CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
To Acan’s surprise, Margarita laughed in his face the moment he uttered the painful truth: She was his mate. He supposed it was a surprise to him as well; however, there could be no other explanation for her wanton feelings. Or his.
I should’ve known. From the first moment he’d seen her in the elevator, he’d been mesmerized. When he saw her the next morning at her gym, he should’ve known, too, but he hadn’t been ready to accept the truth. Now, after seeing her the last few times, things became clearer. She was the one the Universe had chosen for him, only he didn’t want her. Her life was fitness and eating the sort of foul-smelling healthy crap that now sat cooling in her kitchen and likely contained almost no fat, sugar, or preservatives. Ewww… Her life was the opposite of late night parties, delicious deep-fried snacks, and fun. He merely had to look at her to know. It was his gift, after all, looking into people’s eyes and seeing their essence. Margarita was boring. Super-duper stick in the mud. Boring.
Still, he liked her. The way she smiled. The way she moaned. He especially liked the way his heart skipped when he thought about seeing her. But it wasn’t enough, was it? She would never accept the real him, and that meant he’d have to give up who he was merely to please her. And if I can’t be the party god, I’d have to be the decap god. Not so fun. Not when he faced an eternity with his choices, which was something most humans couldn’t comprehend.
“You need to leave,” she spouted in response to his confession.
“Margarita.” He took her hand between his. “I fully realize that what I’ve said sounds insane, which is why I’m prepared to prove every word to you. However, before I do that, I simply need to know if you could ever love a man who stays up all night—seven days a week—drinks approximately fifteen gallons of alcohol each day, and pretty much forgets to wear clothing on his bottom half.”
“Are you fucking with me?”
“Afraid not.”
“No. My answer is no,” she said with a twisted frown.
He shook his head. “As I thought.”
“Acan? Please tell me this is a joke. Please tell me you’re not serious.”
It was time to ease her mind. At least for tonight, she’d be at peace and then Forgetty would take care of her in the morning. “I am serious, and as I said, here is my proof.” He took her hand and placed it over his heart. “Close your eyes, Margarita. Listen to the Universe beating through me. Hear her whisper of life and the voices of every being on this planet calling for me. Feel your skin heating as my cells cause yours to vibrate rapidly.”
He knew Margarita didn’t want to do as he asked, but his scent, voice, and energy persuaded her.
With hesitant flutters, she closed her eyes and took a sobering breath. After a soul-grilling moment—him hoping she’d see the truth—her eyes flew open. “Ohmygod!”
Margarita could not believe her ears. Thousands of voices silently chanted his name, and she heard each and every one: “Belch, Belch, Belch.”
“This can’t be.” She stepped back, taking her hand with her. “You’re him, aren’t you? You are Belch.”
He nodded. “I had to pretend because humans are not permitted to know about us unless it’s a necessity.”
She covered her mouth. She felt like a fool, but she wasn’t sure if it was due to his lying or due to her actually believing he was a god.
“But how? How can you and he be…?”
“The same person?”
She nodded.
“I am not human. I do not grow old. I do not get ill. My body is predisposed for perfection. But given my role, to help humans forget their woes for an evening, the excess calories do take a toll on my figure. Although I’ve now learned it’s only temporary.”
“So-so-so,” she stammered, “if you were to drink, you’d become him—that other guy.”
He nodded yes.
“Jesus.” She walked over to her sofa and plunked down, covering her face. This can’t be true. Yet her heart told her it was. “Why did you decide to tell me if humans aren’t allowed to know?”
He walked over and sat but looked ahead at the wall where a collage—all pictures of her and Jessica—hung on the wall.
“Something is happening to us,” he said. “A plague. But only those who are single, without a mate, are susceptible.”
“So you’re sick?” Didn’t he just say he couldn’t get sick?
“In a way, yes. This plague takes a good immortal and turns them into a violent, dangerous being.”
“Like rabies.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “However, for an immortal like myself, the damage I can inflict will be in the millions. Perhaps tens of millions. Specifically on New Year’s Eve, when my powers naturally spike.”
Her eyes went wide. “Who, Acan? Who will be the millions?” Her heart raced out of control.
“I do not know.” He clasped his large hands together in his lap and stared down at them.
She stood up. “So wait. You’re telling me that in a few weeks, you’re going to turn into a rabid god, strike down tens of millions of people, and that there’s nothing you can do.”
“I assure you, I will do everything in my power to find my mate and stop the change from occurring.”
Her mind reeled with fear. Fear for her child. Fear for herself. Fear for all of those people who would lose family members. This can’t happen. I have to do something. Wait…
“I’m not following.” She ran her hands through her hair, trying to keep her cool. “You said that I’m your mate.”
He nodded calmly.
“So if I’m your mate, why are you looking for someone else?” This made no sense.
He stood and gazed down into her eyes. It suddenly felt like the blanket had lifted from her mind. Now that he’d told her the truth, whatever tricks her brain had been playing to deny the strangeness right in front of her were gone. He wasn’t human. His skin had a slight iridescent glow, his turquoise eye shimmered like afternoon sun bouncing off a calm ocean, and simply standing next to him made her body feel warm and at peace.
“Jesus, you’re magnificent,” she whispered.
“Thank you.” He frowned. “But my name is Acan, not Jesus. Are you feeling all right?”
“You just told me that you’re a god and millions of people will die on New Year’s Eve, so no. I’m not all right. Now, answer my question.”
“You mean…why I cannot accept you as my mate?”
“Yes.”
“You said it yourself, you would not be happy living a life of nonstop nocturnal celebrations with me. And I could not live a life being someone I am not. Just these few days of behaving have been torture for me given the role I was born to play. It would be like removing a bird’s wings or telling a teenager to speak respectfully to their parents—it is unnatural.”
“So basically, you’re saying that we’re not a match?” she asked.
“No.”
“But we’re mates?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“And you don’t mean ‘mate’ in the Australian sense of the word,” she stated.
“No.”
She nodded but didn’t truly understand. How had they been matched up? And by who? And why would they be matched up if they weren’t right for each other?
“So your plan is to find someone you click with and then stop this plague from making you sick.”
“Yes,” he confirmed.
“What if you fail?”
He crossed his large arms over his chest. “I will not. I am a god.”
“No. You’re an idiot. Think about what you’re saying: you want to find a woman who will love you and accept you for who you are—i.e., bombed out of your stupid skull—when you’re this horrible, egregious version of yourself who treats women like pieces of ass, goes around flashing his dick everywhere, and looks like he has a liver the size of a watermelon.”
“Your point?”
“No woman wants that, and if she does, there’s something seriously wrong with her.”
“I meet plenty of women who enjoy me when I’m in party mode.”
“Are they drunk? Because they’d have to be.” He was absolutely offensive and belligerent.
“Well, yes. But that is to be expected. I do serve the best cocktails on the planet. Humans find it difficult to stay sober in my presence.”
“I have no problem.”
“Because apparently your drink of choice is getting fucked by a hot god.”
What? Ohmygod. How can he say that? On the other hand, could it explain why she felt the irresistible urge to get down, dirty, and naughty in his presence? Still, he was a pig for saying it like he had.
She shook her head. “I’m not clear on how you got to be a god, but your plan is a joke.”
“And what then do you propose I do? Mate with a woman who doesn’t know how to have fun? Who hates drinking, the one thing I’m truly gifted at? I am the God of Wine and Intoxication. My role is to help humans—”
“You’re a man-child, and it’s time you grew up. People’s lives are on the line, including my child’s and possibly my own.” She poked him in his chest, his firm, firm chest. Dammit, am I turned on right now! He smells so good.
Wait. No. Stop! She needed to think clearly.
The truth was that she found him extremely attractive. Excruciatingly attractive. Seven feet of perfectly sculpted male muscled in such a way that her eyes couldn’t help wanting to savor every inch of his exposed skin. For example, his neck. He had an Adam’s apple that stuck out just a little bit farther than a regular guy. Overtly manly. His stunning face was accentuated by a short beard that didn’t grow in full. Instead, it skirted the contour of his jaw, leaving his smooth, high cheekbones fully exposed. His brows and intense eyes made him look sexy and tough all at the same time. As for his chest and abs, they weren’t on display, but she would never forget such perfection. Hard round pecs, rippled abs, and belly button covered in a light dusting of dark hair. His soft wavy hair that fell to his nipples was enough to…to make a woman want to strip naked just so she could feel the silky strands brush over her nipples.
Oh God. Don’t think about it. Just don’t.
Her conclusion was that in the sexual-attraction department, there was a lot to work with. But what she couldn’t live with was his chauvinistic, crude behavior. If it weren’t for that, she might be able to take him seriously. As it stands, I just want to lock him in a stockade and throw things at him.
She drew a breath. “Have you ever tried to learn how to be the party without partying? You facilitate the fun, but you don’t engage in the fun.”
He scratched his thick, brown scruff. “No. However, I had planned on bartending sober at my mate mixer.”
“Mate mixer?”
“Yes, I am throwing myself a party and inviting only single women. It is the best hope I have of finding my soul mate on such short notice.”
She shook her head. “And they’ll all be drunk?”
“I hope so. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be doing my job, now would I?”
He’s crazy. He’s a god, and he’s downright crazy. “Have your stupid mixer, but I promise you that your plan sucks.”
“It’s a wonderful plan.”
“And if you fail? What’s plan B? Oh. That’s right. You don’t have one,” she snarled.
“I told you I’m a god. I never fail.”
Could he possibly be more arrogant? “What if you do?”
“I am not sure.”
“That settles it. You are going to spend a platonic night with me.”
“Why?”
“While I find you morally repugnant and sleazy, I’m your best hope. We are going to test us out and make absolutely sure there’s no way for us to be a match.” They had to try.
“I’ve seen your style of fun, and while racing in your skivvies was very…well, racy, I sense that is about as wild as you get.”
“Basically, yes. It took me a decade to work up the nerve to do it, but we have to try. We have to.” Her daughter meant everything to her.
“You’re saying you want me to show you a good time,” he said.
“Sure. Or maybe we’ll do my version of fun for a few hours and then I’ll do yours.”
“I have sworn an oath to stay sober until I’ve found my mate, but I suppose I can take you out.”
“But you were…the other you this morning.”
“An accidental cocktail. It wore off minutes after I left.”
“Why exactly did you leave?” she asked.
“Ah. Yes. That. I did not want to kill you.”
Huh? “Huh?”
“It is fatal for a human to have intercourse with a god. They must wear a special stone—a particular black jade—that absorbs our energy.”
“You almost killed me?” She didn’t even know how to process that.
“No. I mean—well…I found you very irresistible and forgot and then…” He let out a sigh. “I’m a complete asshole, aren’t I?”
“Yes. I can’t believe you! I’m a mother. People depend on me.”
“I stopped before you burst into flames. Does that not count for something?”
She winced. “Dear God, you are so obtuse.”
“Thank you. Now, shall we get on with our evening?”
The front door swung open and in walked Jessica.
Still standing in the middle of her living room, Margarita froze for a moment as if she’d been caught doing something very bad.
“Jessica, you’re late.” She put on a face of calmness.
“Mom, I’m sixteen. If I want to stay out until nine with my friends, I’m going to stay out.” She entered their small living room and spotted Acan. Her eyes went wide and then wider.
“Who’s he?” Jessica said with a flirty smile.
Nope. Nuh-uh. She would not have her daughter lusting after the party god.
Acan dipped his head. “I am—”
“He is my friend from work,” Margarita interrupted. “And we are leaving. You are going to do your homework. Dinner is in the oven.” She grabbed Acan’s arm—so, so muscled and bulgy—and urged him toward the door.
“A pleasure meeting you, Jessica.”
“Uh…” Jessica stood there drooling.
Margarita grabbed her keys and little satchel-style purse from the glass table next to the door. “I mean it, young lady. Homework.”
Acan’s eyes stuck on Jessica for a moment, a long moment as if he was taking her in.
Oh, no. Like hell, you bastard. She pushed him outside and slammed the front door shut. “Don’t ever look at my daughter like that again.”
Acan jerked his head back. “She is far too young for me.”
“Then why were you looking at her like that?”
He blinked. “I do not know. But I assure you, it was not sexual. Although, she is quite lovely. She takes after her mother.”
Margarita huffed. “Let’s go. We have work to do.”
“Work? I understood we were to embark on an evening of fun.”
Yes, but his version of fun was not hers. “Same thing.”