Accidentally...Over?(18)

       

She frowned and rubbed her temples. "I'm not going."

"Of course you are; I told you so." Was her hearing impaired by the head injury?

She gasped. "You can't expect me to uproot and leave behind everything I  love because you mistakenly believe I'll save the world someday. Or  because you tell me to. This. Is. My. Home."

"And I. Am. A. Deity. I am never mistaken, and it is my job to tell you  what to do." Ridiculous woman. Does she not understand the order of the  Universe?

"I will say this once and once only"-she lifted her index finger in the  air for emphasis-"I don't care if you're the pope who's got a magical  lottery wand powered by unicorns, you don't rule me."

Infuriating woman! What importance do Minky and the ruler of the  Catholics have to any of this? He took a step toward her, barely  resisting the urge to shake her by the shoulders and spank her silly.  "You are a human. Hu. Man. Simple. Mortal. Naive. I am a god. Immortal.  Ancient. Wise."

"You're an ass. That's what you are." The smoldering fury in her hazel  eyes caused him to take a step back and check for any shovels. Coast was  clear.

"You call me an ass, yet you are the one fighting to stay inside this hovel. It doesn't even have air-conditioning."

"This hovel was built by my parents. I love this hovel!"

"It is still just a home. A material thing that can be replaced like any other. Your life, on the other hand, cannot."

"I'm. Not. Leaving."

He sighed. This conversation wasn't going according to plan. Perhaps if  he explained his superior rationale, she'd understand why his plan was  best. "Ashli, can we please cut the crap?"

"Finally! A word I understand! Crap. Which you're totally full of." She  crossed her arms and leaned her weight on one foot, causing her hip to  jut out. He couldn't help but note how her feisty, defiant nature made  him hot under the collar. Metaphorically speaking. The fire in her hazel  eyes, her heaving chest, the blush on her outraged cheeks were enough  to make his cock turn into a sold brick.

Sonofabitch. He stepped back, not wanting to poke her with the fucking  thing. He glared down at his throbbing erection. Not that he could see  it. Really? Can you not wait until we are somewhere private? Though he  could not leave her again to take care of business. With his luck, a 747  packing piranhas would crash into her house and take her out.

Dammit. He needed to calm her down. He needed her to cease this  exasperating-okay …  stimulating-behavior lest he be forced to bend her  over the kitchen counter and fuck her like a mindless beast, possessed  by lust.

Breathe, breathe, breathe. You will not think of mounting her like a  randy little dog. You are a god. Divine. Above your physical needs.

Tell that to your raging erection.

"Ashli," he said in a forced calm, "I merely wish to provide the optimal  circumstances for your survival." Without her, the world was doomed.  She had to see that.

"Poke my eye."

"Sorry?"

"Poke it," she said. "My eye."

With what? Because surely, she can't mean what I think she means. "Care to elaborate?"

"I'd prefer that over listening to the stick up your ass talk to me."

"Grrrr … " He was a deity. Not to be defied or trifled with. Why would she  insult him? "You cannot see me, so I will tell you that at this very  moment, I am looking at you in such a way that would convey utter fury.  You are insolent, ungrateful, and rude. I cannot, for the life of me,  understand why the Universe thought to pair us. But I will tell you  this: your unappreciative, peasantlike attitude only affirms that I've  made the appropriate decision to have all memory of you wiped from my  mind once I have saved you."

Ashli's eyes opened wide and then narrowed into tight little slits. "What did you just say, Casper?"

"I know not who this Casper fellow is, but I am more suited to be mated  with a festering pile of cow dung than to you. I plan to save you, then  have you forever removed from my mind."                       
       
           



       

"Couldn't agree with you more! Festering pile of shit would be perfect for you!"

"No," he clarified. "Better than you. A festering pile of dung is better  than you because it doesn't waste its time with silly, irrational  attachments to houses when the fate of all life hangs in the balance."

I cannot believe I just said that. I am an idiot.

Her eyes went from anger to something resembling wounded, and his heart  instantly retreated from its self-righteous rage. Why had he said that?  Yes, he'd meant it-well, sort of; the woman wasn't without her  jaw-dropping, attractive qualities, to be sure-but that didn't mean he  had to hurt her feelings. After all, she was his mate. It was his job to  make her realize how special she was and to make her feel adored.

Perhaps it is you who is beneath the dung. Yes, you belong in a dungeon for unworthy dung.

Shut up, you idiot.

Her gaze dropped to the floor. "I see."

"What I meant to say was-"

"Don't." She held out her hand. "I get it. No need to explain. You win. I  can't fight anymore. I don't have the strength." Ashli sighed  exasperatedly and turned toward her bedroom.

Fantastic job, asshole. "Ashli, you must listen-"

"Will he mind?" She stopped with her back to him.

"Will who mind?"

"Your brother?" she asked solemnly. "Will he mind us barging in?"

So she'd given in and seen he was right. Winning! He hit pause on his  ego's victory lap and noticed something odd. Funny, the victory feels  more like a loss. Why was that? Could it be because his winning the  argument had been at the expense of her feelings? He didn't quite know.

"In this particular juncture of history, he and my other brothers and  sisters are currently trapped inside several cenotes a few hours from  here."

She looked toward him from over her shoulder. "Should I ask why you don't free them?"

"I, too, am with them-the version of me that exists in this time-but we  will be freed in about nineteen years." He chuckled. "Ironically, twenty  years into the future, they are locked away again but inside glass jail  cells. I sense a theme emerging."

Ashli glared for a moment and then shook her head.

"It is a long story," Máax explained, "but I'm sure it will all work out in the end." Perhaps.

"Whatever. I'll go pack." She disappeared down the hallway, punctuating her annoyance by slamming her bedroom door.



Fury, confusion, denial, and sadness churned inside Ashli's heart like a  temperamental time bomb, ready to burst in her chest. Was the world  really going to end? How? And why did he believe she'd be the one to  stop it?

Completely ridiculous! There was nothing special about her other than  she'd been right about death chasing her. And that those dreams of hers  weren't dreams at all. She really had died. Or was about to die?

Ohmygod. This is depressing.

She sank down on the edge of her unmade bed, trying to catch her grip.  But what shocked her most was how wounded she felt. That invisible being  in her living room had said he couldn't stand her. He'd compared her to  a pile of poop and went so far as to say she was beneath it.

What a complete jerk! Arrogant, pompous, a-hole extraordinaire! And yet,  a stupid little part of her actually felt wounded. Yes! Wounded. Like a  child on a playground who'd been told she had cooties or had bad breath  by the cute boy.

She cupped her hand in front of her face and sampled her breath. Still smelled like raspberry tea.

She chuckled at herself. Oh my God. You're better than him. Who cares  what he thinks? That's right. In fact, I'm glad he'll be out of my life  for good once this is all over. The dude is transparent and the biggest  Cro-Mag to walk the planet since …  well, the Cro-Mag! Though she knew  damned well he was a god and had the body to prove it, which brought her  to the next set of unsavory thoughts. She still felt drawn to him. Yep.  Genuinely-gulp!-fascinated by the entire unfathomable mess.

Gods actually exist. Gods actually exist. "Gods actually exist," she repeated aloud.                       
       
           



       

Who would have thought? Now she had so many new questions. Not only  about Máax, but about the others, too. How old were they? Where did they  come from? Couldn't one of them speak to Death and just tell him, her,  or it to go away? Were all of the male gods as sexy and mysterious as  that invisible, card-carrying member of the club-toting club; that  manpig; that testosterone-spewing, tank-sized male in the other room? He  is not, and I repeat, not sexy and mysterious. Nor does his smell drive  you crazy. And you do not have fantasies of him climbing into your bed  at night, feeling that warm, solid co …