Vampires Need Not…Apply? (Accidentally Yours #4)(37)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

Diablos! Now his dreams were mad at him, too? And the odd part was that the woman had never said anything about Ixtab before. Why would she be telling him to stay away?

Perhaps she is jealous. Perhaps she knows the goddess is nothing but trouble. Hell, a person only had to get within a mile of Ixtab to see that. One thing was certain, if he didn’t set the mystery woman free soon, he would go mad. First, whether he liked it or not, he had to deal with a very irate, deadly goddess who happened to wield the power of… natural seasoning?

He shook his head and glanced at his watch. There was still one hour until touchdown.

He pulled the folded list from his pocket and stared at it with utter disgust. This immortal groveling had to be a joke.

Then again, from what little he knew, deities were the epitome of bizarre as were the vampires they mingled with. He felt like he’d been thrust into a modern episode of the Addams Family—Ixtab being Morticia, of course.

Does that make you Gomez?

Caray. Antonio shook it off and went back to the list. Joder. This wasn’t right. I cannot do these things. I cannot.

You must, you idiot. There is no other choice. Especially given the timing of the accident. He couldn’t get that moment out of his mind, the way she’d touched his body and pressed herself to his back. Her heat, the sexual tension she created and then released with the mere stroke of her fingertips.

Antonio shifted in his seat, recalling how she’d grazed the tip of his c**k with her hand.

He adjusted his throbbing erection and looked down at it. “Don’t you have something else to do?” He’d tried several times to relieve the ache himself, but that only made him think of Ixtab, which only made his c**k harder.

Shit. What was happening to him? First blind, then he’d died and turned into a vampire, and now he was addicted to this goddess—who, he might add, wore a very unattractive outfit to hide herself and might actually look like a gremlin. What else could possibly get in the way of fulfilling his destiny and opening the portal?

How about killing Ixtab and immortal groveling?

* * *

“What. The. Hell!!” Ixtab exploded from the cenote, her brand-new body nude, dripping wet, and trembling with anger. She was tempted to go back to her realm just to torment the vampire—from there she could use the full array of her powers to rain a fury of hell on his immortal ass—but nothing felt more satisfying than delivering justice in person. And justice there would be. Because no one, and she meant no one, snubbed her out like that. She’d opened herself to him, showed him comfort, she’d worshipped his body! And what was his response? He killed her! A vampire actually knocked her block off.

The cloudless evening sky burst with a round of violent thunder and rattled the jungle with its tremors.

Ixtab scaled the deeply cracked wall of the slick, algae-covered cenote and balanced on the edge. She squeezed the stale water from her long dark hair while glaring at the squawking toucans above. “You think this is funny?” She looked out into the dark jungle. A hard wind whipped through the air. “This is war. And the vampire’s gonna pay.”

Ixtab marched forward and tripped over something large, landing with a face-plant in the moist, leaf-covered dirt. She flipped on her bare bottom and sat up. There, in a standard grovel position with his face pointed toward the ground and arms extended straight forward, was a large man dressed in black leather pants and white tee. A lone shopping bag from Nordstrom sat on the ground to his side.

Well, look what the undead cat dragged in. “Antoniooo,” she growled.

“Yes, goddess. I have come to throw myself—” He paused and fumbled with a sheet of paper in his hand, sliding it under his face without lifting his head. “I throw myself at your mercy and ask your forgiveness. To atone for my grave error, I have brought you this gift of fresh clothing and have prepared to make the appropriate sacrifices and offerings.” He paused again and glanced at the paper. “Oh Divine One.”

What the pita chips? Ixtab marched over and swiped the bag. “No peeking.” She slipped on the black dress—a nice little soft and stretchy cotton number that was straight all the way down and slightly formfitting—and a soft silk black veil that hit right beneath her chin. This was a definite upgrade from her usual punishing outfit reminiscent of a widowed Italian grandmother, straight from the back pew of the Godfather. But given the circumstances, she would wear the offering gladly. Better than traipsing around the jungle with her rear end hanging out. Although she did have a fabulous rear. Stonehenge, after all, had been erected in its honor.

Now, as for this unexpected display of groveling…

“What gives, vampire?”

“What do you mean, Oh Divine One?” he asked.

She narrowed her eyes. “Get up. Tell me why you’re here and why I shouldn’t smash you into a thousand bits with my pinkie.” As if she could. Compared to the other gods or a vampire like Antonio, she was as physically strong as a chicken. With the flu.

Antonio unfolded himself and rose to his feet, causing Ixtab to nearly fall off hers. In his snug black leather pants—oooh, triple stitching. Nice—and white tee stretching across his thick, muscular chest and upper arms, he looked like a god—only a very sexy version. Gods weren’t that sexy in her mind—too perfect. But Antonio’s towering height; deeply entrenched, raw masculinity; rolls of manly muscles; and hard, deep green eyes were more divine than any male walking the earth. Oh yes. If he were a deity, this man would have a pyramid built in his honor. Maybe two.

She cleared her throat. “Had a little makeover, did you?”

Antonio ran his large hand through his wild, short hair. “Penelope insisted I cut my hair on the way to the airport.” His icy gaze fixed on Ixtab’s br**sts, which were prominently displayed via the low-cut neckline and snug fabric. “To please you,” he added with a deep voice that held a hint of an itch. An itch Ixtab wanted to scratch.

Bahhh… Ixtab’s insides nearly liquefied.

Wait, he killed you. And by now, all of your brethren will know about it—damn that Twitter. You will endure a good solid five hundred years of taunting after being taken down by a vampire’s elbow. Stupid, icky vampire! I will squash you for this!

She didn’t know what stung more, the humiliation or his rejection.

“You came all this way to show me your haircut and bring me a dress? ’Cause if you did, I can tell you right now, it’s not enough.” She raised her hand. What should it be? A hundred year fang-ache? Maybe burn off his arms with a concentrated dose of chili peppers? The arms would grow back. Eventually. And he didn’t really need them to complete his work on the tablet, now did he?