Accidentally…Over? (Accidentally Yours #5)(39)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

Loophole! It’s a loophole, and no excuse for not asking you. Stupid god!

As Ashli marched down the shore, the sound of the crashing jewel-colored waves soothing her temper, something caught her eyes. Or should she say a whole lot of somethings?

“Wow.” Ashli pivoted on her heel and took in the scenery. Several new eco-resorts, tons of swimmers, enormous houses—the place looked so different. So many more people now. Where had her quaint little Mexican beach town gone?

Her heart sank as one more cherished object simply evaporated into the past, nothing but a memory.

And what the hell is that? Ashli said to herself with disgust, her gaze zeroing in on a foul, two-story structure that looked like Chuck E. Cheese’s and Tarzan went out for a wild night of tequila shots and ended up having an illegitimate architectural love child. It was horrendous. Giant plastic palm trees with flashing lights, gaudy jungle murals, and bright red umbrellas with a cartoon drawing of a topless male monkey bearing a six-pack and drinking a cappuccino assaulted her eyes. The cheesiness made her monkey-nauseous. And it was in the exact same spot her café used to be!

No. No. Noooo… Monkeyccino’s? Wh-wha-what? Where had Cielito Lindo’s gone?

Despite the urge to monkey-hurl, she couldn’t prevent her feet from guiding her body straight for the doors. When she stepped inside, a burst of cool air hit her face, as did the obnoxious decorum, which was equally as “cheesified” as the outside with stuffed monkeys and fake plants hanging from the ceiling, a rope with a swinging Tarzan manikin, and an indoor waterfall. But what shocked her most, besides the place being three times as big as her café had been, were the waiters. Topless Ricky Martin look-alikes with oodles of bulging muscles and ripped abs, wearing surfer shorts, bow ties, and little monkey ears, served coffee to a mass of hungry, giggling women. Holymotherofmalemonkeystrippers! What had they done to her café?

The place was packed with tourists, mostly females, sitting around sipping frothy milk shakes.

Ashli glanced at the wall-sized menu above the registers. One hundred and fifty pesos? Christ, did the drinks come with a free lap dance and a gold bracelet? That was outrageous!

Was this Fernando’s doing? And where was he?

Calm down. Maybe the place was sold. But wouldn’t Máax have told her? Yeah, like he told you about your trip to deityville?

Ashli strolled past the short line and placed her hands on the counter next to the register. “Disculpe, señor. Se encuentra Fernando?”

The young man with short brown hair—yes, yes, topless and bulging everywhere—wearing a red Monkeyccino’s visor stared with a dopey grin, ogling her. “Hi. How are you today, miss?” he said in English. Guess it made sense that employees of a strip café called Monkeyccino’s would speak “American.”

“I’ve been better. Thanks. So is he here?”

He continued smiling. “Who?”

“Fernando.” What was this guy on?

“Which one? There are five Fernandos,” the young man said.

“Five? Five?” She thought about it for a moment. Fernando would be twenty years older now so that would make him… “Well, this Fernando is about thirty-nine. He’s worked here for twenty years, maybe?” If he still worked there, that was.

The man grimaced. “You’re serious?”

Ashli felt the blood drain from her face into her toes. “Yeah. Why?”

“Señor Fernando died ten years ago,” he said apologetically. “In a hurricane. His five sons inherited the café.”

Shit. “What? Dead?” And he’d named his five sons after himself? Okay, that was just weird. And slightly narcissistic. But still, poor, poor Fernando. “Are you sure?”

The young man nodded.

Oh no. This was all her fault. Had she stayed around, he would have gone on to be a teacher like he’d planned.

No. Either way, you wouldn’t have been there. Had she stayed, she would have died.

Ashli placed her hand over her heart. “Dead. He’s dead.” She looked at the young man. “You’re sure?” she asked again.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

Ashli bolted for the back door toward the beach. She started running, her tears streaking across her face. It was all gone. Everything and everyone.

I made a mistake coming here. A big one.

Fifteen

Máax paced across the tiled living room floor. He’d desperately wanted to follow Ashli, but he’d already pushed things too far. Not only had he lied about the prophecy—and it was only a matter of time before she found out—but he’d also withheld his true intentions: to make her immortal. It was just as good as a lie in his book. And if he followed her now, she’d think him a complete chauvinistic bastard. He couldn’t have that. Not when their days together were now numbered. Although, he supposed, they always were. He’d broken so many sacred laws, now including making Ashli immortal without the gods’ permission and traveling back to his realm from which he was banished—no regrets, of course—that he’d probably be sentenced to entombment for two eternities. Maybe three. His only means to change that fate would be for the gods to modify their laws regarding mandatory punishment. But that required something nearly impossible: a unanimous vote.

Not likely. The gods never agreed unanimously on anything.

You could always blackmail your brethren. He scowled at himself for merely entertaining the thought. The kind of secrets he kept were the sort that could destroy a person, or deity in this case. And he would never betray an oath or hurt his family simply to save his own skin. The mere thought was repugnant. No. He’d known the fate he’d accepted when he’d broken their most sacred laws. He wouldn’t try to wiggle out of it at someone else’s expense. That’s not the sort of man he was.

Of course, if they didn’t stop the apocalypse, none of that really mattered.

Infernum. He sighed. There was no hope of him having a future with Ashli, was there? Well, at least Ashli was out of immediate danger.

“Máax. Where the devil’s turd are you?” a deep, familiar male voice called out from the direction of Ashli’s kitchen.

Ah, hell. Máax prayed it wasn’t who he thought because he’d hoped to have a few days with Ashli, at least.

Máax silently tiptoed closer for a look.

Fucking fantastic. It was Niccolo DiConti, General of the Vampire Army, and two of his biker-looking vampire soldiers.