CHAPTER THREE
“You sure this is the place, baby?” The young brunette with big brown eyes and heavy eyeliner licked her lips as she shoved her hands down Acan’s jeans, insisting on letting her suck him.
“Stop that.” He jerked her hand away.
“Oh, come on, big man. You promised to let me do anything I wanted.”
Normally, elevator blow jobs were his favorite, but tonight he wasn’t in the mood. He couldn’t get that horrible elevator woman out of his mind, and being in an elevator definitely wasn’t helping.
“I’ll make it fast, baby.” The woman kneeled in front of him, clawing at his cock through his jeans.
“Stop that.” He helped his date to her feet—or more accurately stated, onto her four-inch heels. He’d already forgotten her name or why he’d lied to her and told her they were going to a party. In his defense, however, she had picked him up—begged for some fun and promised to do anything he liked just as long as he spent the night with her. He had not wanted to—so many heavy thoughts on his tequila-saturated mind—but one look at her needy eyes and dull gray aura, well, he did what he was meant to do.
Yep.
Tequila shots.
Yep.
Dirty dancing.
Yep.
A promise to take her home and play naked Twister.
But then the text came in from Forgetty, reminding him not to forget the emergency meeting at the Immortal Matchmakers’ office. He’d somehow ended up inviting…Oh hell, I forget her name.
His date shimmied down her black dress and checked her lipstick in her mirror as the elevator slowed to the fourteenth floor. “Looking good!” she said to herself.
Acan frowned. She had red smeared clear across her cheek. “Eh, I think you missed a spot.” Gods, drunk people can be so annoying.
Wait. What? Acan shook his head from side to side. Who the hell am I? He closed his eyes. I am the party god. I do not judge. I seek to bring fun and lack of inhibition to the masses so that they may tap into their wild sides. I am the party god. I do not judge. I seek to bring fun—
The elevator doors dinged, interrupting his serenity prayer.
“Oh, wow!” said the woman in a high-pitched voice, stepping out into the large office with very little furniture.
Acan stepped out behind her, seeing ten of his brethren standing in a semicircle, waiting for him.
“What the bloody hell is this?” he said, feeling the buzz of his five bottles of tequila quickly wearing off.
Cimil stepped forward with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “This, my dear brother, is your intervention.”
“Baby, we should go.” The brunette tugged on his arm. That was when he noticed he’d forgotten to wear a shirt.
Hey, at least it’s not my pants.
“Intervention?” he asked. “Like for those alcoholic humans who refuse treatment?”
Cimil laughed. “You’re a god, immortal and immune to such things as alcoholism.”
“Exactly.”
“But you are addicted to something far more potent,” Cimil said.
“I am?”
“You’re addicted to the party life of a bachelor, and if you do not set aside your philandering, cock-plundering ways and settle down with one female—only one—millions will die.”
Acan felt his anger bubbling up. This entire thing was ridiculous. And no one—I mean no one—is going to stop the party!
“Prove it,” he said.
Cimil blinked at him in question.
Acan crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s right, you fib factory. I’m calling your bluff. There isn’t a god in this room who hasn’t been misled by your lies, your exaggerations and manipulations. So prove it. Prove to me that you are telling the truth and that death and destruction will ensue if I do not settle down.”
Cimil’s red lips flapped for a moment. Apparently no one had ever challenged her in this manner before. Or perhaps he’d never put so many words together to form a…a…a sentence! Yes, that was the word.
“Well…well…” She shook her head from side to side, her long red curls flopping about. “Are you sure, brother?”
“Sure about what?”
“Hey, baby. This party bites. Let’s go!” His human date yanked vigorously at his arm.
Acan whipped his arm away and urged her to be silent with his eyes.
Suddenly, it all went black.
Zac had spent the evening with two smokin’-hot women—black, delicious, and French—who’d come to LA, looking for a taste of fantasy, sex, and drama. So he had tempted them all the way to his penthouse for some serious exploration of their limits. Waste of time. As a god he had very few inhibitions, but these two ladies seemed more adventurous than even himself. Toes, toys, and teeth. Anyway, he’d barely been able to get the old man-pho working, so the women ended up getting each other off. He’d then fled his own apartment, wishing for something less sinful. Or a certain someone less sinful.
Zac glanced at his watch, realizing the emergency summit meeting had started ten minutes ago. Fuck, they’re going to kick my ass.
The elevator doors slid open. “Hey. Sorry I’m late, but…” His voice faded as he looked across the room. Blood everywhere. Ten of his brethren lie decapitated on the floor. Belch stood in the middle, panting, dripping with red, fists clenched.
“What the fuck?” Zac gasped.
Belch’s head whipped up, his normally turquoise eyes solid black.
“Belch, wha-what have you done?” Zac stammered.
Belch frowned and seemed to be awaking from a diabolical trance. “I-I-I don’t know.”
A strange woman, who cowered in the corner of the office space with Cimil’s weeping children, jumped up. “He killed them all! He snapped his fingers and their heads fell off!” The woman ran for the stairwell.
What in the gods’ names? In all his years, Zac had never heard of such a power.
“No. That’s not possible. I would never do that.” Acan’s eyes scanned the carnage before him. “Forgetty!” He fell to his knees.
“He did it. He did it,” yelled Cimil’s kids.
Zac stepped back, staring at the lifeless heads on the floor. “Dude, they are so going to be pissed.”