Accidentally…Over? (Accidentally Yours #5)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

Prologue

Death is trying to seduce me.

I always suspected he would come for me after I survived the accident, and now there’s no doubt. And death isn’t some ominous creature that carries a bloody scythe, his face obscured by a black cloak, his spindly fingers protruding from the cuff of his dripping sleeve as he enters your dinner party, points to your plates, and declares in a gravelly voice, “You’re all dead. It was the canned salmon.” Oh no. This is no snarky Brit skit, and he’s no monster.

Death is a sex god.

He’s tall, built from indestructible solid bricks of muscle. His cheekbones are chiseled works of art, and his full, sensual lips are meant for doing anything but killing. Like I said, sex god.

How do I know this? He’s been watching me, whispering in my ear while I sleep, quietly hiding in the shadows while I eat, while I work, while I shower.

So for once, I’m turning the tables.

I follow the sound of his footsteps through my beach cottage, out my back porch, and then pick up his large footprints in the sand. I crouch behind the tall, dry grass blanketing the massive sand dune. The crashing waves mask the sound of my thumping heart and heavy, frantic breaths. I’m sweating like mad as the tropical morning sun beats down on my back, and I spot my stalker splashing in the waves.

He stands, and I can barely breathe when I look at him.

Though he’s nearly transparent, the outline of his na**d body glistens with drops of ocean water reflected by the sun. I’ve never seen a more beautiful man. Shoulders that span the width of two normal-sized men, powerful arms and legs that make me wonder if he’s not actually carved from rock or molded from steel, and incredibly sculpted… jeez, everything. There’s not an inch on this beast—not a neck, an ab, not a pec or a thigh—that isn’t constructed from potent, lethal-looking muscle. Well, except his hair. Though I can’t see the color, it’s beautifully thick and falls to his shoulders. I imagine it’s a warm shade of brown, streaked with reds and golds. Because he’s utterly beautiful and that’s the kind of hair a beautiful man would have. Yes, he’s a god, not the bringer of death. And I can’t help but wonder why he’s made that way. Is it so that when he comes for me, there’ll be some sort of consolation—getting to see his face? I don’t know, but I’m not ready to see it yet. I want to live. I want to grow old. I want to fall in love. Just once before my time is up.

Yet somehow, I want him, too. Why? That’s gotta mean I’m loca, right?

My eyes study every poetic detail of this “man,” hoping to find answers. But there’s nothing. Nothing that will help save me from him.

Suddenly, I see his chin lift and his head turns in my direction.

Can he see me? Oh my God. He’s coming right for me.

I bolt from my hiding place and make a run for it. I know if I make it to my house I’ll manage to lock the doors, but that won’t stop him. There is nowhere to hide from death, but I run anyway.

I make it to my back porch and reach for the door, but I slip on something. Shit. Really? A banana peel?

My body crashes to the hard cement. My head cracks on the sharp edge of the porch’s step, and I can’t move. All I feel is my beating heart and heaving lungs, burning with fear.

“Dammit, woman. Why the hell do you always run from me?” His deep, melodic voice washes over me, and I love how it soothes my soul.

I look up and try to focus my eyes, but he’s difficult to make out. His dripping hair catches only a few rays of morning sunlight.

“You’re so beautiful,” I croak. “But I changed my mind; I don’t want to die. Please don’t take me away.”

I feel his warm hand brush against my cheek. “I am trying to save you, Ashli. Why won’t you let me?”

Why does he say that? Why is he lying to me? It doesn’t matter now, because I’m already dying. The darkness begins to swallow me.

“Shit!” I roll from my bed and fall to the floor with a thump.

Sonofabitch! Why do I keep having these dreams?

One

Camp Uchben. Sedona, Arizona. Near the Estate of Kinich Ahau, ex–God of the Sun. February 1

Eenie, meenie, miney, mo. Catch an invisible deity by the toe. If he hollers, don’t let go. Just give him Ashli and watch him—oh, dammit, what rhymes with go? Ho? Crow? Potatoooo?

“Cimiiil? Are you listening? Cimil!” Roberto the Ancient One rapped his pale knuckles on the thick glass of the holding cell. “Have you not heard a word I said, woman?”

From her cot, Cimil looked at the very large, very angry vampire standing outside her cell and wiggled her fingers. “Howdy, Bob!”

Dark, lethal eyes gazed back with frustration. Or was it lust? Maybe both? Yes! It’s lustfration! My fave!

“I sincerely hope,” he said, “that you were not in the midst of devising yet another escape from your cell. It would foil everything.”

Escape? Not even a magical flea—Minky, her unicorn, hated those—could escape this three-story underground prison built to contain the most powerful of creatures alive: the gods themselves. Now, as for the foiling? Well…

“How did you know?” she asked.

“Because I am your mate,” he said. “And you are the Goddess of the Underworld; you cannot help your evil ways.”

“Good point.” She sat up and sighed happily, tugging at the hem of her fuzzy pink tank dress. “So wassup?”

“I am here to tell you the first task is complete. And now we will have sex. Hard. Hot. Savage immortal sex.”

“Sex? What? And why are you speaking? You vowed not to speak until this was over. It’s not over.” Cimil feigned a sudden interest in her jail cell, twisting a long lock of hair around her finger. She knew how that drove him crazy. Her long red hair was his fave. Or was it her ass? Or perhaps both?

Thank the gods I don’t have a hairy ass. Then he’d never leave me alone.

Carnal eagerness twinkled in Roberto’s ancient eyes. “I have captured the gods. Something you wagered to be impossible. In fact, I want to hear you say it. Say I am this thing you call awesomesalsa. Because that is what I am.”

“Awesomesauce,” she corrected.

“Yes. That,” he agreed.

She stared.

“Cimiiiil?” Roberto’s eyes bored into her, cautioning not to push him. “Say. It.”

“Nope.”

“Do it or no Love Boat for you tonight.”

Dammit! Why are vampires so cruel?