Máax looked at the woman once more, and it hit him again.
Click.
He gasped. She was doing this to him? How? There was no logical explanation, other than…
He lost his train of thought. Gods, she is magnificent.
Holy Christ! He stepped back and stared at Ashli. Is that… Am I…? He was drooling! Like a hungry dog!
The odd, euphoric sensation hit him again, nearly tumbling him over. Nothing in his seventy thousand years of existence could help him articulate the sensation. It was as if the damned woman had jumped inside his body, soldered herself to every molecule of his light, and then sucked away any rational thought. The hollow pit in his chest, one he hadn’t known existed, felt instantly placated. That spot now felt warm and mushy. The center of gravity shifted from beneath his feet toward the direction of the woman and began pulling him to her like a shooting star.
Oh, shit. She’s my mate? He took two more steps back. No. No. Hell no! But how? And why now? He’d never asked the Universe for a mate. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to be tethered to some… some weak mortal woman, or any woman for that matter. Where was the godsdamned logic in that? For fuck sake, he was a lone wolf—answered to no one and nothing. And he was invisible, went where he liked when he liked. (For the time being, anyway.) After he went on trial for his recent multitude of offenses, he’d be entombed for a very, very, very… yes, very fucking long time! And now this, this… woman had messed it all up! Filii canis! Now he was truly going to suffer. He’d have something to miss!
Then another truth dawned on him. Cimil set me up! Again! He was going to kill her. And, gods fucking dammit, did the woman—this, this, Ashli—have to be so godsdamned hot?
Infernum. Her beauty was beyond that of any deity. Dark golden-brown skin, hair like black-licorice ribbons wild about her face and trailing down her back, and exotic eyes, turning up in the corners like a feline’s. And her lips… Her lips were plump and full, just the sort a man longs to feel sliding over every inch of his—
Get a hold of yourself, man! But holy saints she was hot. What was he going to do?
Why don’t you start by saving her, asshole?
Right. First things first, though; he had to get her to stop screaming. “Ashli, I command you to stop screaming.”
Her beautiful hazel eyes widened, and she bolted toward the dusty, narrow road that ran along the beachfront.
Sanguine ad infernum! She’s running away? “Ashli, I command you to stop. I won’t hurt—” A large silver bus came out of nowhere. “No!”
Three
“Cimiiil,” Máax roared.
“Máax, honey.” Cimil pulled down the front of her dress and Roberto dropped his hands. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon!” Cimil snorted. “Get it? See you? Damn, I’m funny.”
“Have you completed the task?” Roberto asked. “You’ve only been gone for one minute.”
Máax tried to speak, but his red-hot anger and desire to punch something got in the way.
Cimil waved her hands in the air. “Máax? You still here?”
Máax cleared the rage-coated lump in his throat. “Yeah. I’m here.”
“What’s wrong?” Cimil placed her palms against the glass.
What was wrong? What was wrong? She had the impudence to ask what was wrong? “You set me up, Cimil! That’s what’s fucking wrong!”
Cimil began chewing her index finger. “Why, Máax,” she said in an exaggerated southern belle accent, “I do believe you’re vexed. But I assure you, sir, I don’t have the slightest clue what’s gotten your man-fritters in a pickle.” She fanned her face.
“Don’t start your bullshit, Cimil. You knew who she was, didn’t you? And you sent me to her! What the sanguine ad infernum were you thinking?” he roared.
“I was thinking,” Cimil replied, “that the doom clock is ticking, and it’s about time you met your media naranja, the other half of your orange, the hop in your scotch, the ohhhhh in your oh, baby. And don’t you speak Latin to me! I hate Latin. It reminds me of the time a bunch of witches threw me in a pot and cooked me! With carrots and onions, no less. Can you believe that? Not everything tastes like chicken.”
“I’m going to kill you, Cimil.” What had she gotten him into?
A mate? A mate? He didn’t want a damned mate!
“Now, now, brother—”
“You know I face entombment. For eternity! If we survive this!”
Cimil sighed. “Máax, I’m sorry—not really—but the woman must be saved regardless, and you’re truly the only god for the job. Besides, who’s to say you wouldn’t have met her anyway? She is your destiny, your fate—the good kind. And you’re right, who’s to say we all get out of this apocalypse alive? Don’t you want to experience true love just once before your time is up?”
True love? Being mated wasn’t true love. It was being shackled against one’s will. It was cosmic brainwashing. “So I may act like a pathetic, lovesick idiot, unable to control his physical desires even when in public? No, thank you.”
“Don’t know what you’re missin’.” Cimil sang her words and then did her strange little jazz hands move. “It’s magical. Besides, if you really, really don’t want her, you can always have what’s-her-face erase Ashli from your memory.”
What’s-her-face was their sister, the Goddess of Forgetfulness. Actually, that was a pretty good idea.
Roberto pulled Cimil close. “You are so sexy when you’re thoughtful, my love. I am going to bone you until your head spins.” The two began mauling each other with hands and tongues.
Love was so degrading. Why would he want that?
“Guys,” Máax said.
They ignored him as they grunted, ground, moaned, and slurped. Máax felt his immortal skin crawl.
“Guys!” he yelled.
The two paused and sneered in his general direction.
“I need to—”
“Máax,” Cimil said. “Yes. You still have to save her—”
“But—”
“Okay!” she barked. “I’m sorry for introducing you to the one woman in the world who has any chance in hell of making you happy. And perhaps less bitter. And prickish. But what’s done is done and—”
“I killed her,” he blurted out.
Fuck. How had it gone so wrong? He was there with her one moment, the next she was gone.
“You killed her?” Roberto stifled a snicker.
“I did not mean to,” Máax explained. “Irrational, crazy woman. She ran out in front of a bus. There wasn’t even any fucking traffic. It was seven in the godsdamned morning. She just”—he let out an anguished sigh—“ran away.”
Cimil burst with laughter.
“This is not funny.” Perhaps this woman was not really his mate, he thought. Perhaps the Universe and Cimil simply wanted to have a little fun with him. Because he’d never heard of one’s mate fleeing in terror.
But why did it chafe him?
Cimil continued to giggle. “Like hell it’s not funny. I sent you back to save someone, and you get her killed in what—sixty seconds? Nice job, Buck Rogers. Biddy, biddy!” Cimil elbowed Roberto. “Get it? Get it? Biddy, biddy. Like the little robot who always caused problems.” Her laughter died with a sad, little sputter when she noticed Roberto’s cold stare. “Oh, never mind. Listen, Máax, glad you came back to report on the fine work you just did. But—and I mean this with all of the hate in my cold, twisted heart—what the hell are you doing here? We’ve already had two earthquakes. Two! Get your ass back to 1993 and fix it. You still have to save her.”
Hmmm. Good point. What was he doing there? He guessed he had been so shocked by what happened to Ashli that he hadn’t quite known what to do. Thankfully, the bus had been going so fast that she’d not suffered, but that did not make the event any less traumatic. She died. She’d run away from him and died.
“I’m leaving,” he grumbled.
“Thatta boy! And next time, could you come back t
en minutes later? Roberto and I need a chance to play hokey-pokey.” She winked.
“Two minutes. Make it two mind-blowing minutes.” Roberto began unzipping his leather pants.
Máax grimaced. Had they no shame? Were they really going to have sex in a cell with a glass wall, with Roberto’s men milling about, and the other gods and their mates drugged, moments from waking up?
“As you wish.” Máax took the tablet—the other had been left behind in 1993—and headed to the conference room in the back of the prison. This time, he would play this out differently. Perhaps save Ashli without revealing his presence. Completely incognito.
Aren’t you forgetting something?
Infernum. Yes, he was. He’d have to rethink the plan. He needed to return to the past. Return to her. Which meant if he wasn’t careful, he might bump into himself. That couldn’t happen. Allowing oneself to overlap, being in the same place at the same time, started a feedback loop similar to reverb on a guitar. It fed off itself, creating a chain reaction of dark, nasty, evil energy that circled the globe, raining down hate and destruction for centuries.
How’d he know? Two words: Cimil and dinosaurs. Oh yes. Humans liked to believe that those giant beasts died when an asteroid crashed to Earth, but nothing could be further from the truth. It was all Cimil. Cimil and her destructive curiosity: “I wonder what it would be like to go back in time and ride a velociraptor?” Apparently, she’d had that thought more than twice and bumped into herself. It wasn’t until the gods started to experience violent episodes of seizures, followed by decades of amnesia and sugar cravings, that they realized what Cimil had done. Not only had she wiped out the creatures and drastically altered the future, but she could’ve destroyed humanity, too.
From that day forward, time travel was banned—no exceptions—and there was a damned good reason for it.
So now what? Not only did a past version of him exist in 1993, the version actually alive at that time, but now there was another version of himself from moments ago.
The ground rumbled violently beneath his feet, causing him to stumble to one side. The dangling overhead lamps swung like a recently vacated trapeze.
Shit… Was this really happening? He scratched his overly scruffy chin. Apparently, it was.
All right. Perhaps if he returned one week earlier than he’d originally encountered Ashli, that would resolve the issue. Yes. That would work. And how hard would it be to ensure they were nowhere near her café on the day of his original visit? He’d figure something out. There’s always a solution.
Is there now?
Yes.
Are you so foolish as to believe that your sister, the Goddess of Forgetfulness, can truly make you forget your mate if we manage to survive this?
What’s-her-face can make anyone forget anything.
He sighed. He hoped he was right about that. Eternal entombment would be bad enough without having to pine away for some female. It would be too much pain and suffering for any being to bear.
Four
January 25, 1993. Save Ashli. Take Two
A day off! A day off! Ashli stretched in her warm bed, savoring her soft, velvety pink sheets. The morning sunlight sieved through her wispy white curtains. It was heavenly to get up after the sunrise for once. Granted, Mexican winters were pretty nice compared to most places, but the shorter days and rising before dawn took its toll on her spirits.
She rolled over and looked at the clock—8:00 a.m. She reached for her phone on the nightstand and stared at the thing. No, Ashli. You promised. Fernando can handle one day by himself. It’s just making coffee, not performing brain surgery.
She blew out a steady breath, knowing how badly she needed this. She hadn’t had a day off in over a year, and that day didn’t really count. She’d been in bed with the flu and simply hadn’t opened the café.
Fortunately, however, her workaholic tendencies had little to do with money. Her parents’ insurance had seen to the basics, but keeping that café alive felt like keeping them alive.
She and her parents had come to Tulum for a family vacation when she was eighteen. They lived in Miami for years and the beach had always been a part of their lives—playtime, summertime, exercise time. But her parents instantly fell in love with Tulum’s rustic charm and virgin white beaches. Then her parents did the unthinkable. They quit their high-paying jobs as lawyers, moved to Tulum, and opened a café. Café Cielito Lindo or “Beautiful Little Sky.” Ashli had gone off to college that year at the University of Michigan to study marketing, but she came for visits every chance she got, and the café became her second home. When she graduated, she planned to spend the summer there, then return to the States where she’d already landed a job in Chicago. That was three years ago. Three long years ago when everything changed in a heartbeat. Her life, her future, everything.
Tulum was her home now. Always would be.
Ashli slipped from bed and pulled back the curtains, gazing appreciatively at the view of the tropical turquoise waves and soft, powdery white sand. No. She’d never leave. Not for anything.
A jog sounds wonderful.
Máax arrived at Ashli’s café to inconveniently discover she was off for the day. Seemed many of her regulars were also disappointed by the news. Nearly every godsdamned male who passed through the door asked for her.
Máax stomped out his spark of jealousy. You idiot. You do not want her. Even if you want her. That’s the bond speaking.
Máax waited until the young man working the counter went outside to deliver a cappuccino. He slipped behind the register and dug around, quickly finding Ashli’s home address on a sheet of emergency contacts, along with her phone number. Bingo.
Máax silently made his way out the door and started down the palm tree–lined, dusty, narrow road that ran for miles along the beach. Yeah, that road. The one where Ashli was to die in about a week. Of course, he would change all that today. Just as soon as he found her. Not that it should be hard. There wasn’t much to this tiny beach community except for a few small—
“Ya viene el fin del mundo! Arrepiéntanse ahora! Ya viene el fin del mundo! Arrepiéntanse ahora!” A small, beat-up truck with a megaphone strapped to the roof sped down the dirt road, blaring, “The end of the world is coming. Repent now!”
Thanks, assholes. Like I needed the reminder.
Anyway, where was he? Oh yeah. There wasn’t much to the tiny community apart from a few eco-resorts, the kind with huts instead of hotels, and—
“Ya viene el fin del mundo! Arrepiéntanse ahora! Ya viene el fin del mundo! Arrepiéntanse ahora!” The truck had made a U-turn.
“Oh. Come on!” Máax yelled. “I’m on it, okay?” Motherfuckers.
So instead of hotels, there were several small communities of private vacation homes on the beach. How’d he know? Let’s just say, he’d been suckered into “helping” Cimil with another one of her little schemes. One that took him to these parts, and one that he now questioned having participated in.
A little too late now.
Máax was almost to the first house along the road when he spotted a young woman with café con leche skin wearing the tiniest pair of shorts and an even tinier little top, running down the beach.
Ashli…
His body began to heat immediately, and it wasn’t due to the searing morning sun beating down on his naked body or the balmy tropical air lacking even the slightest breeze. It was her large, plump breasts and small, athletic body. It was her wild, dark hair whipping against her back as her aggressive stride carried her down the shore. He couldn’t help but hunger for her. Even if he didn’t. But he did. Wait. No, he didn’t.
Sonofabitch! Get yourself together, man. You. Do not. Want her. You do not want a mate. There was no reason in the world for him to get sucked into some ridiculous, sappy, tragic love story. Romeo and Juliet. Lancelot and Guinevere. Tristan and Isolde. Those were stories written by fools about fools. Those stories were for humans, weak and driven by impracticality. He
was a god. Strong. Defiant. Loyal. And very practical, he might add. Most certainly, he would not allow himself to suffer for an eternity simply because the Universe—cruel-hearted bitch that she was—decided to create an ideal female. One specifically designed to make him feel complete. One that would give him the most euphoric pleasure a male could ever know—
Idiot. You’re not helping yourself here.
With Ashli out on a jog, Máax decided this was the perfect opportunity to explore her home. If he were to protect her, he’d have to learn her surroundings, her routine, and he’d need to prevent her from getting in a car, where it would be difficult for him to follow.
He walked along the road until he came across a house with a gated driveway and tall stucco walls. He peered through the bars and spotted her little red car parked on the gravel driveway. A lush, tropical garden obscured most of the Spanish-style bungalow, and impressively tall palm trees shaded the roof. It was a charming, cozy home, but it irritated him to see her in such a modest dwelling. She was his mate. She deserved a grand, modern house with—
Sonofabitch. She is not yours. You must resist the urge to shelter and care for her.
Snarling at himself, he made his way around her property via a small trail that led to the sloped beach. He found the back entrance to her yard—a tiny patio with a low wall that butted against the beach without much protection from intruders. He hopped over the wall and tried the back door.
Unlocked.
“Damned woman is asking for trouble.” He’d have to talk to her about that later. If he talked to her. At this point, he didn’t know if he’d ever speak with her.
He entered the kitchen and was hit with a delicious scent—sweet, floral, and fresh.
Ashli.
Must ignore how good she smells. It is simply chemistry. A physiological reaction. Are you weaker than chemistry? No! You are not. You are a god. Chemistry is your bitch.
He looked around the kitchen, inspecting for any obvious dangers. It was cheerful and tidy with white-and-blue Mexican tiled counters. A bowl of mangos and papayas topped the little wooden table in the center of the room.