Accidentally...Over? Read online

  Bloody infernum, with her luck, she’s probably going to get run over by an ice cream truck. He had to catch her before she hurt herself.

  He sprinted after her, the powdery-soft, warm sand making it difficult to close the gap quickly. As he came up the steep bank, Ashli came back into view. She reached for her back door, and everything happened in slow motion.

  Ashli fell back, her head landing with a loud crack.

  “Fuck. Not again!” Máax bolted to her side and crouched down. Blood flowed quickly from a gash on her head. “Dammit, woman. Why the hell do you always run from me?”

  He pressed his hand over the wound to stop the flow. He needed to get her to a hospital. Hell! He’d need to reconnect her car battery and drive her there himself.

  “You’re so beautiful,” she croaked. “But I changed my mind; I don’t want to die. Please don’t take me away.”

  She reached up and touched his cheek. A wave of warmth crashed into him, snatching the breath from his lungs.

  He couldn’t stop himself from wanting to feel more of her. Strangely, that gnawing hunger deep inside began to simultaneously quell and consume him.

  He reached out with his other hand and palmed her cheek. “I am trying to save you, Ashli. Why won’t you let me?”

  She smiled briefly before her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

  Oh, hell.

  Owww.

  Ashli cracked open her eyes and found a bright white room. I must be dead. Well, at least the game of cat and mouse was over. What a relief. And with any luck, she might see her parents again. If she did, she only hoped they wouldn’t be upset about her dying.

  Her spotty vision began to clear, and she eyed a poster on the wall. It said something about how boiled water is the safest for drinking.

  Dumbass. You’re in the hospital. Her eyes combed the room.

  Yep. This was the small clinic that usually treated tourists for minor cuts and the occasional jellyfish sting. And holy Christ did her head hurt.

  She slid her hand to the back of her head and gingerly kneaded the small bandage. A long IV tube hung from her other arm.

  What happened?

  Ohmygod. Death. Death had been in her house. Then she’d been overpowered by morbid curiosity and went looking for him. Perhaps she even wanted to end the charade. When she’d spotted him swimming in the ocean, she’d been unable to see him clearly, but he’d been so beautiful, so absolutely male that she nearly fainted. She never fainted. Except when she cracked her head open on cement. But then she remembered Death touching her face so tenderly and speaking to her. His slightly accented voice—European?—had been the most hypnotic, wholly sensual sound she’d ever heard. Deep and booming, silky and gruff, sexy and terrifying. All in one. Just like the voice of the man who’d been stalking her early this morning.

  Gasp. Yes, he’d been the one she hit with that shovel!

  Or had it all been a dream?

  No. It was real. She’d seen his towering form, dripping with masculinity and ocean water, with her own eyes. She’d smelled his intoxicating, virile scent on her pillow. Death was real. Death was hunting her. Not that she was afraid. Confused, however, yes. Why had he let her live?

  In walked the nurse, a small woman with short dark hair. Actually, Ashli recognized her—it was a small town—though the name escaped her.

  “Ahh. You are awake,” the nurse said with a thick Mexican accent.

  “How did I get here?” Ashli asked.

  “I have just started my shift, but I am told someone left you out front. No one saw who. Do you remember what happened?”

  “No. I mean, yes. I slipped on my patio and hit my head. But I don’t know how I got here.”

  The nurse shrugged. “Must have been your neighbor.”

  Okay, but why wouldn’t they have stayed with her? And besides, both neighbors were gone. They only came for visits during spring break and Christmas. It was January.

  Then who?

  Ashli gasped. Could it have been…

  No. No. Don’t even go there!

  “Well, the doctor will be by to check on you in a moment. You’ve got a minor concussion and a nasty cut. He gave you seven stitches.”

  Ashli instinctively reached for the throbbing spot again.

  “Do not worry, Señorita Ashli. I only had to shave off a small patch of your hair. You have so much of it, no one will ever notice.”

  Ashli petted the bandage. Not that she cared about losing her hair—it had always been like a wild beast of curls with a mind of its own—but she didn’t understand what had happened.

  “It is maybe a bit funny, Señorita Ashli.” The woman chuckled. “I think your hair saved you, acted like a sort of pillow. No? O sí?”

  Okay. Okay. I have a lot of hair. I get the point. One of Ashli’s grandmothers had originally been from Haiti and her great-grandfather was Irish. She couldn’t begin to imagine the fun those two had living in a world once so horrifically divided. Her grandmother and mother had also married men from the opposite end of the racial spectrum. Granddad had been Japanese and her father Mexican. Yes, it made for a very interesting gene pool. She felt like a one-woman version of the It’s a Small World ride at Disney. But with Death as her copilot.

  No. This can’t be happening.

  That is absolutely right! Which is why as soon as you’re able to drive, you’re going to see Doctora Hernandez.

  It wouldn’t be the first time Ashli’s dreams and wild imagination had seeped into her reality. The night before the tragic accident that took her parents’ lives, she’d dreamt of a giant fuel truck crashing into them. It was why she’d sat on the left side of the car in the backseat. It was also why she’d lived.

  But that’s where things became so mixed up in her head. Ashli knew it wasn’t possible. Premonitions were something only found in books or movies, yet she still blamed herself for her parents’ death. If she’d just told them about the dream, maybe things would have ended differently. But she hadn’t. And it was for no other reason than she would have felt stupid. Her pride had cost her the lives of those she loved. That’s when she began having dark, horrible thoughts about wanting to die. No, she didn’t mean suicide. She simply wished to trade places. She wished that she could convince Death to take her instead of them. She obsessed over the thought for months, the words Take me instead of them. Take me instead of them repeated in the background of her mind, like a skipping record that relentlessly tormented her day and night. Then, one day, she heard a reply. She’d been setting up the café for the day and stopped to watch the sunrise. It had been one of those rare mornings where the ocean seemed more like a lake—serene, quiet, and calm. And as the sun burst over the horizon, she recalled everything turning to brilliant shades of orange and pink. That’s when she heard the voice of her parents. “He is coming for you,” they said. Oddly, it hadn’t sounded like a warning, but more like a promise of salvation. Ashli knew she needed help.

  Over time, Dr. Hernandez, the local psychiatrist, got Ashli to see things more logically. The “premonition” had been nothing more than a coincidence, and Ashli couldn’t blame herself for dismissing it as such. But she still couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d cheated death, and she began having wild dreams. The man wanting her. Death hunting her. Sometimes, she even saw her parents—they yelled at her for visiting them. Regardless, she still liked seeing them.

  But this? This was no dream. Death was real. Even now, she smelled his scent in the air and felt his energy buzzing about the room.

  What was she going to do?

  You’re not afraid of Death, Ashli. No, she really wasn’t. In fact, she’d grown irritated by this game.

  Ashli watched the nurse leave and then blurted out, “I know you’re there. I can smell you.” She closed her eyes and tried to keep her nerves steady, expecting to hear that seductive, masculine voice that had such an effect on her.

  Silence.

  Her eyes snapped open and searched the room.
“Cat got your tongue, huh? Okay, well, I just want you to know that I think you are a sick bastard. And I can’t wait to get home so I can get in one more good smack. But this time, I’m aiming for your balls. If you have any.”

  “Sanctum infernum, woman,” said that oh-so-deep, alluring voice. Despite the anticipation, his timbre still sent goose bumps charging over her skin. And his smell. It was far more scrumptious than any holiday muffin she’d ever had. Why did Death insist on having the sublime voice and scent of an angel of seduction? Seemed so unfair.

  “What did I ever do to you?” he added with shock.

  Oh, cute. Death is playing the “oh, my pride is so wounded” game. “Do you really need me to answer—”

  The nurse appeared in the doorway. “You called, señorita?”

  “Uh… no. I was just… singing.” To prove her point, she moved her feet like windshield wipers beneath the white sheet. “La cucaracha. La cucaracha… ya no puedo caminar.” Oh, God. I have lost my mind.

  The nurse cocked a brow and reached for the door. “The doctor will be right in.”

  The moment the door shut, a deep chuckle radiated from the corner, next to the green plastic molded chair placed there for visitors.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked. I can’t believe I’m talking to Death.

  “Nothing,” he said all too innocently. “I was simply enjoying your choice of music.”

  Ugh! “It was the first song that popped into my head—hey, can we quit the chitchat and get this over with?”

  Silence.

  “What?” she barked. “What are you waiting for?”

  The voice emanated from the space immediately to her side. “I do not know what you mean,” he said.

  Infuriating! Death was playing with her. “Do it already. Okay!” She closed her eyes and braced for the inevitable.

  “What in the devil’s name are you talking about, woman?”

  She opened one eye and then snapped it shut again. “Waiting for you to take me.”

  “Mmmm…” he said. “As much as I’d enjoy that, because you are a very lovely woman, I do not believe this is the appropriate place. That bed is much too small for a man of my size.”

  Wha—wha—what? She sat up to berate him, but her brain pulsed with a crippling ache. She grabbed the sides of her head instead.

  “Lie back down,” the voice commanded. She felt two warm—no, they were actually kind of hot and tingly—hands, one on the front of her chest and the other on the back of her neck. The sensation was elating.

  Death touched her and she… liked it? Yeah, she did. She liked his smell and his voice, too. It was almost impossible to explain because she’d never experienced anything like it; being next to him felt like being…

  Home.

  What’s wrong with me?

  Maybe she secretly longed for death. Yes! That had to be it. My soul must be ready to cross over.

  He removed his hands, and she instantly felt the loss. She wanted him to touch her again.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “I’m ready. I didn’t think dying would be so easy, but I have to admit, you really do make it nice. Must be that voice.”

  “What the sanctum infernum are you speaking about?” he said, his voice gruff.

  “Hey, I was just starting to feel okay with this. Stop being such an ass, and kill me already. Especially if you’re going to start speaking Latin. It’s such an annoying language. Makes you sound like a wannabe wizard.”

  She felt a small pain on her hand. “Did you just… flick me?” she asked.

  “Yes. Yes, I did. And the next time you speak to me that way, human, I will be flicking your bare ass with the palm of my extremely large, extremely powerful hand.”

  Had Death threatened to spank her? What the hell? “You just try it. I don’t care if you are Death. No one spanks a grown woman. That’s totally machista and lame.”

  “Death? I am not Death.”

  “Oh, sure. Like I’m going to believe anything you say.”

  “I am incapable of lying. It is not in my nature.”

  Ashli burst out laughing, which really hurt. Ouuuuuch!

  “Do not mock me, woman. I speak the truth. Why would I drive you to the hospital if I wanted you to die?”

  Good question. “Um. Because you’re a sick bastard who’s been playing with me for years, stalking me in my slee—Wait. You drove me here?”

  “That is correct. And do you have any idea how hard it is for a male of my proportions to drive such a tiny vehicle? I am seven feet in height. I scarcely fit behind your steering wheel. I will also highlight that you should park your car in the shade. My ass is still burning.”

  Ashli blinked. This wasn’t happening. She had to be dreaming this up. “Your… uh… ass?”

  “Well, yes,” he said. “Merely because you cannot see me doesn’t mean that I do not have an ass. One with feeling.”

  So why was he complaining about his ass? Unless… She started laughing, rubbing her hands over her face. “Oh, this is juicy. Death is stalking me. And he’s a seven-foot-tall naked guy with the voice of an angel and smells like fresh mountain air mixed with holiday baked goods.”

  “You like my voice?” he said with eager curiosity.

  The doctor entered the room, startling Ashli.

  “Buenas tardes, Ashli.” She knew Rubin, aka Dr. Ruiz, because he came by the coffee shop all the time. He was in his late thirties with a lean build and a very charming smile. Her cleaning lady also took care of his house and loved to gossip about all of the random women who showed up, bearing gifts of homemade cookies, cakes, pozole, and tamales. There wasn’t a single woman in town who hadn’t tried to snag him. Except Ashli, of course. What was the point of dating or falling in love when death loomed over you? Didn’t seem practical. Or fair to the guy.

  “Hi, Rubin,” Ashli said.

  “Ashli, lovely to see you as usual.” Rubin leaned over her and flashed his penlight in her eyes. “You lost a little blood and have a concussion. I suggest you stay here for the remainder of the afternoon, but you should be fine.” He flicked the IV bag with his finger. “Do you have someone to drive you home?”

  Ashli shook her head no. Owwww. Don’t do that.

  Rubin glowed with a smile. “Then it would be my pleasure to take you after my shift.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve waited a very long time to have the elusive Ashli Rosewood all to myself.” He winked.

  Strange. It wasn’t like Dr. Ruiz to be overtly flirtatious. He had asked her out once on a run, but that was over a year ago. She’d politely declined, making up some excuse, but hadn’t really thought much of it. Rubin continued to come by every few days, drink his coffee, and read his paper. Being the sort of man that was more into himself than anyone else, he’d never made an effort. Not that it would have made a difference. She didn’t date. But now, he was flirting big-time.

  “I will be back to check on you shortly,” he said. “Let us know if you need anything for the pain, back rub, candlelit bubble bath, the key to my house. The numbing shot I gave you will begin to wear off shortly.”

  “Uh, I’m good?” And speechless.

  Rubin eyeballed her, grinning like a fiend.

  “Really. I’m good,” she repeated.

  The doctor and his creepy smile exited the room rear end first.

  “Slimy bastard is going to get a visit from my foot up his ass. What sort of doctor hits on his patient?” said the deep voice in a tone so stark it made her heart palpitate.

  “Sorry?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “You and I need to talk. I must understand the nature of your comments. Why do you believe that Death has been stalking you?”

  This conversation was simply too surreal for words. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Do what?” His voice filled the room every time he spoke. Why did it have that strange effect, like his voice flowed right through her and she heard him with her entire body instead of wit
h just her ears?

  “This!” she hissed. “I can’t keep talking to thin air.”

  “Of course you can. You are doing it quite well.”

  It was funny—this man, or whatever he was, spoke with the naivety of child and the authority of a king. He was kind of sweet but a total a-hole at the same time. It was a strange combination. If she was, in fact, losing her mind, she had to give herself a few brownie points for originality.

  She sighed.

  “Perhaps,” he said, “if I were to introduce myself, you might feel more at ease.”

  Oh, nice. Let’s make friends. “Why not?”

  “Excellent.” She felt the bed sink on one side. The indentation of where he sat was in the shape of an… ass?

  “Are you really naked?” she asked.

  “Yes. Did I not say that already? Are your ears not functioning properly?”

  A-hole.

  “But I suppose it deserves an explanation,” he added.

  Sweet.

  “I will start by explaining that I am a god. An ancient god. And you will do well to heed my every word.”

  Huh?

  “Because I have come here with the sole purpose of saving your life.”

  Scary.

  “What? Why?” she asked.

  She heard the faint sound of whiskers being scratched. Of course, how can he shave if he’s invisible? she thought to herself sarcastically.

  “I cannot provide many details,” he said, “because I do not have them. However, twenty years from now, you will do something very important for humanity. You will stop the end of the world if you survive, which you will. Because I am here to save you.”

  Annnnd add crazy. Sweet, crazy, scary a-hole.

  She closed her eyes. This was simply all too much.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Trying to fall asleep so I can wake back up,” she explained.

  “Ashli. This is most serious. I assure you. Otherwise, why would I waste my time with you?”

  Pompous. Add pompous.

  “Oh, trust me. I’m taking this seriously,” she said.

  She felt his hot breath wash over her face. The bed sank to either side of her head. Was he leaning over her?