Tommaso (Immortal Matchmakers, Inc. #2) Page 4

  The God of Eclipses, aka Ah Ciliz, aka A.C., aka dark motherfucker, raised his hand.

  “Okay. That’s one vote.” Penelope checked the box, clearly trying not to roll her eyes again. “Option two: All in favor of Cimil’s recommendation that all single immortals are to wed Minky—and no, Minky does not get a vote—raise your hands.” Penelope looked right at Cimil, who was sitting frozen in her seat with her fingers laced together, completely motionless.

  “Okaaaay. No votes—and let me just point out again what juvenile horse shit this is. You’re all children. And moving on: Option three, my recommendation. We focus on the most powerful singles of the immortal community and get them mated up first, starting with the gods, in order to minimize the damage to the mortal community.”

  Everyone except for Belch and A.C. raised their hands.

  Penelope shook her head. “I can’t believe we have to waste so much time on this crap. Why don’t you all just do me a favor and stop putting your idiotic solutions on the voting table? You just end up going for whatever I say anyway.”

  She had a point. But Penelope was only twentysomething years old. The rest of them were seventy. Thousand. One did what one could to make life more interesting.

  Zac cleared his throat. “I think, Penelope, you forget that we’re all immortal—no one really gives a crap about wasting time.”

  “Or about people’s feelings,” someone mumbled from the corner of the room. “Jackass.”

  Zac turned his head to see Tula glaring at him, her eyes puffy and red.

  He was about to make a comment to censure the human, but then it dawned on him. He really was behaving like a cruel jackass. Uncharacteristically so.

  Fuck. And I’m single.

  Zac slowly raised his hand.

  Penelope blew out a breath. “Yes, Zac?” she said with a bite.

  “Can you put my name at the top of the list?” he asked.

  Penelope tilted her head. “I guess. But…why?”

  Because if that nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach was what he thought, his journey to evil had already begun.

  “I uhh…” He made a little cough. “I think it would be in the best interest of everyone if those who are responsible for finding mates for our brethren are not at risk.” Cimil, his partner, was already mated, so she was safe—if such a word could be used to describe a card-carrying member of the World’s Most Awful People.

  “Good point, Zac.” Penelope made a note. “We’ll make sure you get priority and—”

  “Kill them all… I want to kill them all… Burn. Burn. Burn…” Belch mumbled between snorts and snores, still out like a light.

  Penelope flicked her stylus at Belch. “And…adding Belch to the top of that list, too.” She sighed. “Gosh, this is going to be a great rest of the year.”

  Of course, what she really meant was that they were all in for one hell of a shit storm. If the most powerful beings on earth turned evil, there’d be no stopping them. There weren’t enough mated immortals—i.e., those who were good and not at risk of “infection”—to stand against so many unmated ones. Add to that, the gods who were still single—Bees, Belch, A.C., and himself, for example—were probably single for a reason.

  Yep. We’re fucked. This situation was going to get a whole lot worse before it got better. If it ever did.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Tommaso glanced in the rearview mirror of his black Mercedes, unable to believe that this would be his life until further notice.

  At least I’m a free bird. But this wasn’t much better than Cimil’s Tweety tank. There was a caravan behind him, containing Guy in a silver Pagani—a flashy and offensively expensive Italian sports car—and three very large black SUVs with tinted windows, containing a squad of Uchben, the gods’ human army.

  This was no way to win over a woman and convince her he was worth having. She’d either think he was a complete egocentric buffoon on top of being a violent criminal—if he had, in fact, tied her up—or that he was outrageously insecure and needed an entourage to make himself look more important.

  He was neither. Yes, he was confident, to be sure. And handsome as hell—the ladies always said so—but looking like a Calvin Klein model with his black “I don’t give a fuck” short hair and classic Italian features—lips like a sex god, jaw like a superhero, and perfectly straight nose—to him these were simply tools of survival. His six-two height and Mediterranean good looks made him stand out in a room and opened doors. They helped win people over even when he had been a soldier in the gods’ army. “Always smile, son. Always walk into a room standing tall and let them know you are there,” his father used to say. And that man knew how to own the room and lull people into submission with his mere presence. He had been a natural-born charmer and taught Tommaso at a young age that words were precious and to be used sparingly. Chivalry and good manners were to be doled out excessively. Both were very effective ways of controlling a situation because they subconsciously set a tone in the minds of others—even if one was in the midst of a crisis. If you were calm and confident, others would sense it. It was a philosophy he carried right down to his style of dress.

  Set the tone.

  Own the room.

  Be a gentleman. (Except when talking to Guy—then be a prick.)

  Because a gentleman was freer to break the rules and have it go unnoticed. Only now, his skills were definitely going to be put to the test.

  He wouldn’t be putting anyone at ease or presenting an air of total control by having these giant assholes on his tail. But these were the terms of his release. He had to be under twenty-four-hour surveillance and accompanied by Guy. Emma had stayed behind at Penelope and Kinich’s house with…with…oh, hell. What’s the kid’s name? Poochi? Pachi?

  Anyway, he needed to get to this woman fast. Because the moment he showed any signs of slipping further downhill—toward Evil Town—he would be sent away to immortal prison indefinitely.

  Tommaso picked up his phone and dialed Guy, who answered immediately with, “You drive like a giant pussy with two left feet.”

  “I wasn’t aware that pussies had feet—oh, wait. You mean an actual cat. Sorry, didn’t realize you were speaking old man again. It’s a bit difficult to understand.”

  “I might be seventy thousand years old, but I can beat you or any man with just my pinky.”

  Tommaso held back a chuckle. Man, you just keep walking right into these. “I’ll pass. I’ve seen your pinkies and they look a little rough. But I think I saw a website once for men who enjoy that sort of thing.”

  A moment of silence passed as Tommaso waited for it to sink—

  “Dear gods, you’re so fucking juvenile,” Guy grumbled.

  “You mean young, virile, and relevant, unlike you? Why yes, I am.”

  “Shut up, you moron. What do you want?” Guy growled.

  “I want what you want, which is for this to be over quickly. So please do us both a favor and make sure you and your Uchben lie low.”

  “They know what they’re doing, Tommaso. So leave the professionals to do their work; you just worry about begging this woman to give you the time of day.”

  She’ll be begging all right—for more.

  The other line on Tommaso’s cell phone rang. “Gotta go,” and he hit the answer button on his steering wheel. “Yes?”

  “Hey, buddy, it’s me, Andrus. What’s this bullshit I hear about you getting arrested?”

  Andrus, an immortal bad boy and his best friend, had just recently gotten married to a half succubus, of all “people”—just one more sign that the Universe was in fact flipping on its head. Thankfully though, Sadie was not your typical demon and was beautiful, kind, and smart—exactly what a guy like Andrus deserved. Which was why Andrus had done the impossible and forgone getting paired with his destined mate, some woman named Charlotte who was, ironically, Sadie’s non-succubus cousin. Such a thing was unheard of—to turn your back on the Universe’s will—but Andrus had always d
one things his way.

  “So, how’s the honeymoon going?” Tommaso asked.

  “Fantastic. I’m enjoying keeping her succubus side well-fed—but never mind that. What the hell is going on? And tell me who’s responsible so I can kill them. Slowly.”

  This was not going to be easy news to break, but sooner or later, Andrus was going to hear the truth. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” Tommaso asked.

  “Don’t give a shit. Start talking.”

  “Bad it is. If you recall Cimil’s big announcement about the Universe being out of whack—”

  “How could I forget?” said Andrus.

  “So, apparently, I am going to be one of the first to take a trip to the dark side.”

  “No,” Andrus said. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

  “Afraid not. My eyes have already turned black—Maaskab black.” The standard was turquoise for anyone who carried the light of the gods.

  “Oh shit. Don’t tell me they’re all red and bloody looking, too.”

  “Not yet. But probably soon. Which leads me to the good news; I think I’ve found her—my mate.”

  “Really? Who is she?”

  Tommaso told him what he knew—not much—but included that he may have hunted her down and hurt her.

  “This is not good, my friend. Where are you? I’m getting on a plane to come help.”

  “No. I insist you finish your honeymoon with Sadie. You deserve it.” Hell, if anyone had gotten a bad draw of the life-straws, it was Andrus. Three hundred years ago, the man found true love only to discover his mate was the vampire queen, who was evil to the core. She basically sold Andrus off to be an indentured servant of the gods simply to save her own hide. She was killed eventually and Andrus was set free, but his return to happiness had been a long painful journey.

  “I can’t leave you by yourself,” Andrus protested.

  Tommaso glanced in the rearview mirror, finding a scowling Guy snarling in the car behind him. “Ah, but there’s more good news. I’m not alone. Guy has decided to be my wingman.”

  There was an explosion of hacking on the other end of the phone, followed by hysterical laughter. “Votan? God of Death and War and the one deity on the planet who’d like nothing more than to rip off your balls?”

  “Don’t forget dismemberment—he’s most certainly put that on his wish list.” Guy made it no secret that he wished he had finished the job that day back in the jungle when Tommaso had been recruited involuntarily to Team Maaskab and had aided them in capturing Emma. Guy showed up with his gang of Uchben to rescue her and gutted Tommaso like a fish, leaving him for dead. It was that dark energy inside him that had kept him alive, and it was Emma who demanded that Guy make Tommaso immortal to hopefully cure him.

  Andrus continued chuckling. “Well, then I’m definitely coming. I gotta see this.”

  “You’re a true friend, Andrus.”

  Still chuckling, Andrus sputtered, “I’m sorry…it’s just you and…Votan and…trying to pick up a woman.”

  “We are not picking up anyone. I am going to find her—my mate—and persuade her to give me another chance.” And make sure she knew that he would never do anything to hurt her. Not on purpose anyway. Gods, I’m such a fucking mess.

  “Well, if there’s one thing you’re good at,” Andrus said, “it’s impressing the ladies with your charm. So where is she?”

  “Cimil said she’s at some secluded hideout near Palm Springs.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Uh-oh, what?” Tommaso felt a cold chill crawl up his spine.

  “Cimil knows who the woman is?”

  Cimil was the only one who knew. “Yes, but she refused to give me or anyone else information aside from where to find her.”

  “Huge uh-oh. This reeks of a Cimil trick.”

  He was right. But… “Do you see any other options aside from letting this play out?” With any luck, tonight he could smooth things over with this woman, seduce her, and then that would be that. The Universe would take care of the rest and/or she would fall for him, as women often did. Then he would be cured.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to fly there?” Andrus asked.

  “Thank you, but I’ve got this under control. I’ll be mated and cured before day’s end.”

  There was a moment of awkward silence. Tommaso knew his friend worried, but he could be of no use. Besides, what could go wrong? Tommaso felt fine now—no more evil jitters—and this woman would have to forgive him—and love him. They were destined mates. Sexually driven toward one another. Magnets of desire.

  “All right, man. Call me if you need anything,” Andrus said.

  “I will be just fine. And if anything comes up, I’ve got my wingman.”

  Andrus laughed. “Hysterical. Take care, bro. I’ll call you tomorrow, and if you don’t answer, I’m getting on a plane.” Andrus ended the call, and Tommaso jerked his head to the side, giving his neck a little crack.

  “Sorry, Andrus, but I’m going to be busy tomorrow.” Making breakfast in bed for my new mate after a long night of fucking.

  He totally had this.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “This is not a hideaway.” Tommaso stared at the enormous roundabout filled with luxury cars and scrambling valets in red vests. Off in the distance—beyond the manicured gardens and Italian-style reception building with natural stone façade, three-tiered fountain, and oversized potted red flowers—was a long stretch of golf course surrounded by rolling hills and villas.

  Tommaso glanced down at the GPS on his console and then up again at the sign right in the middle of the roundabout. This was the spot, but Cimil had said nothing about “The Hideaway, Luxury Spa and Golf Resort.” In fact, according to Guy, Cimil had said, “You can find your chicky boo at this hideaway…”

  Realizing that Cimil had just told yet another one of her truthful lies, he rolled his eyes. Cimil. She was the most annoyingly insane deity he’d ever met—a wicked philanthropist. A psychotic peace-monger. A fairy hell-mother. Cimil’s extra-special gift was making one’s dreams come true while simultaneously forcing them to confront their worst nightmares. That last part was generally for her amusement.

  Tommaso released a steady breath. Fine. Bring it on. He’d been through far worse. Of course, some of those “far worses” were moments when he’d been a pawn in one of the goddess’s grand schemes. This time, however, he had the distinct impression that he was the soup du jour. But he could handle it. He merely needed to remain focused on the task—getting this woman to forgive him for whatever he’d done to her.

  God, I hope I wasn’t too horrible to her. Once again, he recalled the blurry image of her rage-filled eyes as she sat with a gag in her mouth.

  It’ll be fine. I’ll explain what is happening and then let nature take its course. They were mates, and she would have an instinctual urge to want to help him.

  Tommaso pulled up to the valet, noticing that only Guy’s car remained behind him. The Uchben were probably off in some back parking lot, changing clothes to blend in and getting ready to follow him around.

  The valet opened his car door. “Checking in, sir?”

  “I am now.” He was going to have to locate the woman, watch her carefully, and then pick the opportune moment to approach her and plead his case.

  “But no luggage,” Tommaso added.

  The valet shrugged and handed him a ticket before Tommaso made his way inside to the reception area, which was quite nice. Indoor fountain, Italian cream marble, murals on the ceiling depicting tiny angels floating on their backs in very relaxed poses.

  He walked up to the reception clerk—a young brunette in a burgundy vest—and offered up his most charming smile. “Hello, there.”

  She immediately lit up with warmth and wide receptive eyes. “Checking in, sir?”

  “Why, yes. But I don’t have a reservation.” He leaned in, placing one elbow on the counter. “Hope that won’t be an issue.”

  She b
atted her eyelashes. “Well, let me see here,” she said sweetly. “Oh, look. There’s one room left—our presidential suite.”

  Tommaso arched a brow. Only one room, huh? Too bad for you, Guy. Guess you’ll be bunking in your awesome car. And the presidential suite? That would be perfect for him and his mate—once they worked through this little evil speed bump, of course.

  He slid his wallet from his suit pocket and pulled out the Amex black card. “This should do the trick.”

  “Oh. Well, you certainly came to the right place to be pampered, Mr. Fierro.

  Just as he handed over the card, he caught a glimpse of a woman—about five-five, creamy pale skin, and a dark bob—passing by, and he instantly knew. It was her. The woman from the mixer. His heart rate sped up. His skin began to tingle. He felt the gnawing urge to jump her bones.

  Let the romance begin.

  Her sweet scent permeated the space around him and left a lingering feeling of hard lust coursing through his veins. He turned and watched her walk away, enjoying the sway of her hips in her snug khaki shorts. She wore some sort of visor over her dark bob as if she were intending on doing some gardening. Dear gods, she’s so lovely.

  “Interested in golf lessons, sir?” said the clerk, snapping back his attention.

  “Sorry?” he said to the receptionist.

  “Golf. Are you interested?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “She’s the instructor.” The clerk jerked her head in the direction of his mate, who’d disappeared around the corner.

  “You mean…she teaches golf?” How very human and boring.

  “Yeah. She’s pretty popular with the men—for her lessons, of course.” The clerk winked.

  Dear gods. Had the clerk insinuated that his mate was a floozy? Tommaso’s blood spiked with prickly anger. This he could not stand for. His mate being paid by various men, all of them looking at her sweet, sweet ass in those snug but despicably common shorts available at any Walmart or Target, teaching leisure sport for money! What the hell was the Universe thinking pairing him with someone so…so…so…ordinary?