Accidentally in Love with…a God?(Accidentally Yours #1)(24)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

His age, instead of buying him leniency, only made him more culpable. Older humans should know better. “You lured her here, took advantage of her goodness. All to save your wicked wife. I hope the pain you’re about to feel is wrenching your soul out by the roots, though, it’s not a fraction of what you deserve.”

He wasn’t only thinking about Gabriela and Emma’s suffering, he was speaking of his own. Those many months ago, when Gabriela went missing, Guy’s world went from a lukewarm torture—the only light being Emma—to a living hell. He’d sensed the moment something had happened; her fear and despair vibrated through the earth and pooled in the pit of his stomach. He’d prayed night and day, pushing with his mind, pleading with his brothers and sister to save her. They were, after all, compelled to protect her because of the bond. But he hadn’t heard from them since he’d come through the portal some seventy years ago. Why? He didn’t know. Perhaps they’d turned on him? Or, they simply didn’t know where he was? In any case, he was helpless as Gabriela’s anguished light slipped away, taking with it the piece of his own which was bound to her. Emptiness took its place, an emptiness magnified by the pain he sensed from Emma, who carried Gabriela’s light, her blood.

“And I suppose Emma was going to be just another payment to the Maaskab? Is that right, you vile little human?! Tell me now, how many are outside?” Guy asked.

Arturo glanced at Rosa only for a moment. “Three, but more are coming. I hope they take your head and send you back to that cenote.” He flashed another glance at Emma. “Stupid girl deserves to die for setting you free. You devil!”

Guy grabbed the man by the collar, lifted him to meet his eyes, and took one last look.

Gray. The light inside his eyes were gray. Only one step above black. “I only regret not having time to make you truly suffer, old man.”

And with that, Guy snapped Arturo’s neck.

Rosa screamed and ran for the door. With lightning speed, he reached her, and with a small motion, snapped her neck, too. She slipped to the floor.

Guy quickly rifled through the small two-room cabaña, searching for weapons. He didn’t plan to fight the Maaskab because it would be too easy for Emma to get in the way, but he’d be a fool to leave unarmed. Sadly, he only found a few large kitchen knives.

“Let’s hope I’m faster than they are.” He flung Emma over his shoulder and leaped from the side window.

Chapter SIXTEEN

I woke with a painful, sooty fog rolling through my head, close to what one might expect if they’d sipped tequila mixed with animal tranquilizers. With the accompanying blurriness and the buzzing in my head turned up ten notches, it took several minutes to realize I was somewhere far from the muggy jungles of Mexico.

The bed I lay in was a luxurious, fluffy oasis of down pillows and comforters. The open room was the size of a small country, decorated with red Saltillo tile floors, brightly colored pre-Hispanic paintings, and an entire wall of books. There was even a small sitting area with a soft brown leather couch and a coffee table displaying a stack of fashion magazines.

Where the heck was I? Where was Guy?

The haze of early daylight filtered through the sheer white curtains at the far side of the room. I sluggishly pushed myself from bed and trudged over, pulling back the cloth panels to find two French doors that opened onto a balcony.

My heart stopped. Lush, rolling green hills covered in miles of vines heavy with ripe grapes? My dream. This can’t be right. I’m dead? Or, in a coma again?

I stepped onto the balcony. “No!” I covered my mouth.

It was the exact same villa, right down to the red and pink bougainvillea winding up and around the arched windows. But I wasn’t dead. I could smell the earthiness of the vineyard in the wind. I could hear the distant hum of an airplane. This was real.

I stumbled back inside, massaging my temples. The buzzing was almost unbearable.

“Going somewhere?” A well groomed, disturbingly handsome man, not older than thirty, stood near the doorway, arms folded. He was dressed in a tailored black suit and deep purple shirt. He wore his short black hair stylishly messy. His golden eyes sparkled with a vibrant energy against his light olive skin as he onced—no wait—twiced? Wow. Thriced me over.

I shuddered, realizing he wasn’t your average six-foot two, pretty boy; he’d come accessorized with a lethal vibe. Great. More dangerous men.

Well, as the wise band Keane—loved their name, by the way—once said, “When your back’s against the wall, that’s when you show no fear at all.”

“Where the hell am I?” I said in my best tough-girl tone.

“You are in Barolo,” he said with an accent. Spanish, perhaps?

“Barolo?”

“Italy. You are in Italy.” He didn’t roll his eyes, but I could tell he sure wanted to.

“Yeah. So sorry I didn’t have time to brush up on my geography before I was abducted. Silly American. Who the hell are you?”

He made a slight bow of the head, “I am Tommaso. I’ve been asked to keep an eye on you during your stay.”

I rubbed the back of my stiff neck. “Well, Tommaso, how long have I been in Barolo?”

“I brought you here last night on Mr. Santiago’s private plane.”

“Mr. Santiago? You mean Guy?”

He nodded.

Guy had a private plane. No clothes, but he had a plane. Okay. “And this place? Is it his?” I asked.

Again, Tommaso nodded.

Christ. My coma-heaven was Guy’s Italian villa? Considering how much I hated him, that was a bit of a buzz kill. Now I’d have to come up with a whole new heaven when I died.

But how had I envisioned it so clearly? Even if he’d described it to me once without my remembering, it didn’t make an ounce of logic that I’d dream with such precision. Maybe he and I were more deeply connected that I knew. “And that bastard didn’t come with me, did he?”

He shook his head “no.”

“How about a note mentioning my grandmother?”

“No. Sorry.”

It was official. I really, truly hated Guy. Aside from using my grandmother’s disappearance to get me to free him, ruining my life, lying to me, and almost getting me killed in the cenote, he’d also messed with my hormones, told me I was in danger from some god-awful witchdoctors, knocked me out, and then dumped me with Dr. Evil’s handsome twin?

If I ever saw Guy again, I’d castrate the beast with a dull knife or perhaps a spoon. I’d keep his villa. “Where the hell is he?”