Accidentally...Evil? (Accidentally Yours) (13 page)

Before Emma could drop a single f-bomb, the dark priestess raised her hand and blew Emma across the large open living room, slamming her violently against the wall.

Helena screamed and rushed to Emma’s side.

Paralyzed with fear, Penelope watched helplessly as the Maaskab woman glided into the spacious living room and stood before her, a mere two yards away.

The woman raised her gaunt, grimy finger, complete with overgrown grime-caked fingernail, and pointed directly at Penelope. “Youuuu.”

Holy wheat toast.
Penelope instinctively stepped back. The woman’s voice felt like razor blades inside her ears. Penelope had to think fast. Not only did she fear for her life and for those of her friends, but both she and Emma were pregnant. Helena had a baby daughter.
Think, dammit. Think.

Penelope considered drawing the power of the sun, an ability she’d recently gained when she’d become the interim Sun God—another long story—but releasing that much heat into the room might fry everyone in it.

Grab the monster’s arm. Channel it directly into her.

“Youuuu,” the Maaskab woman said once again.

“Damn, lady.” Penelope covered her ears. “Did you swallow a bucket of rusty nails? That voice… gaaaahh.”

The monster grunted, “I come with a message.”

“For me?” Penelope took a step forward.

The woman nodded, and her eyes, pits of blackness framed with cherry red, clawed at Penelope’s very soul. “It is for you I bring… the message.”

Jeez. I get it. You have a message.
Penelope took another cautious step toward the treacherous woman. “So what are you waiting for?”

“Pen, get away from her,” she heard Emma grumble from behind.

Not on your life.
Pen moved another inch. “I’m waiting, old woman. Wow me.”

The Maaskab growled.

Another step.

“Don’t hurt my grandmother,” Emma pleaded.

Grandma?
Oh for Pete’s sake.
This
was Emma’s grandmother? The one who’d been taken by the Maaskab and turned into their evil leader? They all thought she’d been killed.

Fabulous. Granny’s back.

The woman, for a fraction of a moment, glanced over Pen’s shoulder at Emma.

Another step.

Penelope couldn’t let Emma’s feelings cloud the situation. Granny was dangerous. Granny was evil. Granny was going down.

“We wish,” the old Maaskab woman ground out her words, “to make an exchange.”

Penelope froze. “An exchange?”

The woman nodded slowly. “You will free our king, and we will return your prisoners.”

Shit. Free Chaam?
The most evil deity ever known? He’d murdered hundreds, perhaps thousands of women, many his own daughters. His sole purpose in life was to destroy every last living creature, except for the Maaskab and his love slaves.

No. They could never let that bastard out.

But what about the prisoners?
She debated with herself. In the last battle, the Maaskab had trapped forty of their most loyal vampire soldiers, the God of Death and War, aka Emma’s fiancée, and the General of the Vampire Army, aka Helena’s husband.

Dammit. Dammit. Crispy fried dammit!
Penelope had to at least consider Granny’s proposal. “Why in the world would we agree to let Chaam go?”

“A bunch of pathetic… little… girls… cannot triumph against us,” the Maaskab woman hissed. “
You
need the vampires and your precious God of Death and War.”

Penelope’s brain ran a multitude of scenarios, trying to guess the angle. Apparently, the Maaskab needed Chaam back. But they were willing to give up Niccolo and Guy? Both were powerful warriors, perfectly equipped to kick the Maaskab’s asses for good.

No. Something wasn’t quite right. “Tell me why you want Chaam,” Penelope said.

Another step.

“Because,” Granny flashed an odious grin, “the victory of defeating you will be meaningless without our beloved king to see it. All we do, we do for him.”

Ew. Okay.

“You, on the other hand,” she lowered her gravelly voice one octave, “do not have a chance without your men. We offer a fair fight in exchange for our king’s freedom.”

Okay. She could be lying. But perhaps not. Anyone with a brain could see they were three inexperienced young women—yes, filled with passion and purpose and a love of shoes and all things shopping, in the case of Helena and Emma. But they didn’t know the first thing about fighting wars. Especially ones that might end in a big hairy apocalypse prophesied to be just eight months away.

Sure, they had powerful, slightly insane, dysfunctional deities and battalions of beefy vampires and human soldiers on their side. But that was like giving a tank to a kindergartner. Sorta funny in a Sunday comics, Beetle Bailey kinda way, but not in real life.

“Don’t agree to it,” Helena pleaded from the flank. “We’ll find another way to free them.”

“She’s right, Pen,” Emma whimpered, clearly in pain.

Penelope took another step. They were right; they’d have to find some other way to get the prisoners back. Chaam was just too dang dangerous. “And if we refuse?”

The Maaskab woman laughed into the air above, her teeth solid black and the inside of her mouth bright red.

Yum. Nothing like gargling with blood to really freshen your breath
.

“Then,” Granny said, “we shall kill both men—yes, even your precious Votan; we have the means—and the end of days will begin. It is what Chaam would have wanted.”

Granny had conveniently left out the part about killing her and her friends before she departed this room. Why else would the evil Maaskab woman have come in person when an evil note would have done the evil job? Or how about an evil text?

No. Emma’s grandmother would kill them if the offer was rejected. She knew it in her gut.

Penelope didn’t blink.
No fear. No fear.
The powerful light tingled on the tips of her fingers. She was ready.

“Then, you leave us no choice. We agree.” Penelope held out her hand. “Shake on it.”

The Maaskab woman glanced down at Pen’s hand. Pen lunged, grabbed the woman’s soot-covered forearm, and opened the floodgates of heat. Evil Granny dropped to her knees, screaming like a witch drowning in a hot, bubbling cauldron.

“No! No!” Emma screamed. “Don’t kill her! Don’t, Pen!”

Crackers!
Penelope released the woman, who fell face forward onto the cold Saltillo tile. Steam rose from her naked back and dreadlock-covered skull.

“Grandma? Oh God, no. Please don’t be dead.” Emma dropped to her knees beside the eau-du-charred roadkill. “She’s still breathing.”

The room suddenly filled with Penelope’s private guards. They looked like they’d been chewed up and spit out by a large Maaskab blender—tattered, dirty clothes, and bloody faces.

That explained what had taken so long; they must’ve been outside fighting more Maaskab.

The men pointed their rifles at Emma’s unconscious grandmother. Zac, God of Who-the-Hell-Knew and Penelope’s right hand since she’d been appointed the interim leader of the gods—yes, yes, another long story—blazed into the room, barking orders. “Someone get the Maaskab chained up.”

Zac, dressed in his usual black leather pants and tee combo, that matched his raven-black hair, turned to Penelope and gazed down on her with his nearly translucent, aquamarine eyes. “Are you all right?”

Penelope nodded. It was the first time in days she’d felt glad to see him. He’d been suffocating her ever since Kinich—

“Oh gods!” They’d completely forgotten about Kinich!

Her eyes flashed up at the clock.

Tick.

Sundown.

A gut-wrenching howl exploded from the other room. Everyone stiffened.

“He’s alive!” Pen turned to rush off, but felt a hard pull on her arm.

“No. You’ve had enough danger for one day. I will go.” Zac wasn’t asking.

Penelope jerked her arm away. “He won’t hurt me. I’ll be fine. Just stay here and help Emma with her grandmother.” She snatched up the two bags of blood from the floor where Helena had dropped them.

“Penelope, I will not tell you again.” Zac’s eyes filled with anger. Though he was her right hand, he was still a deity and not used to being disobeyed.

“Enough.” Penelope held up her finger. “I don’t answer to you.”

Zac’s jealous eyes narrowed for a brief moment before he stiffly dipped his head and then quietly watched her disappear through the doorway.

She rushed down the hallway and paused outside the bedroom with her palms flat against the hand-carved double doors. The screams had not stopped.

Thank the gods that Kinich, the ex-God of the Sun, was alive. Now they would have a chance to put their lives back together, to undo what never should have been—such as putting her in charge of his brothers and sister—and she would finally get the chance to tell him how much she loved him, how grateful she was that he’d sacrificed everything to save them, about their baby.

This was their second chance.

She just needed to get him through these first days as a vampire.
And orchestrate a rescue mission for the God of Death and War and the General of the Vampire Army. And deal with the return of Emma’s evil granny. And figure out how to stop an impending apocalypse set to occur in eight—yes, eight!—months. And deal with a few hundred women with amnesia they’d rescued from the Maaskab. And manage a herd of insane egocentric, accident-prone deities, with ADD. And carry a baby. And don’t forget squeezing in some time at the gym. Your thighs are getting flappy!

“See? This Kinich-vampire-thing should be easy,” she assured herself.

She pushed open the door to find Kinich shirtless, writhing on the bed. His muscular legs and arms strained against the silver chains attached to the deity-reinforced frame. He was a large, beautiful man, almost seven feet in height, with shoulders that spanned a distance equal to two of her body.

“Kinich!” She rushed to his side. “Are you okay?” She attempted to brush his gold-streaked locks from his face, but he flailed and twisted in agony.

“It burns!” he wailed. “The metal burns.”

“I know, honey. I know. But Helena says you need to drink before we can let you go. Full tummy. Happy vamp—”

“Aaahh! Remove them. They burn. Please,” he begged.

Oh saints.

He would never hurt her. Would he? Of course not.

“Try to hold still.” She went to the dresser, pulled open the top drawer, and grabbed the keys.

She rushed to his ankle and undid one leg, then the other.

Kinich stopped moving. He lay there, eyes closed, breathing.

Without hesitation she undid his right arm and then ran to the other side to release the final cuff.

“Are you okay? Kinich?”

Without opening his eyes, he said, “I can smell and hear everything.”

Helena had said that blocking out the noise was one of the hardest things a new vampire had to learn. That, and curbing their hunger for innocent humans who, she was told, tasted the yummiest. Helena also mentioned to always make sure he was well fed. Full tummy, happy vampire. Just like a normal guy. Except for the blood, obviously.

Penelope deposited herself on the bed next to Kinich with a bag of blood in her hands. “You’ll get used to it. I promise. In the meantime, let’s get you fed. I have so much to—”

Kinich threw her to the floor. She landed on her back with a hard thump and the air whooshed from her lungs.

Straddling her, Kinich pinned her wrists to the floor. His turquoise eyes shifted to hungry black, and fangs protruded from his mouth. “You smell delicious. Like sweet sunshine.”

Such a beautiful face
, she thought, mesmerized by Kinich’s eyes. Once upon a time his skin had glowed, golden almost, a vision of elegant masculinity with full lips and sharp cheekbones. But now, now he was refined with an exotic, dangerous male beauty too exquisite for words.

Ex-deity, turned mortal, turned vampire.
Hypnotic. He is… hypnotic.

He lowered his head toward her neck, and her will suddenly snapped back into place. “No! Kinich, no!” She squirmed under his grasp. Without her hands free, she couldn’t defend herself. “I’m pregnant.”

He stilled and peered into her eyes.

Pain. So much pain. That was all she saw.

“A baby?” he asked.

She nodded cautiously.

Then something cold and deadly flickered in his eyes. His head plunged for her neck, and she braced for the pain of having her neck ripped out.

“Penelope!” Zac sacked Kinich, knocking him to the floor. “Go!” he commanded.

Penelope rolled onto her hands and knees and crawled from the room as it was overrun with several more of Kinich’s brethren—the perpetually drunk Acan; the Goddess of the Hunt they called Camaxtli; and the Mistress of Bees they called—oh, who the hell could remember her weird Mayan name?

“Penelope! Penelope!” she heard Kinich scream. “I want to drink her! I must drink her!”

Penelope curled into a ball on the floor in the hallway, unable to stop herself from crying.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

Helena appeared by her side. “Oh, Pen. I’m so sorry. I promise he’ll be okay after a few days. He just needs to eat.” She helped Penelope sit up. “Let’s move you somewhere safe.”

Penelope wiped away the streaks of tears from her cheeks and took her friend’s hand to stand.

The grunts and screams continued in the other room.

“I can’t believe he attacked me. Even after I told him.” Tears continued to trickle from Penelope’s eyes. Why hadn’t he stopped? Didn’t he love her?

“In his defense, you really do smell yummy. Kind of like Tang.”

“Not funny,” Penelope responded.

“Sorry.” Helena braced Penelope with an arm around her waist and guided her to a bedroom in the other wing of the house.

Helena deposited Penelope on the large bed and turned toward the bathroom. “I’ll get you a warm washcloth.”

Ironically, Penelope’s mind dove straight for a safe haven—that meant away from Kinich and toward her job, which generally provided many meaty distractions, such as impending doom and/or anything having to do with Cimil—the ex-Goddess of the Underworld.