Vampires Need Not…Apply? (Accidentally Yours #4)(45)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

Before he spoke, the spiked iron gates slid open, creaking and whining the entire way as if setting the scene for a horror movie about to unravel.

Damn. This place was creepy. And this coming from the Goddess of Suicide.

The car pulled forward to an empty, gravel-covered, circular driveway. The large three-story home—a simple Spanish-style with tiled, arched doorways and wrought iron balconies with flowing red vines—had to be a hundred-plus years old.

The flutter of a curtain from the top story window caught Ixtab’s eye, but the face quickly shrank back into the shadows. Ixtab’s heart plucked away at an unsteady rhythm inside her chest. Why was she so nervous? Was it the darkness she sensed or the fact that she was about to see Antonio?

She slipped from the car and grabbed her bag from the Uchben driver, who of course knew the drill. “Gracias. Y quédate circa, por favor.”

The driver nodded and indicated he’d stay in the nearby town. Good. Who knew how long she would be here. Five minutes or five weeks. Whatever it took to make things right with Antonio.

She walked up and rang the doorbell, but no one came. They’d already seen her arrive, so why not? Did Antonio simply think she’d scamper away?

She waited another moment and decided to open it herself. Heck, she was a deity. Leave the social norms to the humans.

“Hello?” The oxidized hinges of the thick wooden door creaked as she stepped inside the dimly lit entryway with a vaulted ceiling. The floor was tiled with faded blue and reddish-brown Moroccan tiles, and to each side, a grand tiled staircase curved up to a landing.

She dropped her bag next to the large potted plant and gazed up. “Hello?” she called out.

A burst of warm air collided with her face and sent her mind spinning. The aroma carried memories with it. Powerful memories. The smell of roasting chili peppers and dried flowers from the market in Santiago where she’d once strolled with Francisco. The smell of rosemary and lemons—Francisco always smelled of the tonics used to bathe the sick.

Dammit, goddess. You have to let go! You will lose Antonio if you don’t.

“May I help you?”

Ixtab jumped.

A petite woman with one lazy eye and dark hair pulled back, wearing a traditional maid’s uniform, appeared.

“I’m here to see Antonio,” Ixtab said.

The woman’s one good eye scrutinized Ixtab’s draping, black outfit.

“It’s all the rage in Paris,” Ixtab said dryly. “Let me know if you want me to hook you up. But I warn you, prepare to be mobbed by flocks of nude male models.”

The woman narrowed her one good eye. “I am Kirstie. Follow me, please.”

That seemed like an oddly peppy name for such a sour-looking woman. “Fine, your loss, Kirstie; I can’t seem to keep the hotties off me.” Of course, they all die, but who’s asking?

The woman led Ixtab up the right-hand staircase to where the landing expanded into a great room with Saltillo tiles, a large fireplace, and a sitting area that connected to a long hallway with large windows to one side and arched doorways leading to other rooms. “Wait here, please.”

Ixtab took a seat on the soft white sofa and watched the strange woman disappear down the hallway.

Antonio appeared out of nowhere. “Why the hell are you here?”

Christ! Ixtab jumped again. What was with these people sneaking up?

Ixtab looked at Antonio and instantly melted. A barrage of emotions and sensations washed over her. One out of the three was naughty.

Number one: Not naughty. Seeing Antonio again instantly loosened that horrible tension constricting the flow of energy in her chest. She could finally breathe again, and her heart fluttered away at a cheerful pace as if it were clapping and jumping up and down, overwhelmed with jubilation.

Number two: Not naughty. She couldn’t help but take notice of how tired Antonio looked. It saddened her because she knew this was her doing. She’d chased him away, wounded his pride. He was the one person in all the world she’d give anything to make happy, yet she’d done the opposite.

Number three: Naughty. Her girly goddess parts started a little square dance. Despite his worn appearance, he still looked delicious. He’d ditched the sexy leather pants for a pair of his trademark faded jeans and a navy-blue Hollister tee that one might accuse of being one size too small. Not Ixtab, however. At the first moment possible, she’d find a lame excuse to get him to reach for something, somewhere on a very high shelf, which would allow her a peek of his sleek, sexy lower abs that she already knew included a manly trail of dark hair leading the way to a very wonderful place.

Stop that. You came to grovel and come clean with him. This is your chance.

“You still haven’t eaten, have you?” she asked.

“You came all this way to nag me?” He crossed his thick arms over his wide chest.

“No. I came to…” Beg you to forgive me. “… Talk. Can we go somewhere more private, Antonio?” She knew that creepy Kirstie lurked in the shadows, listening.

Antonio’s deep green eyes narrowed. “You remembered my name. How gracious of you, Oh Divine One.”

Ixtab’s entire face tightened with the jab. “I deserved that. I know. But if you could give me ten—or fifteen—actually, given my age and the length of the story, I might need sixty minutes. Each day. For a week.”

He frowned and made a little “no way” grumble.

“Please? Besides, if you don’t hear me out, your cougar fantasies may never come true.”

He gripped his waist with one hand. “A seventy-thousand-year-old isn’t even close to ‘ cougar.’ You’re more saber-toothed tiger.”

Touché. “And yet, I wager you to find a female of legal age purer than me.” She raised her eyebrows. “Pure as the driven snow, and more eager to melt than Thanksgiving turkey.”

A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. “Sorry. Not into poultry.”

“How about gravy?” she asked.

“No.”

“Ah yes. A vegetarian. Pumpkin pie, then?” Yumm… who could resist?

“Not hungry.”

Okay. This conversation had taken a very odd culinary detour and was heading for a dark cavern filled with lonely, cold nights.

She sighed, reached out, and placed her hand on his bulky upper arm. How she’d missed touching him. Gods, it was euphoric. “Please. I don’t want to talk about holiday dinners. I just want a few minutes. Listen to what I have to say, and then I’ll leave if you like. It’s important.”