Accidentally Married to…a Vampire?(Accidentally Yours #2)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

PROLOGUE

July 12, 1712. Bacalar, Southern Mexico

Delirious with hunger, the weary vampire sat hip-deep in mud, his broad back against a hollow tree as he glared at the crisp blue sky. The month-long summer rains had abruptly retreated. Now how much longer could he wait for her? Hours? Days? Sunshine was not Niccolo DiConti’s most cherished friend.

“Magnifico,” he grumbled.

His gaze shifted to the nearby pool. “Where the devil are you, woman?” he growled. Endless days had passed without as much as a ripple on the water’s surface. This ancient-Mayan ceremonial pool was the goddess’ favorite portal to the human world when she came scouting for souls—he’d paid a king’s ransom for that information—but she’d yet to materialize.

His shoulders slumped, and he sank deeper into the sticky jungle floor. Shards of painful sunlight pierced the tree canopy and danced across his face. A face gloriously referred to by many as that of a hardened warrior—dark features, a few character-building scars, and capable of producing a soul-chilling scowl when necessary. Today, however, he could not muster the strength to frighten a small child.

You are a pitiable mess, he thought for the hundredth time.

Struck hard by the irony of his situation, he let out a bitter chuckle. He was legendary for his raw power, intrepid leadership, and ruthless will to survive—no, not just survive, thrive. In any situation. Any century. But as soon as he saw her, he might actually beg like some lowly mortal serf.

Buon, anything it takes, he reminded himself. And, count your blessings that your men are not present to witness your mental shipwreck on the Island of Self Pity.

He closed his eyes, attempting to push away his bitter frustration, but his thoughts only swiveled toward his gnawing hunger. Hmmm, a rabbit or monkey…I must catch a little something to quell the hunger pangs—

“Well, well. What do we have here?” said a sultry feminine voice.

Niccolo’s eyes snapped open to find a dainty woman with long wet ropes of red hair snaking down her na**d body. “Cristo sacro! It is about bloody time,” he barked.

The woman arched one coppery brow. “Oh my, aren’t we a cranky little thing. And dirty, too. Had a little mud bath, did we, Vampire?”

With her lean, almost boyish frame, the Goddess of the Underworld reminded him of a delicate fairy. But he knew better than to underestimate Cimil. Not only was she infamous for instigating mischief and being twelve cookies shy of a baker’s dozen, she also possessed powerful sight—thousands of years ahead, millions of possible outcomes. She was his last hope. Sad really.

“My sincerest apologies, Goddess,” he said. “It is my lack of nourishment speaking.” He pushed himself slowly from the muck and stretched. “I have been waiting weeks and, as you are aware, the sun weakens my kind.” He wiped his dirty hands on his black trousers and then ran them through the length of his damp hair, shaking out the leaves.

She ogled him like a giant confection. “Well, well. If I’d known you were waiting, little dumplin,’ I might have dropped in sooner. But I was in a deep trance. Had to catch up on Dexter. What a hotty! That guy puts the errr”—she purred—“in killer. Ya know what I mean?”

Niccolo shook his head slowly, unsure of how to respond to her bewildering jargon. Having lived in a hundred countries and speaking dozens of languages fluently, Niccolo considered himself an educated man of the world. He’d even learned English from an Oxford scholar. Yet, he had never heard such colloquialisms.

“Not into Dexter?” She looked confused. “Oooh, I see. You’re a Walking Dead kind of guy!” She winked. “I gotcha.” She suddenly jumped to one side, away from a butterfly fluttering past, and then froze for several moments.

Unsure of what else to do, Niccolo cleared his throat.

She instantly snapped to life. “Hi. Who are you? And are you aware that good hygiene has made a comeback?”

Masking his confusion and ignoring the slight on his shabby appearance, he bowed his head and replied, “Niccolo DiConti, General of—” He caught himself and stopped. Perhaps he should not call attention to his identity. The gods might not be on his list of admirers. Although, they should be. What was not to like?

Cimil’s eyes lit. “The Niccolo DiConti? What an honor!”

Niccolo stood a little taller then. “Yes, I seek your assistance.”

Cimil rolled her eyes. “Well, no duh. You didn’t abandon your queen’s side, risking her wrath, to see me in my fabulous birthday suit. Although”—she began slowly pacing like a slinky cat—“you and I could have some fun together. I don’t mind a little dirt. Especially on a tasty treat like you.” She licked her lips.

Despite her odd speech, Niccolo understood the gist. He ran both hands through his hair once again, this time with worry. Sex was the last thing on his mind at the moment, and the last few centuries, for that matter. Too much killing to do, he supposed. But a coldhearted female like her would never warm his blood, even if he had the urge.

Regardless, she was right. He had taken a substantial risk abandoning his post. By now, the queen was likely hunting him via their blood-bond, and it wouldn’t be long before she caught up. Indeed, he needed Cimil’s help. Urgently. Only, it had never occurred to him that she might ask for sex as payment. On the other hand, what woman wouldn’t want him?

He squared his shoulders and stared down at her. He could do this. Any price for his freedom, right?

“Buon. If that is what you wish, I will bed you in exchange for your assistance.”

Laughter exploded from Cimil. “Oh, would you relax, Vampire? First off…” She held out her scrawny index finger. “I don’t need to blackmail men into sleeping with me.” She snorted loudly. “Because, I’m loaded!”

Loaded?

“I do not see you carrying anything. In fact, you are nude,” he pointed out.

Cimil looked down at her body. “Oh. Look! I am naked.” She frowned. “Heeey, it’s not polite to interrupt. I was telling you a story. Let me see…” She scratched her head. “Oh, yeah. I was explaining how I’m so moneyed—that means ‘wealthy’ to you, Bo Bo—I even bought myself a nice little sultan with a camel just last week.” She paused and tapped her finger on the corner of her mouth. “On second thought, he wasn’t worth the tiny island I had to trade for him, and the stupid camel doesn’t even fit through the bedroom doorway. I should go back to blackmailing men for sex. That’s a great idea. Thanks!”