Dammit, she didn’t want to fight with him. She wanted to talk. She wanted to know if her heart, her soul, should dare to dream that Antonio might be the Universe granting her wish.
Let him finish the foot rub. Maybe he’ll calm down and then you can talk. She grumbled like a petulant child and relaxed in the chair, signaling her submission. He sank back on his heels, grabbed the bottle of oil to his side, coated his hand, and spitefully jerked her foot directly in front of him.
He slathered each toe and then her heel and ankle. When his strong hand reached the lower calf muscle, he looked straight up the line of her leg and froze. She watched as his eyes zeroed in, right on her.
Oops. She snapped her legs shut as his gaze turned from a deep olive green to charcoal black.
Uh-oh. A vampire with black eyes only meant one of three things: hungry, angry, or inconsolably horny.
In her case it had to be… Well, it had to be… He just looked at your womanly pride and joy. But he couldn’t possibly…
She tried to retrieve her foot but it was in vampire lockdown.
His head dipped and he placed his warm mouth forcefully over her pinkie toe. A tiny squeal involuntarily escaped her mouth followed by his groan.
“You liked that, did you?” he said in a gravelly voice. His mouth moved to her ankle and sucked. “You like having a disgusting vampire touch you, don’t you, Ixtab?”
Chest heaving, hands gripping the armchair for dear life, she replied, “I don’t think you’re disgusting—” She felt the faint scrape of a fang brush her lower calf as his hot tongue and mouth massaged their way up another inch. “I think you’re—Oh, gods.” Every touch, every miniscule point of contact felt like exquisite, little convulsions rocketing through her body. After thousands of years of being deprived of physical contact, every inch of her skin lit up with sensual explosions. She gripped the chair even harder.
“Say it. You think I’m what?” he asked with that heavy voice saturated with sex. One strong hand slid its way up her inner thigh while his mouth and tongue slowly worked their way up the inside of the other leg.
“Very… very…” She clamped her eyes shut and felt his sharp teeth scrape their way a little higher.
“Very what?” His hot breath bathed her inner thigh. Then one hand moved another inch and then another until she felt their roughness brush over her sensitive flesh between her legs.
She bucked lightly and her nipples hardened to sharp points. “Oh, gods.” Naughty vampire. No one had ever touched her like that. Ever. And the most arousing thing of all was how he took control. No shame or shyness. No permission asked. He simply did what pleased him. Gods be damned, but now she knew what she’d been missing out on all these thousands of years. In her wildest dreams she would never have imagined.
“Very sexy,” she finally answered with a breath.
“Good,” he replied and then ran one hot finger down the middle of her slick valley. “Now, show me how much you like me.”
Show him? Show him? If she did that, she would be grabbing that thick dark hair of his and riding his face like a drunk cowgirl who’d found the last bronking bucko on the planet.
His mouth worked an inch closer to her sensitive bud, and she knew only a moment of contact would be required. He withdrew his hand to make way for his mouth in the space she’d narrowly allowed him. Oh, gods…
She glanced down to see the most erotic sight she’d ever witnessed. His one hand had reached down to free his hard cock from the confinement of those hot leather pants. She couldn’t see his manhood, but she saw the unmistakable, rhythmic pumping of his hand.
Holy deities of sex and sin, he was pleasuring himself to the view of her.
“Tu flor de mujer es tan exquisita.” He groaned.
Had he just called her womanly bit an exquisite flower? Her mind swam in an endless, delicious mess of sexual images displayed before her.
The exact moment his mouth covered her flower, his free hand slid up her torso and clasped her breast over the fabric of her dress. With his large, firm touch he massaged her breast in time to the expert strokes of his delving tongue and pumping hand.
Holy deities of ancient Babylonia, she’d never experienced such a sensation.
“Don’t stop. Ohmygods. Don’t stop.”
His silky, hot tongue dipped and stroked and glided over the tiny bundle of sparkling nerves. They coiled with delicious tension. “Oh, gods, don’t stop.”
His hot, panting breath quickened with each tiny jab of his tongue. “Never. You taste so delicious. So fucking sweet.”
“Yes. Yes.” She was centimeters away from experiencing that wave of mind-crippling nirvana. She rocked her pelvis against his tongue. “Holy stars and moon, Francisco!”
He stopped.
She stopped.
Every creature on the planet stopped to tsk in her general direction.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Did I call him Francisco?
“Did you just say… ‘Holy stars and moon, Francisco?’ ” He scowled.
Yes… Yes, I did. Shit.
Before she could say a word, Antonio was gone.
Oh no. Oh no…
Maybe there was such a thing as second chances. But what she now needed was a third.
Chapter Veintiuno
“What do you mean, you ‘lost’ Antonio?” Penelope asked from the other end of the cell phone.
Ixtab paced across the giant gourmet chef’s kitchen, glaring at the perfect little chocolate caramel soufflé. “Stop mocking me. Okay? It was a perfectly innocent mistake.”
“I’m not mocking you,” Penelope replied. “I’m confused.”
“I was talking to the soufflé.” Ixtab turned her back on the dessert, which served as a sad little reminder of how she’d wrecked the entire evening. “What’s there to be confused about? I lost him.”
I really, really lost him. The one male in the Universe who’d perhaps been born for her.
“How does one ‘lose’ a vampire exactly?”
“Well, we were… um… Antonio and I were—”
Penelope squealed on the other end of the phone. “I knew it! I knew it! You do like him! And I could tell he’s totally into you, too. The way he pretends to hate you, it’s so fifth grade. So how was it? Did you?”
Ixtab cringed as she heard Kinich’s deep voice in the background over the phone.
“I think they did it,” Penelope told him.
“Did she keep the veil on?” Kinich asked.
“I don’t know. Let me ask,” she replied to him.
Ugh! Idiots. “Yes. I kept the veil on, but we didn’t have sex.” We might’ve if I hadn’t screwed it up. Worst of all, she’d humiliated him. Now he would never trust her, and she would suffer an eternity without knowing what they really meant to each other.
“Why not? Were you too afraid? Because my mom told me what you look li—”
“I called him by another man’s name,” Ixtab blurted out. “In the heat of the moment.”
“Oh, that’s bad,” Penelope replied. “She called him another man’s name,” she repeated to Kinich, who began laughing hysterically in the background.
“Glad you find this funny,” Ixtab barked.
“Ssssh, honey. Let me finish talking to her.” Pause. “Sorry, Ixtab. I’m listening.”
“Good. Because he left and took the tablet with him.”
“Maybe he’s on his way back to New York,” Penelope offered.
Ixtab shrugged and turned around. The soufflé still sat there on the large granite island, still mocking her with its giant chocolaty goodness. “I checked with the Uchben. They haven’t seen him.”
“He probably took a commercial plane.”
Ixtab’s phone beeped. “Hold on.” She pulled the device from her ear and saw a text. It was from the Uchben chief. Crapola.
She returned the phone to her ear. “The Uchben tracked him through Customs. He got on a flight to Spain.”
“I guess you’re going to Spain, then. Would you
like me to text you the immortal groveling instructions?” Penelope offered.
“No, thanks. I’ve got it committed to memory.”
“Ixtab? I know I don’t have to say this, but we need him.”
Silence. “I know.” There were less than eight months left to open the portal. “What I don’t understand is how you can be so calm and so happy.”
“I have faith. And I have Kinich.”
“So, you don’t believe the end is near?” Ixtab asked.
“No. I don’t. Because you are going to fix this. That portal will open; we will get our warriors back and win. There is no other possible outcome.”
Ixtab wished she were as confident as Penelope. But in all her thousands of years, she’d never seen the cards so stacked against them. Most of all, she’d never seen one of Cimil’s prophecies be wrong; although now, they all understood that Cimil couldn’t truly see the future—she merely spoke to the dead, who apparently lived in another dimension where time ceased to exist, which was an entirely different conundrum all together. Still, she’d never seen Cimil once be wrong. If she said the world would end before the autumnal equinox, then it would.
Ixtab sighed. “I’ll get the vampire physicist back.” Somehow. Maybe she was making this into a bigger deal than it was? She’d only called him by another man’s name. It was an honest mistake. And once she explained the reason behind it, he would understand. Or perhaps he will find it disturbing that he looks like the lost love of your life and believe that’s the only reason you want him.
Then again, Antonio had fared well with all of the oddities thrown his way. Extremely well. Magical tablets, vampirism, deities. Nothing seemed to faze him.
Except you…
* * *
Somewhere in Europe…
Giant, furry pink suitcase in hand, Cimil skidded on her red platform shoes into the ultra-baroque-style living room of Roberto’s vampire lair. “Honey!” she screamed “Have you seen my pony?”
There was no reply. “Roberto! Pony! Now!”
Again, no reply.
Cimil stomped her foot. “One would think a vampire might have better hearing.”
Cimil turned and slammed into a tall, cold wall. “Ugh! I hate it when you sneak up on me like that. Have you seen my pony? It’s time to go, and you can’t be late. You must be there when the portal opens and make sure nothing goes wrong!”
Roberto didn’t respond.
Cimil sighed. “I know they’re expecting me, not you, but that doesn’t matter.”
Roberto blinked.
“Of course, I’m worried,” Cimil replied. “Ixtab has to get sucked in with the incubus, and the Maaskab cannot leave. The events are all tied together and there’s a point zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-one chance that the physicist will fail. Got it?”
Roberto, with his black eyes and equally black hair, shook his head slowly. Then again, Roberto seemed to do everything as if he had all the time in the world. Which they didn’t. That clock was ticking, and there was no room for errors. Not this time.
“Gasp!” shook her finger at him. “You ate him! Didn’t you? You ate Mr. Mylittle!”
Roberto shrugged casually.
“Dammit!” Cimil smacked him on the chest. “I told you to stop eating my pets—except for the clowns. They’re okay, but fangs off the others!”
Roberto simply stared.
“Oh, don’t you give me that look,” she quibbled. “It was no honest mistake. You knew that pony was special. Hell in a bicycle basket! We’ll talk this later; we’ll miss our plane! Grab the luggage, would you?”
Roberto dipped his head and followed her out the door.
No, no room for mistakes now. Everything was going according to plan, and it was up to her to ensure things stayed that way.
Chapter Veintidós
Antonio’s family lived about an hour northwest of Barcelona in one of the oldest winemaking regions of Europe near Vilafranca del Penedès. The area also held the distinction of housing the Santa Maria de Montserrat abbey, home to the world’s oldest, functioning printing press and the sacred Black Madonna. Ironically, it had been the monastery Francisco belonged to. Maybe that’s why Ixtab hadn’t visited this place for centuries and opted to spend most of her time in densely populated cities that provided plentiful distractions from her woes.
As the town car wound up the tree-lined hillside, neat little rows of skeletal, hibernating vines blanketing every visible mile, she couldn’t help but remember how the world once looked. Life was so much simpler before its taming. For humans and for deities.
Really now? Back then, only the most powerful and wealthy of humans were entitled to a good life free from starvation, tyranny, and oppression. And modern medicine, well, what a horrible misery life was for the masses before its existence. There was a time, not so long ago, that mothers watched their children die from the flu. They were lucky if a few survived to adulthood. Yes, everyone struggled. As for deities, well, back then, life wasn’t a box of assorted doughnuts, either, now that she really thought about it. Unlike her other brethren, her power of releasing one’s soul from darkness required a more… personal touch, one might say. Long journeys over oceans on rickety wooden boats, weeks on horseback or by foot, it could take twelve months to travel from the portal in Mexico to eastern Europe or Asia.
Funny how one always yearned for the past, simpler times, but conveniently forgot the difficulties. That was her problem, really. Wasn’t it? She lived in the past, a made-up, perfect past with Francisco. But it didn’t exist. It never had. And now she was throwing away something real for a fantasy. Yes, there was a reason she called out Francisco when Antonio had been touching her so intimately. In her heart, she truly hadn’t let go. What she needed to do was live in the present. Not the past, not the future where one hopes for better days ahead, but the present. Because now is all anyone truly has.
Okay, well right now, you need to get your groveling speech ready.
Right.
Ixtab flipped open the manila folder she’d been carrying in her bag and thumbed through Antonio’s file once again. Penelope had supplied it several weeks ago, but for some reason, she hadn’t given it much thought. It was one of the more fascinating mortal family histories, with generations of royalty dating back to the 700s. What struck her as odd, however, wasn’t their exaggerated wealth—they had more money, land, and assets across the globe than the world’s largest company—but that over the last several centuries, they’d stayed out of the limelight. No political ties, no newspaper articles, no Oprah specials. And humans were obsessed with such powerful families—the Kennedys, the English royal family, the Gates, the Wiggles—but the Aceros were an unknown.
Ixtab gazed out the tinted window of the backseat. Though the day was sunny, the cold seeped through the glass. Or maybe something else caused the chill in her bones. As the car passed the open gates, with the name Acero in wrought iron proudly arched over the lane, she distinctly felt the growing presence of a dark energy. Her teeth began to chatter.
“Le subo la temperatura, señorita?” asked the driver.
“No, gracias.” He could raise the thermostat to one hundred and it wouldn’t make a lick of a difference. For whatever reason Antonio came here, she now knew it wouldn’t be good. No mortal, or immortal for that matter, would want to come here. Yet this is his home? He grew up here?
The car traveled along the hillside overlooking acres of slumbering vines below until they reached another gate, this one closed. The driver pulled up to the intercom and lowered his window.
Before he spoke, the spiked iron gates slid open, creaking and whining the entire way as if setting the scene for a horror movie about to unravel.
Damn. This place was creepy. And this coming from the Goddess of Suicide.
The car pulled forward to an empty, gravel-covered, circular driveway. The large three-story home—a simple Spanish-style with tiled, arched doorways and wrought iron balconies with flowing red vines—had t
o be a hundred-plus years old.
The flutter of a curtain from the top story window caught Ixtab’s eye, but the face quickly shrank back into the shadows. Ixtab’s heart plucked away at an unsteady rhythm inside her chest. Why was she so nervous? Was it the darkness she sensed or the fact that she was about to see Antonio?
She slipped from the car and grabbed her bag from the Uchben driver, who of course knew the drill. “Gracias. Y quédate circa, por favor.”
The driver nodded and indicated he’d stay in the nearby town. Good. Who knew how long she would be here. Five minutes or five weeks. Whatever it took to make things right with Antonio.
She walked up and rang the doorbell, but no one came. They’d already seen her arrive, so why not? Did Antonio simply think she’d scamper away?
She waited another moment and decided to open it herself. Heck, she was a deity. Leave the social norms to the humans.
“Hello?” The oxidized hinges of the thick wooden door creaked as she stepped inside the dimly lit entryway with a vaulted ceiling. The floor was tiled with faded blue and reddish-brown Moroccan tiles, and to each side, a grand tiled staircase curved up to a landing.
She dropped her bag next to the large potted plant and gazed up. “Hello?” she called out.
A burst of warm air collided with her face and sent her mind spinning. The aroma carried memories with it. Powerful memories. The smell of roasting chili peppers and dried flowers from the market in Santiago where she’d once strolled with Francisco. The smell of rosemary and lemons—Francisco always smelled of the tonics used to bathe the sick.
Dammit, goddess. You have to let go! You will lose Antonio if you don’t.
“May I help you?”
Ixtab jumped.
A petite woman with one lazy eye and dark hair pulled back, wearing a traditional maid’s uniform, appeared.
“I’m here to see Antonio,” Ixtab said.
The woman’s one good eye scrutinized Ixtab’s draping, black outfit.
“It’s all the rage in Paris,” Ixtab said dryly. “Let me know if you want me to hook you up. But I warn you, prepare to be mobbed by flocks of nude male models.”
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