Accidentally…Over? (Accidentally Yours #5)(14)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

Some day.

But for now, he felt content knowing that each violation of the sacred laws had been for a worthy cause. For that, he was the outcast. For that, he was the one No One Speaks Of. Even his name was a symbol of his sacrifices. Máax literally meant “Who?” in Mayan. He’d been called it for so long that he sometimes forgot he once had another name: Maat, which meant “truth” or “justice” in Egyptian. They had been the first civilization to truly embrace the concept and named it after him. Of course, Cimil changed the historical records and made Maat a woman. “Truth has to be female because men are lying, cheating pigs!” she’d said. He supposed, at the time, it had something to do with Roberto, but whatever. He was Máax now, the god of… nothing. Invisible.

He dragged himself from the water and squeezed the saltwater from his long hair. He glanced down at his body and noted a film of fine sand and salt sticking to him. “Hell.” He didn’t normally swim during the day for this very reason. He hoped no one was watching.

Instantly sensing he was wildly wrong, he scanned the surroundings. “Fuck.” There, hiding in the brush was Ashli, her wild mane of long black curls blowing in the wind. She was looking right at him.

Her catlike eyes opened up like two giant hazel-green orbs before she popped up from her hiding place and started running for her life.

Bloody infernum, with her luck, she’s probably going to get run over by an ice cream truck. He had to catch her before she hurt herself.

He sprinted after her, the powdery-soft, warm sand making it difficult to close the gap quickly. As he came up the steep bank, Ashli came back into view. She reached for her back door, and everything happened in slow motion.

Ashli fell back, her head landing with a loud crack.

“Fuck. Not again!” Máax bolted to her side and crouched down. Blood flowed quickly from a gash on her head. “Dammit, woman. Why the hell do you always run from me?”

He pressed his hand over the wound to stop the flow. He needed to get her to a hospital. Hell! He’d need to reconnect her car battery and drive her there himself.

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

She reached up and touched his cheek. A wave of warmth crashed into him, snatching the breath from his lungs.

He couldn’t stop himself from wanting to feel more of her. Strangely, that gnawing hunger deep inside began to simultaneously quell and consume him.

He reached out with his other hand and palmed her cheek. “I am trying to save you, Ashli. Why won’t you let me?”

She smiled briefly before her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

Oh, hell.

Owww.

Ashli cracked open her eyes and found a bright white room. I must be dead. Well, at least the game of cat and mouse was over. What a relief. And with any luck, she might see her parents again. If she did, she only hoped they wouldn’t be upset about her dying.

Her spotty vision began to clear, and she eyed a poster on the wall. It said something about how boiled water is the safest for drinking.

Dumbass. You’re in the hospital. Her eyes combed the room.

Yep. This was the small clinic that usually treated tourists for minor cuts and the occasional jellyfish sting. And holy Christ did her head hurt.

She slid her hand to the back of her head and gingerly kneaded the small bandage. A long IV tube hung from her other arm.

What happened?

Ohmygod. Death. Death had been in her house. Then she’d been overpowered by morbid curiosity and went looking for him. Perhaps she even wanted to end the charade. When she’d spotted him swimming in the ocean, she’d been unable to see him clearly, but he’d been so beautiful, so absolutely male that she nearly fainted. She never fainted. Except when she cracked her head open on cement. But then she remembered Death touching her face so tenderly and speaking to her. His slightly accented voice—European?—had been the most hypnotic, wholly sensual sound she’d ever heard. Deep and booming, silky and gruff, sexy and terrifying. All in one. Just like the voice of the man who’d been stalking her early this morning.

Gasp. Yes, he’d been the one she hit with that shovel!

Or had it all been a dream?

No. It was real. She’d seen his towering form, dripping with masculinity and ocean water, with her own eyes. She’d smelled his intoxicating, virile scent on her pillow. Death was real. Death was hunting her. Not that she was afraid. Confused, however, yes. Why had he let her live?

In walked the nurse, a small woman with short dark hair. Actually, Ashli recognized her—it was a small town—though the name escaped her.

“Ahh. You are awake,” the nurse said with a thick Mexican accent.

“How did I get here?” Ashli asked.

“I have just started my shift, but I am told someone left you out front. No one saw who. Do you remember what happened?”

“No. I mean, yes. I slipped on my patio and hit my head. But I don’t know how I got here.”

The nurse shrugged. “Must have been your neighbor.”

Okay, but why wouldn’t they have stayed with her? And besides, both neighbors were gone. They only came for visits during spring break and Christmas. It was January.

Then who?

Ashli gasped. Could it have been…

No. No. Don’t even go there!

“Well, the doctor will be by to check on you in a moment. You’ve got a minor concussion and a nasty cut. He gave you seven stitches.”

Ashli instinctively reached for the throbbing spot again.

“Do not worry, Señorita Ashli. I only had to shave off a small patch of your hair. You have so much of it, no one will ever notice.”

Ashli petted the bandage. Not that she cared about losing her hair—it had always been like a wild beast of curls with a mind of its own—but she didn’t understand what had happened.

“It is maybe a bit funny, Señorita Ashli.” The woman chuckled. “I think your hair saved you, acted like a sort of pillow. No? O sí?”

Okay. Okay. I have a lot of hair. I get the point. One of Ashli’s grandmothers had originally been from Haiti and her great-grandfather was Irish. She couldn’t begin to imagine the fun those two had living in a world once so horrifically divided. Her grandmother and mother had also married men from the opposite end of the racial spectrum. Granddad had been Japanese and her father Mexican. Yes, it made for a very interesting gene pool. She felt like a one-woman version of the It’s a Small World ride at Disney. But with Death as her copilot.