Colel

by Pamfiloff, Mimi Jean

  “Sounds more like winter ate a bowl of bad clam chowder and is about to gift us with her frozen diarrhea.”

  “Thanks for the colorful description,” he said flatly.

  “You’re welcome.” She was known for being colorful. After all, what kind of bee would want to hang out with some drab, monochromatic person? “Guess this means I’d better check on the local hives first thing in the morning.”

  Brutus gave her a stern, disapproving look with those turquoise eyes—a telltale sign of his immortality.

  “What?” she snapped.

  “The storm will make it nearly impossible to hike any of the trails.”

  She swiped her hand through the air. “I’ll be fine. I mean, really, what’s the worst that can happen? I’m immortal.”

  “You might become trapped in an avalanche, and then I will have to come rescue you.”

  “So? You’re immortal, too.”

  “Yes, but I do not like the cold. It’s…cold.”

  “What a wuss,” she mumbled under her breath. “All right. For the record, then, if I’m ever trapped in an avalanche, I give you permission to let me die.”

  “I prefer not to. But what is the hurry, anyway? Not as if the world’s crises are going anywhere.”

  Time was of the essence in terms of figuring out why the world’s population of bees was disappearing. No bees equaled no food for humans. Still, he had a point. Waiting for the storm to subside would make it easier to hike to the hives she needed to visit.

  Plus, it will allow me extra time to check on the angry florist. “I will wait until the skies have cleared to finish my work.”

  “Very good. And where would you like my men to sleep?” Brutus asked.

  She shrugged. “I’ve got the master. Pick a room.”

  “And where would you like me to sleep?”

  Did I not just say to pick a room? “Wherever you like.”

  He stared for a long moment.

  Am I missing something? Some etiquette or protocol? Does he want me to personally show him to a bed? “Why are you staring like that? Have I offended you in some way?”

  “No.”

  “Then?” she pushed.

  He blinked with his trademark give-nothing-away expression. “I will get started on dinner.” He turned and walked away.

  Well, that wasn’t awkward. Perhaps after he had a full stomach, she could attempt to ask him what was the matter. At the moment, he seemed about as open as Fort Knox. Sadly, though, whatever the source of his perturbances, she had bigger problems on her petals.

  Early the next morning, Colel lay in her king-size bed, the remnants of a log crackling in the fireplace of her room while the freezing wind whipped against the windows.

  Ugh. Morning already? She’d tossed and turned all night, thoughts of Rys whirling in her head, making it impossible to fall asleep. Again, not that she required sleep, but she sure the hell enjoyed it, so not getting any put her in one hell of a thorny mood. Damn him.

  She got up, quietly dug out her warmest outfit—a soft yellow turtleneck and white leather pants—from the dresser drawer in the corner and snuck from the room. The hive was still purring away inside her hat, which she’d left in the walk-in closet. If she hurried, she could make it to the flower shop before they realized she was gone. Obviously, she couldn’t talk to him with her bees around.

  I just hope he’s an early riser, as his name alludes to. If not, perhaps she’d play stalker and find out where he lived. Not at all weird to show up at his home. After all, she might be his mate.

  Once in the foyer, she threw on a white ski cap, her hiking boots with the faux-fur linings, and her yellow parka.

  “Where are you going this early?” Brutus stood shirtless in the dark doorway leading to the bedrooms on the first floor.

  “I’m, uhh…” Her eyes then caught the shadow of something sticking out from his groin.

  Oh. And he’s bottomless, too. With a lovely large stiffy. “Mind putting that away before someone gets their eye poked out?”

  He looked down, seemingly unaware of his state of undress and arousal. “My apologies, goddess. I enjoy sleeping commando.” He slid two large hands over his nether region. “And I need to take a leak—the reason I was up and heard you trying to sneak out.”

  “I’m not sneaking,” she lied. “I’m just being polite. Didn’t want to wake anyone.”

  The darkness covered most of his expression, but she knew he was frowning. “Then where are you so politely going?”

  “None of your beeswax.”

  “I merely ask so that I may assist you, should you require it.”

  “Oh.” She blinked rapidly, feeling a little buffoonish. “In that case, none of your beeswax, but thank you for the offer.”

  It was obvious Brutus had more to say on the matter, but thankfully, he let it go. She didn’t want to quarrel with him. Of all the Uchben soldiers, including Gabrán, the chief, Brutus was her favorite.

  “Then I will take care of my rock-solid manhood.” He turned, showing off his hard, round ass as he disappeared down the dark hallway, grumbling about…

  Me missing out on something? Whatever did he mean? “Get a bathrobe, Mr. Show-Off. You’re not impressing anyone with your salami-branch!” The moment her loud words left her mouth, she realized her mistake. Oh no. My bees probably heard that. She grabbed her car keys from a small side table in the foyer and rushed out the front door. This was something she had to do alone.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The drive into town had been much more exciting than Colel expected. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone anywhere alone. No bees. No immortal soldiers. Just her, the yellow rental Jeep, and tons of snow.

  “Okay, maybe a little too much snow?” Only a mile shy of Main Street, she hit a patch of road that had yet to be plowed. It had looked innocent enough, all fluffy and white, but now her tires were spinning.

  She threw the Jeep into reverse, but the wheels only ground against the icy asphalt while she stayed in place.

  Godsdammit.

  She reached for her cell to call Brutus. “What?” Her pocket was empty. With the rush to exit the house, she’d forgotten to grab it from the nightstand, where it had been charging.

  Fine. Guess I’ll have to get out and walk.

  A loud knock on the driver’s side window startled her in her seat. “Dear gods!” A man in a black parka with a fur-trimmed hood stood just outside her door.

  “Need help?” he yelled, his voice deep and delicious.

  She lowered the window to better see him. Though most of his face was covered, she’d recognize those sinfully seductive bedroom eyes anywhere. Mr. Angry Flowers.

  “It’s you,” he said, sounding not at all pleased to see her.

  What was with this guy? “Yes. It’s me. And look. No bees.” Yet. The day was still young.

  “How nice for you,” he said blandly. “What are you doing out here at six in the morning in the middle of a storm?”

  Errrr…coming to stalk you? “I needed coffee. None at my place.”

  “Everyone knows not to get on the roads unless it’s an emergency, in which case, they should be calling 9-1-1.”

  “Thank you for lecturing me. A woman always appreciates it,” she said with a sarcastic bite.

  “Want a tow or not?” The wind gusted, knocking down his hood, giving her a better look at those plump, manly lips surrounded by a thick growth of inky stubble.

  Goose bumps erupted over every inch of her body. No doubt about it, being in his presence had an instant effect. Like a love Taser. Kind of painful, but also electrifying.

  “Yes. I would appreciate a tow. Thank you,” she said.

  He covered his head again. “I need to finish plowing this stretch of road first. Wait here.”

  He walked back to his truck, and she observed every step through her side mirror. Even with his bulky clothing, she could make out the shape of him. The wide shoulders, the sureness in his step,
the way his back remained straight and proud.

  Mmmm… Colel like.

  After a few moments, he passed her on the other side of the road, pushing snow onto the shoulder, which was nothing more than a few feet of dirt leading to a really steep cliff.

  I should’ve guessed he drove a contraption like that. His personality reminded her of a snowplow, all pushy and hard.

  Once again, she had to wonder why the Universe would give her the warm fuzzies for such a grumpy bear. Sure, his outsides were nice—your typically handsome, thirtysomething male with a strong jawline and regally arched brows that gave him the appearance of a determined proud man. The lips and thick dark lashes were quite lovely, too.

  But she was no ordinary woman. She’d seen billions of beautiful human men over her existence, and they all had one thing in common: they got old, their lights faded, and they died. Whoever became her mate had to bring something more than a hot set of abs to the table. He had to have a sharp wit, the heart of a lion, and the soul of a saint.

  A dirty saint. Okay, fine. He just needed to be a good, loyal guy who would take care of her heart. If he could rock her world in bed, too, she’d consider that a major perk. Major.

  She watched Rys’s truck make its way down the road and then double back. Within a few short minutes he had the front of her Jeep hitched to the back of his truck.

  A handy man, that one. She wondered what else he was good at.

  He walked over to her window. “Put the Jeep in neutral. Foot off the brake until you’re all clear and you see me stop.”

  She nodded, noting the way he liked taking charge. If a man were to be by her side for eternity, he’d have to hold his own, but this still didn’t guarantee he was her intended mate. Fact was, he hated bees. And he hates me!

  “Aye aye, captain.” She gave a little salute.

  He flashed an unappreciative look—frown, flat lips, basically his go-to face, from what she could tell—and got back in his truck.

  Suddenly, she felt her brain tingling. Uh-oh. Chuck and the fuzzy bunch are awake. And from the sensation in her head, they were pissed.

  Well, too darn bad. I’m a deity, and I’ll go where I want, when I want. Of course, these were just words. The bond she felt with these creatures, who were critical to mankind’s survival, wasn’t to be taken lightly. Not one of the other gods had been chosen to shepherd another species outside of humans—a tribute to the importance of bees. So important that she’d chosen to be called Mistress of Bees rather than the Goddess of Bees. A mistress served rather than ruled, and as any bee would tell you, they already had a queen. They simply needed someone to watch over them.

  Of course, I’m failing at my one and only job. It broke her heart.

  Her Jeep now free of the snow, Rys’s brake lights came on, and she stopped her vehicle. She watched him work with those strong arms to unhitch her Jeep, imagining him naked the entire time. Hmmm…nice.

  Honestly, the event left her all toasty and glowing inside, until he didn’t come over to her window. Instead, he jerked his head, got back in his truck, and drove off.

  Hmph! He didn’t even allow me to thank him. How was she supposed to get to the bottom of this, or him, if he stomped away like that?

  Colel tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. She only had a short amount of time before her hive came looking for her. This blizzard would do nothing to deter them. Like her, they were immortal, though if their bodies were destroyed, they could die. Fire, explosions, or just a good squashing could take them out. But not snow.

  She put her Jeep into gear and took the narrow, windy road into town. The very first building was the café, painted bright purple with yellow trim. The entire town had an Old West flavor with the two-story wood-framed buildings that butted up against one another. Only, instead of everything being left a drab brown, each store had been painted in bright, uniquely contrasting colors—electric blue and orange, deep purple and yellow, green and reds. It reminded her of flowers in the springtime.

  Colel pulled in front of the café, noting the sheriff’s car, the fire truck, and Rys’s pickup.

  I hope everything’s all right. She killed the engine and hopped out. Brrr! This was the sort of cold that seeped into a person’s bones.

  She rushed inside, her teeth chattering as she stomped the snow from her boots on the mud mat. At the counter, a group of men and women in uniforms sat around gabbing and sipping coffee.

  “Be right with ya, sweetie,” the waitress said, pouring a cup of coffee for one of the officers at the counter.

  Busy chatting with one of the firefighters, Rys glanced over his shoulder. The moment he realized it was her, the warm light died in his eyes.

  Oh boy. This wasn’t promising. Sure, she was a deity, all-powerful and mostly knowing, but she still had feelings.

  Wanting a moment to regroup, she slid into one of the booths along the window. She had to come up with some way to determine who this man truly was to her.

  If not my mate, then who? What other person or species could give her tummy flutters and make her womanly button tingle with such need?

  “You must not be from around here,” said the waitress, who’d come over, still holding her pot of coffee. She wore jeans, a green T-shirt, and a black apron.

  “Just staying a few days, waiting for the storm to die down.”

  “Ah. Well, don’t wait too long. I’ve lived here my entire life, and when we get weather this bad, it always comes in twos. You’ll get a day in between, if you’re lucky.”

  Colel nodded. “Noted. Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it. Coffee?”

  “Sure.” Colel slid the clean mug on the table toward the woman.

  “So, since you’re not from here, then you probably don’t know that when we get hit with snow like this, we only serve hot coffee and sandwiches. It’s free, but that’s because the diner becomes our command central. It helps for everyone in town to know where to go for help. Snowed in, medical emergencies, what have you—if the phone lines go down or cell towers go out, which they always do, people can call us on our shortwave and get help. Sometimes, we get completely cut off from the rest of the world for days. It’s just us, the cold, and the mountains.”

  They’re only missing Jack Nicholson and the creepy bleeding elevator. “How exciting,” Colel said flatly.

  The waitress shrugged. “Not going to help much if you’re having a heart attack and don’t have a CB, but sure beats trying to track down the paramedics via smoke signal. You just get on over to Mary’s Café,” she pointed to the name tag on her apron, which read Mary, “or get a neighbor to send word. Sooner or later, someone will come to the rescue.”

  The “or later” part is definitely valuable. “Does that mean everything is shut down today?” For example, the flower shop?

  “Pretty much, but if you need anything, just let me know. We help each other out around here.”

  How sweet. Humans who actually gave a crap. “I was kind of hoping to buy some roses for—”

  “Oh, well, Rys, our resident florist, is right over there.”

  Before Colel could get a word in to explain that she was merely wondering when Rys might return to his shop, so that she could corner him for a private conversation, Mary was flagging Rys down. “This woman needs some roses. Can you help her out?”

  Rys narrowed his dark eyes, but then gave a courteous nod to Mary.

  “Don’t let the growling fool ya,” Mary leaned in to whisper. “He’s a pussycat with a heart of gold. Just been through a lot lately. That poor, poor man.” Mary shook her head with pity.

  Been through a lot? Like what? Mary’s comment definitely got the old hamster wheel turning.

  Mary added, “But I promise you, he’s a real gentleman. All the single women in town keep trying to catch him. Oh—be right back.” Mary went to help a woman who’d entered covered head to toe in snow, but she still managed to yell at Rys about the roses again.

  Colel looked u
p and watched the mighty snowplower slash florist with the hateful gaze approach. She hadn’t noticed it before, but now there was a definite note of unease in his eyes. Not hate, but unease.

  Was it because of her? Had her bees reopened the deep wounds of his past? He said his brother died from a bee sting, you moron. Obviously, he didn’t like being reminded of it.

  Now she felt horrible. “Sorry to interrupt your coffee. I didn’t mean I needed roses right this second,” she explained sheepishly.

  She noticed his parka was open now, exposing a bit of snug white T-shirt underneath. His chest looked nice and firm, but what did she care? Hot bodies were a dime a doozy. Dozer? Dozen? Oh, whatever! Can’t remember every human colloquialism.

  “Then why are you interrupting me?” He crossed his arms over his wide chest.

  “All right, I get it,” she said. “You hate me. I’d ask why, but the truth is I don’t care. I’m the sort of woman who lives by her own moral code.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning you’ve done nothing to me,” except behave like a jerk, but I may have deserved it, “so I cannot hate you back. Therefore, I am obliged to thank you for coming to my rescue.”

  “It’s my job. I have to keep the roads clear so emergency vehicles can pass.”

  “Oh. Well…then I thank you for being very good at your job. And I must also thank you for giving me your honey yesterday. I will repay you, of course.”

  “I enjoy being alive. I wanted you and your squad of assassins out of my flower shop.”

  Assassins? Who told him? “I still must thank you.”

  “Not necessary. So, now if you’re done kissing my ass, I’d like to finish my coffee before I have to get back out on the road.”

  Grrrr… Why was he trying so hard to offend her? “But you haven’t heard my offer.”

  “Offer for what?”

  “Of how I’d like to thank you.” She raised one golden brow suggestively and presented her most flirtatious smile. It was the sort of smile that once brought kings and Roman emperors to their knees. Of all the goddesses, it was said she was the loveliest. Of course, these days, all she got were propositions from perverts or modeling agents. With her silky long hair, high cheekbones, and tall goddess body, people often mistook her for a runway model. The bees came in very handy at getting men to back off.