CHAPTER FIFTEEN
That afternoon, Acan began instructing Jill on the details of the party—when, where, and who. They would hold the event at their biggest LA nightclub, the Randy Unicorn, and post invitations that included a picture of himself all over social media. To enter, the women had to be between the ages of twenty-one and thirty, love the night life, look sexy, and be able to hold her liquor. He hoped his photo, which showed off his eyes—a telltale sign of his immortality—would attract the attention of a few immortal women, too: sex faeries, vampires, and demigoddesses. Hell, he’d even be okay with a succubus, although there weren’t many of those around these days. The gods had killed most of them off, but their offspring were beginning to pop up and the females were quite attractive.
Speaking of attractive, Margarita…Mmmm…Margarita. So soft in all the right places.
“Belch!” a familiar voice screamed as he sat outside next to the pool of his new estate, making the list of what to buy for the party.
Acan looked up to find a face he’d been missing with all his heart yet dreading to see again.
“Forgetty.” He sighed.
Wearing a short pink skirt, white tank top and white go-go boots, Forgetty stomped toward him with clenched fists. “I am going to break every bone in your body!”
He popped up from the lounge chair and held out his hands. “Now, sister, I know you’re upset, but let me explain—”
“Explain?” She poked his chest. “Explain! You removed my head! And what the hell happened to your body?”
He glanced down at his muscular form, which he was in the process of suntanning in the buff. He’d read somewhere that women liked a man who looked like he spent excessive amounts of time in the outdoors, doing things such as bicycle riding or sailing. He wasn’t much for water or mounting things with wheels—he much preferred things with boobs—big boobs—so he took Jill’s advice and lay out.
Acan smiled. “My body is in nonparty mode at the moment, just as you asked. And I have been preparing to win my mate, including having purchased this fine home with a built-in sprinkler system.”
“Too little, too late! Votan and the others are on their way, and you, my dear brother, are going to jail.”
Why was she speaking to him as if he were a child getting a time-out for naughty behavior?
Acan crossed his arms. “No.”
Her turquoise eyes shifted a bit from side to side. “No what?”
“No, I won’t go to jail, and you can’t make me.” There. How’s that for not sounding childish. He patted himself on the back.
“Wanna bet?” She reached for his wrist, but he held it away.
“I do wanna bet, Forgetty, because there are two things you are not thinking of.”
“That you’re an ass and you’re an ass?”
“Yes and yes. However, I’m referring to the fact that the immortal prison in Sedona is only capable of incarcerating my physical form. It will not prevent my spike in powers on New Year’s Eve. So given that my condition is deteriorating rapidly, everyone’s best and only option is to assist me in finding my Mrs. Party All Night.”
Her eyes twitched with irritation. “We could just kill you and then wait for you to reemerge at the cenote with a new body and kill you again.”
Balls. That didn’t sound pleasant. “You could. Yes. But then I’ll have to point out the fact that I am the God of Decapitation, and therefore, if I’m permitted to completely flip, my brethren would be no match for me. So it is you who would be executed over and over again, leaving the lot of you suspended between worlds and the human population at risk to all of the immortals out there who are turning evil, yours truly included.”
Forgetty growled. “Godsdammit. Since when did you become so logical and articulate? It’s incredibly annoying.”
“Agreed. Which is why I intend to find my woman as quickly as possible, prevent myself from flipping, and then return to my old self—completely oblivious to everything and nauseatingly juvenile. Just as I was meant to be. So are you going to assist me? Because I am throwing a party tomorrow evening.”
“You just said you were not partying.”
“It’s a casting call of sorts—for my mate.”
“Why isn’t Zac organizing your mixer?”
“He has been distracted by Tula.”
Forgetty crossed her arms. “Fine. I’ll talk to the others so they don’t kill you.”
“And will you help me throw the party? Because I cannot risk having anything happen to you ever again. Hurting you was a nightmare I do not wish to repeat. Not for as long as I live.” He genuinely felt sick to his stomach.
She sighed and reached for his arm. “It’s okay. I know you were not yourself.”
“It is not okay. Even though we are not related by blood, I am your brother. It is my job to protect you, sister, and I did not.”
She made a noncommittal groan. “Fine. I will help Jill with the party. And you know, brother, you might want to try apologizing more often. You have done a lot of reckless, insensitive things over your lifetime and this is the first time you’ve ever said sorry. I think I like this new side of you.”
“Noted.”
“But you really need to start wearing pants.”
He glanced down at his groin. “I did not want tan lines.”
Forgetty rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I gotta intercept our brethren before they find you.”
“Thank you, sister.”
“Yeah, yeah. Go find some clothes and stay out of trouble.” Forgetty sauntered off.
That was easy. Who knew that a simple apology would go so far? Perhaps he should apologize to Jill so that she’d do an even better job on his mixer.
His cell chirped. Jill had retrieved it from the dumpster along with his keys, shoes, and shorts before picking up his car.
He glanced down at the small table where his phone lay next to the lounge chair. Unknown number. It was likely Cimil calling to tell him what an epic immortal douche he was.
He hit the green button. “God of Wine, Intoxication, Loose Morals, and Lost Heads.”
“Acan?” said a female voice.
Oh shit. “Margarita?”
“Yes.”
“How did you obtain this number?” he asked.
“I called the salon, who gave me your assistant’s number. She said it would be okay if I called you. By the way, she’s wonderful. So polite and friendly. Where did you find her?”
I wish I could remember. In his mind, Jill sort of showed up one day and never left his employ.
“She came recommended through a friend. So to what do I owe this pleasure?” I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. Ever again. But it pleased him to hear her voice after this morning’s horrific episode of “alley fuck with a god gone wrong.”
“You disappeared during the marathon, and I wanted to be sure you were all right.”
She wanted to check up on him? How very thoughtful; however, he was the one who should be inquiring about her. She’d tangled with the Decapitator this morning—a brush with evil that had left her feeling rejected and angry once again, when really he’d only been saving her.
I’m a godsdamned hero. Did it matter that it was his fault that she’d been in danger? Nah. Me. Hero. All the way.
“Yes, I’m fine,” he said. “But I’m afraid I’m not much of a runner. You left me in the dust after the first block.”
“That’s strange, because I could see you—I mean you are pretty tall. About seven feet, right?”
Hmmm…Margarita seemed suspicious. He decided to play innocent.
With a chuckle he said, “Then you must’ve witnessed my very masculine display of panting.”
“Not exactly.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
“Cut the crap, Acan. I watched you being corralled into a tavern by a horde of sandwich fixings, and I followed you inside. You scrambled out the back door when I called your name.”
Uh-oh. It seemed that she’d figured him out.
Not good.
He could not afford any more problems, and problems he would have if she’d caught on to who he truly was. He would have to report it, and the gods would demand that her memory be wiped—a disaster for her because they usually left it to A.C., the God of Eclipses, or K’ak, the God of…well, he didn’t have an official title yet, but Acan supposed he’d be the God of Enormous Serpent Headdresses, Togas, or Lightning. All very respectable skills, of course. In any case, when they wiped a memory, it was the equivalent of using a sledgehammer. The human sometimes lost years of memories.
I must nip this in the bud. And he’d use Forgetty, who could easily reach into the mind of a human and extract particular memories. She’s like a neurosurgeon without the scalpel. But before he did that, he would need to determine if the rules had truly been broken.
“I assure you, Margarita, I was in no such tavern. You must’ve mistaken me for someone else. My brother perhaps?”
“Yeah. That’s the thing. I could’ve sworn I saw you leaving out the back door, but I found your brother in the alley. Just why is that, Acan?”
All right, she was either catching on to him or she believed him to be a very sly and sleazy man who worked with his belligerent brother to trap women in alleys in order to have their way with them. Which was it?
Ha. I know what to do.
“Margarita, would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” If she believed him to be one of those scoundrels who preyed on women, then she would not want anything to do with him.
“What I want are answers. Be at my place. Nine o’clock. But no bullshit. I want to know what the hell is going on.”
Jesus Hey-sus Cristo. Please tell me she has no clue. Because if she knew too much, it would mean that he’d have to ask Forgetty to handle this. And then she will forget all about me. Forever.
His heart fell to his bare feet. Wait. Waaait… He froze and witnessed with absolute clarity how his body seemed heavy, drooping with sadness. He then thought of seeing her again, those large green eyes, her tight little butt, the other unmentionables he would gladly mention if it were not for his current state of undress. Dear gods, could fuzzy cunt be the one?
No. No! You cannot refer to your mate like that.
What? Dear gods! No. Why did I think that? She could not be his mate. She hated him. He thought she was uptight.
Yet she still finds you hot enough to shag you in your state of awesome beer belliness. Acan rubbed his brow. He had to be mistaken. Fucking horrible Universe, you would do this to me, wouldn’t you? If the Universe had mated him with his polar opposite, someone who didn’t like to have a good time and party, he’d rather die. Only he couldn’t die.
Yes. But you can reject her and choose another. It used to be unheard of—this not marrying the one your mother (aka the Universe) picked out for you—but there were instances popping up of immortals rejecting their intended mates in lieu of a soul mate. That demigod Andrus had just done it, and then Andrus’s rejected mate, Charlotte, mated with another demigod, Tommaso. They’d been shuffling the deck of love cards, so to speak.
Then I shall do the same. He would meet with Margarita, confirm what she knew, and then have him wiped from her memory. He’d have his mixer, find a more suitable woman, and party happily ever after.
“Text me the address. See you at nine.” He ended the call, feeling completely annoyed. The thought of seeing Margarita again made him all squishy inside. Likewise, the thought of never seeing her again rubbed him the wrong way.
No. I must end this. She’s just not right for me.