CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Wearing nothing but black boxer briefs, Acan had been chased all the way to his car by a mob of screaming women—dear gods, I must exercise more—before realizing his keys were in his shorts. Yes, the shorts he’d chucked into the dumpster behind the tavern. Surprisingly, however, his form had bounced back the moment those few drinks left his system, which took only minutes due to his very special metabolism. So instead of attempting a rescue of his keys, he simply kept on running, which felt like the only thing he could do to prevent himself from going back to find Margarita and finishing what he’d started.
Godsdammit! How could I do that to her? His evil side had obviously driven that mind-bending lust he’d just experienced. And because of it, he’d once again forgotten about the black jade and almost hurt Margarita. Unforgivable.
The first time he’d had sex with her—very, very sad and incomplete sex—it had been a move he’d made without little thought until he was all up in there. And then wow! Wow, wow, wow. Such hotness—touching her body, his cock inside her, the sound of her breath. The moment he’d realized he was putting her in physical jeopardy, he’d easily torn himself away and endured her wrath. This time, however, had been a completely different story. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew full well that he could hurt her, yet he’d not been able to resist. The look in her green eyes—anger mixed with lust and a yearning for a little recklessness—had acted like a powerful aphrodisiac. And once he had himself inside her, all he could think about was bringing her to orgasm so he could hear the sound of her whimpering voice while he blew her mind. It had taken everything in his power to pull out before he harmed her.
Thank gods I gained control. On the flipside, he’d left her hanging once again, and now she believed him to be the world’s most sadistic prick. Better than killing her, I suppose. Nonetheless, the entire event scared the hell out of him. How could he crave a woman so much that he’d risk harming her? It wasn’t right. It simply wasn’t.
How many more must suffer because of him? The answer: incalculable. It could easily fall into the millions if he did not hurry and quell the darkness.
Having run as far as his insanely ripped, but very out-of-shape body could take him, Acan collapsed on the side of the road, where he apparently passed out, only to be awoken by two very friendly female police officers.
Once he’d convinced them that he wasn’t insane (a lie) nor on drugs (the truth), they offered him a ride home. Little had he known that they would insist on frisking him before allowing him to enter the squad car, leaving him feeling somewhat violated. Did they really need to check inside my underwear for a weapon? And take pictures of the contents? And then text it to their “colleagues” in order to confirm his penis was not a sex weapon of sorts?
He’d finally put his foot down when they claimed they’d need to inspect the ridges of his abs with their tongues. It sounded like a bunch of hullabaloo to him. Ultimately, they agreed to take him to Zac’s apartment, which was miles away, near downtown Los Angeles.
“Thanks, ladies.” Acan gave an unfriendly wave to the two officers while they videotaped him walking away in his underwear. Grumbling with annoyance, he made his way past the security guard—another female who simply stared—and up to the penthouse of the small, but exclusive building. He hoped Zac was home. It was still early enough, about nine in the morning.
The elevator doors chimed and opened to the fifteenth floor. Acan immediately spotted a small form curled up in front of Zac’s door. “Tula?”
Her big blue eyes popped open with a startle, and she sat up. “Belch?”
“What are you doing here?”
“He won’t open the door, and I need to see him.” She immediately covered her face and began sobbing.
How odd. Everyone knew that Zac was very much into Tula, though they all agreed that she was too nice for him. Too sweet. Too pure hearted. Too innocent. And it wasn’t as if they didn’t know their humans. As gods, they’d been around the people-block, so to speak, and could spot a good soul from a mile away. Tula was a good, good woman. Zac was…well, in some ways like himself. Sort of a prick. All right, and a bit of a self-centered, juvenile, arrogant, insensitive prick.
“Are you certain Zac is inside?” he asked.
Tula sniffled, wiping her pert little nose with the back of her hand. “Yes. I could hear him breaking things when I got here.” She stood, revealing her outfit: a skimpy tight pink dress.
“Tula? Why are you dressed like Street Corner Barbie? Not that I do not like Street Corner Barbie—she is, in fact, a lot of fun, and I’m all about that—however, you are not her.”
“Why?” Tula snapped. “Because I’m a virgin? Because I’m a prude and old-fashioned? Because you think I can’t be fun or have needs like a real woman?”
Whoa. Triggered.
He reached out and gently grabbed her wrist. “No, Tula. Speaking as a man who just sprinted across Los Angeles in his underwear, escaping a mob of horny women, I can say with complete confidence that you march to your very own sweet song, just as I do. And we—the gods—wouldn’t want it any other way. However, you are not a woman who requires the attention of others to feel attractive or energized. Your joy comes from helping others, caring about them.”
She sniffled. “How do you know?”
How? I have no clue. Frankly, he’d been living in a party bubble for so long he rarely reflected on what he knew or how he’d learned it. Which was why this fatherly impulse felt so foreign. For him, of all people, to have paternal instincts was just about as shocking as a gorilla doing calculus.
Still, he had to take a stab at an answer. “I suppose, Tula, I know because I’ve spent my life helping others after life has kicked them so hard they weren’t sure they’d ever get up again.”
She cocked a blonde brow. “You serve cocktails and drink like a fish—wait, scratch that. Not even fish drink like you do. They’re lightweights in comparison.”
He smiled proudly. “I certainly can hold my liquor, but compliments will not deter me from telling you the truth, my dear sweet human. Do not dress in a manner that does not reflect who you are. Do not bend to the will of others simply to appease them. And, above all, do not marry, fuck, kiss, or otherwise with a man who makes you feel less than the magnificent, unique creation that you are.” He pinched her chin. “You got that?”
Tula’s eyes filled with chubby tears. “Thank you, Belch.” She threw her arms around his midriff and squeezed.
“Uhhh…” He patted her back, feeling awkward. “There, there?” He was not accustomed to connecting with anyone on such a genuine level, with the exception of his sister Forgetty.
Zac’s front door flew open. “Get the hell off her,” snarled a fierce-looking Zac standing shirtless in leather pants, his dark shaggy hair a wild mess.
“Ah. The hermit emerges,” Acan said as Tula released him. “I believe this young woman has been crying at your doorstep for many hours in hopes you will speak with her.”
Zac’s turquoise eyes, drastically contrasting his black stubble and dark eyelashes, glared down at Tula. “I told you not to come.”
“Don’t you think I deserve an explanation as to why?” she barked back.
“No. You do not!” he bellowed in an ominous voice that did little to frighten the tiny woman.
“Yes. I do!” she replied.
Zac stuck his finger in Tula’s face. “I will not deflower you, woman! And you can’t make me.”
“Oh yes I can!” She shoved him, using the entire weight of her very tiny body to send his brother—equal in size and weight to himself—reeling back.
Before Acan could say a word, Tula slammed the door in his face. From the other side, Acan heard the two yelling at each other, Tula screaming that Zac would sleep with her or risk a painful death with her knitting needles, and Zac yelling that she should remove her “wholesome paws from his cock” and that he would not be used in such a sleazy manner simply to “fulfill your sexual fantasies before you marry the world’s worst lover!”
Acan almost wanted to laugh, except that it became abundantly clear he was on his own. Given the tension with Tula, Zac would not get squat done for the mixer. Without Zac, Tula was apparently a mess. Yet they could not see a path forward together, which meant they would continue to fight for a very, very long time.
And no singles mixer for me. He would be on his own to find “the one” and he had no time to lose. New Year’s Eve was but a few short weeks away, and his brethren were due back at any moment. If he could not convince them that finding his mate (and keeping her) was imminent, then they would lock him away.
Dammit, I need to throw my own party.
Wait. I can do that. I can throw the biggest singles mixer ever to be seen on the planet. And with the way women followed him, going completely mad in his presence, it wouldn’t be difficult to ensure they showed up and brought friends. One or two immortal women were bound to come, too.
Acan knocked on Zac’s door. “Hey, I know you two are busy in there, but could you call me a cab? Or Jill? I don’t have a phone or wallet.”
Zac and Tula continued going round and round. “Yes, you will deflower me.” “No, I will not!”
Dammit. I’m going to have to hitchhike. I hope they don’t try to take pictures of my penis again.