Colel

by Pamfiloff, Mimi Jean

  What was I thinking? Rys rolled onto his back and stared up at the horrible pink clouds on the ceiling of his bedroom.

  Damn, I really need to paint over that. It was just one more reminder of why he’d never get serious about a woman ever again, especially an artist. Never in a million years could he have imagined things playing out as they had. It was enough to break a man. It nearly had. Which was why he couldn’t go there again.

  So why the fuck did I want to see Colel? It was almost as if he couldn’t help himself. One minute, he’s watching her drive away from the diner, thinking to himself that he’d never witnessed anything so disturbing as a person entirely covered in bees while behind the wheel, and then the next moment he’s fighting the urge to go after her.

  Why? Maybe it was the way she’d looked at him in the diner with those shockingly beautiful eyes the color of a tropical ocean. Or maybe it was the way her pouty little mouth smiled seductively in an invitation to “thank him” for rescuing her. One thing was certain, he hadn’t been laid since Darla, his ex, who fucking broke his heart and left him feeling dead inside.

  Yeah, that’s why I went to see Colel and didn’t even bother knocking. His dick made him do it. All he could think about was her damned offer. Because his brain, the real one, wanted her gone. Any woman who could make him act like a mindless teenager was trouble.

  Oh, man, but that body… Just to have one taste of her. She’d stood there in the bedroom doorway naked, letting him take in the view of her firm round breasts with those perfect little nipples and those long, long legs that stretched all the way to a golden patch of hair he just wanted to shove his face into and—

  “No. Fuck this.” He sat up from bed and planted his feet on the cool hardwood floor. I don’t fucking care how beautiful she is. Or that seeing her was the first time in months he hadn’t felt that ache in his chest. She had to go. There was no room in his heart for a woman. And there was no room in his life for another person to worry about. I’ve got all the people I can handle… If you can call them that.

  He got up and slid on his jeans. He still had more roads to clear, and then he needed to come up with a way to get that woman out of his rental and out of town.

  Before I repeat history and do something stupid.

  As the storm raged on outside, Colel’s nerves raged with it. The entire day, in between working on her hiking maps, she’d rehearsed what she would say to Rys over the phone.

  She needed to be the strong goddess that she was without plowing over his male sensibilities. If he truly was a wounded bee, his wings needed to heal, not be crapped on by a giant eagle of feminine greatness.

  I need to earn his trust so he won’t think I’m nuts when I say I want to date him. And…turn him into a vile bloodsucking monster.

  After a lengthy nap with a thousand of her cuddliest friends, she got up, found a private room downstairs, and called the number on the rental contract.

  Voicemail.

  Crap. She held the cell in her hand for a moment. Hadn’t the waitress at the diner told her to call there when they had a major storm like this?

  Colel quickly looked up the number, shocked that she still had Wi-Fi. Oh, goodie. I can watch Lucifer tonight. I love bad boys. Especially the ones who punished bad people.

  She dialed the diner, and a man with a deep voice answered.

  “Good evening, sir. I’m looking for Rys.”

  “This an emergency? ’Cause he’s got fifteen miles of road to plow tonight, and we need them cleared.”

  “Uh. Ummm…not exactly. But might I leave a message for him or, even better, could I have his cell phone?”

  “What do I look like, lady? His secretary?”

  “No, sir. I can’t even see you,” she replied.

  “Funny. I’m hanging up now. I suggest you refrain from making any more booty calls until the storm has passed.”

  “Booty call?” She cringed.

  “What? You think you’re the first horny woman in town calling for Rys during this blizzard? He’s not interested, so find another way to warm yourself, lady. Leave us to our work.”

  The call ended.

  “Wha…wha…” Colel stared at her phone. “Asshole! I might be horny, but I deserve respect like any man.” The gods knew that rain or shine, men were all horniness, all the time. Wet or dry. Bomb cyclone or…whatever the opposite of that is.

  With a huff, she put her ancient but agile brain to use. “So stupid. I should’ve thought of this first.”

  She Googled Rys’s flower shop. There was another number listed on the website along with a last name.

  Thurinus? Now there’s a surname I haven’t heard in a while. If her memory served, there’d been a family of Thurinuses in ancient Rome. That’s right. That Augustus guy. He loved flowers. In fact, he was the first human to open a public garden.

  Was this another sign? If Rys was descended from a long line of flower lovers, it could mean something. Because nothing goes together with bees better than flowers.

  Except that he’s allergic to bees.

  She dialed the new number, but it just rang and rang. About to give up, she pulled her cell from her ear to hang up.

  “Yeah?” said a deep sexy voice.

  “Rys!” She shoved the phone to her ear and sat up straight, feeling her heart perk up.

  “Who’s this?”

  “It’s Colel, but don’t hang up.” She hurried through her words. “I need to tell you something.”

  “What? You’re naked again and covered in insects you’ve trained to kill innocent people?”

  “Errr…is this a trick question?” Because she was naked. It felt easier to speak her mind that way. Her bees were still playing poker, however. One of the drones was two hands away from taking over as leader of the hive.

  “I have to go.”

  “Wait!” she pleaded. “Don’t hang up. This is important.”

  “More important than a hospital with three feet of snow covering its emergency entrance?”

  If she didn’t find a mate, it was only a question of time before she flipped. Very bad. But if he was “the one,” he would not only save her, he’d be her companion while she embarked on the arduous journey of figuring out what ailed the bees.

  “In the grand scheme of things, yes. What I have to say is more important,” she declared.

  “Colel, I’m working here, and I know that doesn’t mean anything to people like you, but it does to me.”

  Oh, he used my name. It sounded so nice when he said it, even if he was cranky.

  “Rys, I don’t know what horrible, highfalutin woman stomped on your balls, but I promise I’m nothing like her. I’m one in one hundred and ten billion—give or take a billion. All I’m asking is that you hear me out.”

  “Hear you for what?”

  “Something that will change your life. Something that will answer every question you’ve ever had about life. Sorry, strike that. I was overreaching just now, but trust me, this is big, and you won’t see things the same after.”

  “Thought I made myself clear. Not interested.”

  Her phone went dead.

  “He hung up on me?” I try to pour out my heart and he hangs up? Sonofabitch!

  She got up, went to her room, grabbed her bathrobe and slippers, and opened the closet door. “So help me, bees,” she shook a finger at them, “if you even flutter one wing toward this door, I will pluck them from your tiny bodies.” This goddess has a thing or two to tell this “nice” small-town florist about how to treat a woman.

  She stomped from her room and downstairs.

  “Colel, where are you going at this hour?” asked Brutus, his hand gripping some playing cards. Like the bees, he and his men had settled in for a quiet night of poker.

  “I’m going out! What does it look like?”

  “But, goddess, the blizzard is in full force. It’s minus twenty out there.”

  “Yeah? Well…winter can suck my warm immortal ass! And don’t fol
low me.”

  “But—”

  “That is a direct order, soldier, and you will not defy me.” She held out her hand.

  “Okay, but—”

  “No. Brutus, sometimes a girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do. Alone!”

  He shook his head and returned to the kitchen, where they were having their little man party.

  That’s right. I’m a goddess. I don’t need saving by anyone and certainly not a man.

  One hour later…

  “Brutus?” Colel’s hand shook with frozen fury. “Can you come get me? I seem to be trapped under an avalanche a mile or so down the road. And if you laugh or say I told you so, I will hurt you.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of laughing. Be there once the game is over.” Brutus hung up.

  “Once the game is over?” They played for days at a time. Very funny, Brutus. Meanwhile, her Jeep had slid off the road, and the snow from the mountain kept piling on, the vehicle’s compartment crushing under the weight.

  Fine. Just kill me. She could use a trip to Mexico anyway. Warm weather, here I come.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “What do you mean I can’t get a flight to Colorado? I’m the Goddess of Bees!”

  “Mistress. You are the Mistress of Bees,” Gabrán corrected like the smug, ancient Scot that he was. He’d worked for the gods since the medieval days, and he hadn’t changed much since then. Inside or out. He still wore his flaming, long red hair in a braid and put those little stone beads in his beard. Not her thing, though the kilt was certainly nice. His stubborn, condescending tone, however, I can do without.

  She threw her hands in the air. “What’s the difference? I picked the stupid name, but that doesn’t mean you get to decide its importance.”

  “The answer is still no. Now, if ya do no’ mind, I must be gettin’ back to the men.”

  “Whoa, whoa, there, Chief. I get that you answer directly to Votan, but don’t forget your place. I’m still a god, and you serve me, too.” She hated pulling rank like that, but she knew how these ancient warriors worked. Macho piglets. On the other hand, the gods couldn’t very well defend the world against evil by using a bunch of frou-frou mama’s boys. Still, I really wanna give them some PC training.

  Gabrán dipped his head, his immortal aquamarine eyes avoiding her. “My apologies. I didno mean any disrespect.”

  “Good. Now get me on a plane back to Crested Butte.” She crossed her arms over her bare chest. Yes, yes. Naked again. That was how she popped out of the watery portal: like a baby. Only much bigger. And quite sexy, if I do say so myself.

  “I’m sorry, Mistress, but that is impossible. We don’t have a plane—”

  “There’s one right there!” She pointed to the enormous green camo thing parked on the jungle-lined tarmac right behind him. From the looks of it, the thing could carry a herd of elephants to the moon. And given that one of the Uchben bases was nearby—a leftover from the days of having to constantly fight those evil Mayan priests—they had a fleet containing every modern aircraft and military vehicle known to man: Fighter jets, helicopters, a spaceship they’d confiscated from Cimil…

  Gabrán drew a stiff breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “Why don’t you get some clothing on, lass, so we might discuss the reasons that it is unsafe teh fly in such conditions.”

  She pushed an angry index finger in his face. “Don’t you lass me, you…you cocky infant.”

  His face turned red and flustered. “I am not an infant. Note the large brawny muscles and firm pectorals.”

  “Noted. They are quite nice. But I was referring to the gray matter inside your thick immortal noggin.” Gabrán had been born human, but over the centuries had proved himself an invaluable warrior. Now he was the head Uchben, but that only made him more ornery.

  “My noggin is as spry and witty as a lad of twenty.” He coughed. “Unlike you gods. Older than dirt.”

  “All right. You wanna play like that? Be my guest.” Not all deities came equipped with super abilities, such as the power to impregnate a room full of people merely by sneezing, but they did come packed with rocket boosters. For example, she contained enough juice in her pinky to power a large submarine. One strategically placed touch on a person’s arm could send them flying into the next state. Thus the reason that any deity who wished to be intimate with a human had to ensure black jade was worn. This magical substance absorbed energy—good or bad—and was only found near their portals. In the case of god-to-human humping, or vice versa, it allowed a deity to have contact with a person while avoiding frying them.

  Crunchy fried mate is never in season.

  Now, people like Margarita—a divorcee, fitness club owner, and single mother—could hook up with the likes of Belch, the God of Wine, Intoxication, and Decapitation. But this fairly recent discovery proved to be much more valuable than merely allowing gods to have sex. Now they were falling in love and starting families, and their mates were helping the gods evolve. In many cases, the couples shared the burden of a god’s power together as a team.

  “Goddess.” Gabrán flashed his large palms. “I see you’re preparing to tan my hide. Just ken this willno change the fact that we canno fly through those winds. The engines could stall in such conditions, and while ya would end up back here in this cenote, my soldiers wouldno.”

  “Oh.” She flapped her mouth for a moment. “Well, that would be bad. But don’t we have another plane? Something polar bear approved?”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid no’, goddess. We spend most of our time flying from base to base.”

  In other words, to states like Kentucky or Texas and cities like Florence, Barcelona, or Scottsdale—places with a high concentration of cool people. Or bat-shit crazy ones. That Scottsdale, for example… She shivered with revulsion.

  “Fine. Got it. So when can you get me back to Colorado?”

  “Shouldna be more than a day or so, goddess. But are you sure you want to return like that?” His turquoise eyes flashed down to her nude lower extremities.

  “Dear gods, Gabrán. You’ve seen my human birthday suit ten thousand times. What’s with the sudden case of prudishness?”

  “No prudes here. But I think ya may have jumped from the cenote a bit too soon.”

  Huh? She looked down at her body one more time. She was missing the skin on her legs.

  Dammit! Seriously? “Well, that’s gross. Mind shooting me in the head?”

  “’Twould be my pleasure, lass.”

  “Thanks. But don’t go too far from the cenote. I’ll be back in a few days. With complete skin and ready to roll.”

  “Very good, goddess.”

  Three days later, Colel sat inside one of the barracks at the Uchben base, about an hour from where she’d popped from the cenote. It was a muggy spring day in the tropics, which made it all the more difficult to comprehend that five hours away by plane, the record-breaking winter storm was beating the crap out of everyone from Canada all the way down to parts of Texas. There’d even been reports of snow in Phoenix, Arizona, which created a fluffy panic. “What’s this white stuff? Are the gods angry at us?”

  They were always angry, but that wasn’t the cause of this Arctic blast in April. Like the Universe, Mother Nature lived by her own rules. Which was why when Gabrán broke the news that it would be one more day, perhaps even two, before they could leave, it didn’t surprise her. As for her bees, she already knew they’d left the rental the moment she’d died the first time, and were on their way.

  She flopped back on her cot, dressed in a toga—her favorite clothing option besides being naked. This particular one she’d fashioned from some camo netting she’d found in one of the hangars.

  I should call Rys, she thought, staring at the plain plaster ceiling. But what would she say? The last time, things hadn’t gone so well. He’d insulted her and then hung up. Maybe it was a good thing she’d gotten caught in that avalanche, because she had intended on letting him have it, and that wouldn’t have
solved anything. She needed him to trust her, to let down his guard and give her a tiny glimpse inside that tough heart of his.

  Perhaps a gesture of goodwill toward his town would crack open that armor. She could ask Gabrán to air-drop supplies the moment the weather broke. The people had been hunkered down for at least five or six days, and it would take them several more to clear the forty miles of road leading down the mountain to the main highway. Yes. That is what I’ll do. I’ll call and offer assistance.

  She turned on her new cell and dialed Rys. It rang three times before that gruff, sexually stimulating voice filled her ear.

  “Colel? Is that you?” he said, sounding panicked.

  How strange. Had he missed her? “’Tis I, good sir. I hope your plowing is going—”

  “Where. The fuck. Are you?” he growled like an angry bear.

  “Excuse me?”

  “We’ve been searching for you for three fucking days. People are out there right now. Freezing! Looking for you!”

  “They are? But why?”

  “Is this some sick joke?”

  “I don’t do sick jokes. Only healthy ones.” It was true. She didn’t enjoy laughing at the expense of others.

  “Someone saw your Jeep skid off the road and plunge down the mountain. I found it with the aid of our search and rescue team. We figured you got out since there was no body, but do you have any idea what you’ve put the people of this town through? What you put me through?”

  She honestly didn’t know what to make of his anger. And call me crazy, but he almost sounds like a worried husband. Her heart tingled. “I’m very, very sorry. I had no idea.”

  “Where are you?” Rys griped.

  “Funny story.” I died. Twice. And now I’m in Southern Mexico with a brand spanking new body. “Actually, I, uh…I can’t tell you.”

  “What do you mean ‘you can’t tell me’? I haven’t slept in days. I was out there killing myself, worried like hell. But you can’t tell me?”

  How could she explain leaving town during the blizzard? “I can’t tell you because, well, then I’d have to kill you.” That was a common phrase used by humans, wasn’t it? But would he go for it?