Accidentally in Love with…a God?(Accidentally Yours #1)(47)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

I didn’t know what to say to that. This world was so different than anything I ever could have imagined. And I still had so much to learn.

While Guy was busy telling yet another story to a crowd that had gathered around him, I slipped away to the bathroom. I was almost to the doorway when I heard a deep voice say, “Going somewhere?”

I turned to find Tommaso leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, smiling at me.

“Hi,” I said and kept walking.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked.

“Did you enjoy your stuff today?”

“What ‘stuff?’”

I perched one hand on my hip. “It was your ‘stuff,’ why don’t you tell me?”

“Oh, I see. Did Mr. Santiago tell you that?”

“Maybe. Or maybe your stand-ins, Robert and Michael, who had time to take me shopping all day did.” I was seriously annoyed he’d ditched me.

“Emma, I don’t know what kind of garbage they’ve fed you, but that’s not what happened.” His face turned red. He looked like he was ready to explode.

“Then?” I asked.

“I spent the day getting a physical and outfitted for my new assignment. Siberia.”

Figured. He was trying to run away. And why shouldn’t he? I was no prize for any man to look after, considering the kind of lifting that would be required. All that baggage I came with was heavy. “Sounds fun. When do you leave?” I said dryly.

“I was supposed to go tonight, but my visa won’t be ready until morning.” He didn’t look happy.

Can’t get away fast enough, huh? “What’s the rush?” I said.

“Emma, there’s no rush. I was given a choice: leave the Uchben or take this new assignment.”

“Why?”

“I’m pretty sure you can guess.” His eyes flickered across the room toward Guy who was busily chatting with a large, redheaded man wearing a kilt. He sort of looked like the bloody Viking in the painting. Maybe a descendant?

“He’s forcing you?” I asked.

“Apparently.”

Well, as the great band Placebo once said, “Someone call the ambulance.”

“Why? Is something wrong?” Tommaso asked, confused.

“Because, there’s going to be an accident.” I turned and started pushing through the crowd toward Guy who was about to have a deep conversation with my knee.

“Emma, wait!” Tommaso called, but I was determined to bulldoze my way to Guy.

Then a thinly built older man with a grayish beard stepped in my way. “Emma, it’s so nice to meet you!”

“Excuse me, but I have to talk to someone.” I stepped to one side, and he matched my move. I stepped again, and he followed. It looked like we were doing a bad box step.

“I just wanted to introduce myself and ask if we could have coffee tomorrow?”

“Who are you?” I asked, my eyes looking past the man and hatefully zeroing in on Guy.

“I am Xavier. Votan—I mean, Guy—told me about you, so naturally I’m eager to study you while I have the chance. I’m what you’d call the in-house historian and spiritual guidance counselor—a long story—but your help could assist others of your kind acclimate to their situation. If we find any.”

“I’m sorry, what? Acclimate?” I tried to focus on the quirky little man, but all I could think about was punishing Guy.

“Yes,” he said. “I realize my request may seem callus after everything you’ve been through, but I figure a few questions wouldn’t bother someone as strong as you. After all, you’ve been the constant companion of the God of Death and War.”

“Yeah, interesting.” I nodded, while glaring across the room.

“But we’re so pleased you’ve brought him back to us, my dear,” he rattled on. “Things tend to spiral out of control without the gods’ help. For example, have you seen that terrible show, The Real Housewives? That wouldn’t have existed if the gods hadn’t been locked away.” He chuckled.

“Sorry?” my attention bounced back.

“I was making a joke, but—uh—I guess old retired priests aren’t so funny these days.”

“No. I mean—sorry, can you repeat that part about God of Death and War?”

Xavier’s face flushed. He tugged at the collar of his tux. “Oh, heavens. I thought you knew.”

The room melted away. “Tell me. What. Did. You. Say?”

The priest looked at me sideways. “I—uh—really sh-shouldn’t,” he stuttered. “It’s not my place.”

“Did you just say that Votan—Guy—is the God of Death and War?”

He hesitantly replied, “Well, well, yes. I did, but—”

“What does that mean, exactly?” I was going to throw up.

“It means his special talent—what he’s best known for—is…” He cleared his throat. “Death and war, my dear.”

Well, great. Now my life was just perfect. And how stupid of me not to see it before. Anyone who looked at the man knew he was lethal, not to mention tedious and annoying. Of course, he was the God of Death and War.

My world froze, but the little old man, didn’t seem to notice because he just rambled on. “They all have many special talents, you know. Dozens in fact. But they’re usually known best for the ones they excel at or by what the adoring culture values most. For example, Votan—Guy—is also known as Coquenexo, the Lord of Multiplication. And the God of Drums. It’s quite funny when you think about it.” He removed his glasses and rubbed his nose. “And the Norse—well, they called him Odin—they worshiped him for his skills at poetry and killing. Quite odd. Then there were the Germanic who called him Wotan—”

“Excuse me.” My face went cold and blood had pooled in my feet. I turned away from the little man and headed for the door. I needed to get out of there.

All this time, I’d been living with a killer. The Grim Reaper.

Could things get any worse?

***

I paced back and forth in Guy’s quarters, thinking through my options. I could play it calmly and not let on that I was in a hysterical panic, then quickly break our bond and run away.

Okay. That wouldn’t work. Maybe he’d snap my neck before I got to the door or chain me up in some dungeon. Surely this place had one. Or ten. Then there was choice number two. Cry. No. No. That was no good. I could—