Accidentally…Over? (Accidentally Yours #5)(18)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

Thanks for the reminder, ass**le.

Yes, he’d prevented her from dying this time. But what about the next? And the next? That was the conundrum. When he’d originally agreed to this whole thing, he’d assumed that saving Ashli from death was a onetime deal. Humans die all the time in accidents—cars, drowning, falling off a cliff when searching for a secret stash of rare Miss Piggy Pez dispensers.

That was actually Cimil who fell off the cliff.

Right.

Point was, he’d believed, erroneously, that saving Ashli was simply a question of inserting himself at the right place at the right time. Afterward, she’d be free to live a full, healthy, happy existence. Now, after the vision, he understood this was not the case. Death would come for her again and again. But why would the Universe want such a thing?

It can’t f**king have her. Especially if she was the key to stopping his brethren from going to war with each other. But he still couldn’t figure out how. That was the kicker. By now, he would’ve expected to see some clue as to why this was her destiny.

He rubbed his brow. So what’s the plan, Máax?

You must go to Cimil and force her to tell you what she knows. She is hiding something. The vision had something to do with the realm of the dead, and that was Cimil’s turf.

But what leverage could he employ? You’ll think of something. Or perhaps you should try to think like Cimil. What would she do?

She would find your weakness, the thing you desire most, and then make you hop through flame-engulfed hoops until you lost your mind and all sense of hope. Then she’d torture you some more, talk to a bug or two, go shopping for useless used human merchandise, and then you’d get your prize.

Hell. I don’t have time for that crap. He’d opt for threatening her.

Planting his bare feet firmly in the sand, he stood over the buried tablet, focused his thoughts, and watched a small pit the size of a manhole open in the sand. The portal.

Not wanting to walk in on Cimil and Roberto mid-coitus, lest he be forced to remove his own eyeballs, he aimed his arrival a few moments ahead. He stepped inside the portal, successfully landing in the same conference room he’d departed from twenty years into the future. He approached the heavy metal door and cracked it open, listening for any signs of lovemaking. Or in Cimil’s case, noises resembling animal fornication.

To his delight, prison riot–like shouting greeted his ears instead. Not to his delight, the foundation began to shimmy and creak all around him.

Splendid. Another earthquake. He wondered what the score was now.

Máax entered the long, sterile-looking hallway—gray paint and fluorescent lights—turned the corner, and immediately spotted Cimil, sitting cross-legged on her cell floor, playing paddleball. Toward the center of the cellblock, a line of vampires attired in black leather and tees stood in formation like an immortal football team, their gazes cold and alert, ready for anything.

Except for that guy. Máax quirked a brow. One of the vampires, a blond on the end, stroked an empty space of air to his side. “There, there, Minky. All will be well.”

Cimil’s unicorn. How the hell had it gotten inside the prison? Damned beast was as big as a rhino.

Thankfully, his brethren remained inside their glass holding tanks, each in varying states of “pissed as hell” or “freaking the hell out.”

Máax had to admit, despite the dire situation and countdown to doom, seeing all thirteen gods jailed, guarded by f**king huge vampires, had some entertainment value. They had even managed to capture the infamous chick magnet Zac Cimi, Bacab of the North (also known as Ix Zacal, the inventor of weaving; Z, Keeper of Tchotchkes; and Kuju, the Yukaghir Spirit God of Food—his specialty happened to be creamy sauces—among many, many other titles and gifts), and most recently titled God of Temptation. Zac had gone into hiding because he also held the honor of being the gods’ most wanted. (Not wanted in a sexy way, but in a “you’re in a heap of shit” way for trying to steal another god’s mate.) While it was common for the deities to have many, many gifts and to be known by many, many names, depending on the culture, “most wanted” was not a title anyone desired. Not even Máax who prided himself on being known as the bad boy of the gods.

Bastard deserves to be locked up. In fact, perhaps they will all benefit from a little reflection time.

Sure he loved them just as a human might love his or her siblings—though the gods were not truly related—but they’d all used Máax in one way or another, taking advantage of his need to see justice served at any cost. Example: There was the time Camaxtli, aka Fate, had Máax travel back to ancient Greece to steal the book of the Oracle of Delphi. Fate had used the book for years to predict the future. Why? A secret. One she made him swear to keep until his grave. Example two: The time Cimil had him steal the book away from Fate so she could give it to some Demilord. Why? Yeah, another secret. The list of manipulations, deceit, and games went on and on. And yet Máax never turned his back on the other gods—not even that lying coward, Fate—when they asked for help. Not even when his suffering became almost too much to bear.

So, yeah, despite the apparent eminent destruction of their world, he found it pretty damned satisfying to see them all incarcerated. Too bad the moment felt ruined by his need to return to Ashli. And the fact that the Universe wanted to kill her.

Oh, well. “Revenge is completely overrated anyway,” he muttered.

All heads swiveled in his general direction.

Kinich, ex–God of the Sun, was the first to start yelling at him. “Máax, you will release us from these cells! Immediately!” His long golden-brown hair fell about his face while he pounded his fists into the glass.

Then came the screaming from Ixtab, Ah-Ciliz, Zac, Akna, Acan, K’ak, Votan, and the rest, including his other sister—the one whose name no one ever remembered. Sucked to be the Goddess of Forgetfulness.

Yes, everyone yelled, except Cimil, who looked bored out of her immortal mind. Then she simply held up five fingers. “Rumble, rumble. Ticktock, Invisi-boy!”

Máax knew she meant five earthquakes had now passed and was about to say something else when he noticed one other god oblivious to the chaos: Chaam.

His large frame, draped in a black caftan garment, sagged on his bed. Next to him, his mate Maggie, with long brown hair and wearing a light gray dress, resembled a barnacle clinging to a sinking battleship.

Maggie hiccuped and mopped her tears with Chaam’s long black hair.