a silly, useless jar? Had she finally lost her marbles? Or, perhaps there were scrolls inside. The jars could contain records, the priests’ knowledge of dark energy.

By now, it was pitch black outside, so he could not see inside the jar. He tilted it forward and reached his arm down the narrow neck. A burning sensation instantly began crawling up his fingertips. He swiftly extracted his hand, screaming in agony as his fingers turned to smoldering ash. The crippling pain continued up his arm, eating the flesh.

His knees buckled, and he watched in horror as the unbearable decay rapidly spread.

***

When Votan awoke, encased in cool dark water, it was clear his body had been destroyed, his light sent back to the cenote. The same had happened once before, several centuries earlier when he’d accidentally fallen into a volcano. A long story.

This time, however, something was wrong, alarmingly wrong.

He struggled under the water as he felt the cenote rebuilding his physical form, particle by particle. He tried to break through to the surface, but something blocked him. The process of solidifying, of taking form, wasn’t completing itself.

He pounded his fist with every ounce of energy he could muster, but the water held him tightly in its grasp. He looked beneath him and recited the phrase used to open the portal. Not even a flicker of light sparked. It, too, was sealed shut.

No going forward. No going back.

Chapter ELEVEN

Present Day. Bacalar, Mexico.

I followed the dirt trail down to the lake and then skirted the pebble-strewn shoreline before cutting through the dark jungle where I picked up the trail exactly where my map said it would be. I was fairly certain no one had followed me, but was that a good thing? If this turned out to be trap, there’d be no one to save me.

The lonely silence was bone chilling, especially since I’d expected to see the jungle teaming with life—monkeys, rodents, tarantulas, etc.—but not an animal soul was in sight. Nevertheless, I quickly armed myself with a large stick.