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By:Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

       To my family. Thank you.

Humble Groveling Goes Out To

Thank you again to Beta Team Accidental (Kim, Vicki, Karen, Ashlee, and  Nana). Your LOLs, Whats?, and Huhs? always make these books far more  coherent for the general public.

Mimi Jean Street Team: many grovels for so many fun discussions and  contributions to the man-parts vocabulary! You're like my coffee break  of laughter every day!

As always, thank you to my editor, Latoya Smith, and the entire team at Hachette! Many grovels for your hard work!

Elise H.: thank you for bringing the word hangry to my vocabulary. It just so perfectly describes how I feel at 11:00 a.m.

Cassie: I can always count on you for naughty brainstorming! Privie goes on the list of world's best new words.

Final Accidental Note from Cimil, Goddess of the Underworld

Well, my little people-pets, I must say that this journey has been a fun  one. However, all things must come to an end, even for us fabulous  deities. And though I know not (yes, I do; that's a lie!) where this  last leg of our voyage will take us, I have a few guesses. Would you  like to hear them? But of course you would! Because I'm awesome, and you  love hearing anything I have to say.

A. Minky, my unicorn, finds the light of Eärendil, learns to  mass-produce it, and saves the planet with green energy. (And she  marries Legolas. Their children have pointy ears and a uni-fang.)

B. Clowns all around the world rise up from centuries of oppression by  my hand and take the gods out with their horrifying, unnatural smiles.

C. I save the day by winning a mean game of Hungry Hungry Hippos,  thereby restoring the Universe's faith in the power of the gods.

D. My stupid jokes finally catch up with me, and I am sent to live on  another planet occupied by outrageously tiny, furry men with minuscule  ding dongs.

Well, there you have it, my fun little humans. I hope you enjoy. And just remember, YOLO!

Mine Forever,

Cimil (Just …  Cimil)


Death is trying to seduce me.

I always suspected he would come for me after I survived the accident,  and now there's no doubt. And death isn't some ominous creature that  carries a bloody scythe, his face obscured by a black cloak, his spindly  fingers protruding from the cuff of his dripping sleeve as he enters  your dinner party, points to your plates, and declares in a gravelly  voice, "You're all dead. It was the canned salmon." Oh no. This is no  snarky Brit skit, and he's no monster.

Death is a sex god.

He's tall, built from indestructible solid bricks of muscle. His  cheekbones are chiseled works of art, and his full, sensual lips are  meant for doing anything but killing. Like I said, sex god.

How do I know this? He's been watching me, whispering in my ear while I  sleep, quietly hiding in the shadows while I eat, while I work, while I  shower.

So for once, I'm turning the tables.

I follow the sound of his footsteps through my beach cottage, out my  back porch, and then pick up his large footprints in the sand. I crouch  behind the tall, dry grass blanketing the massive sand dune. The  crashing waves mask the sound of my thumping heart and heavy, frantic  breaths. I'm sweating like mad as the tropical morning sun beats down on  my back, and I spot my stalker splashing in the waves.

He stands, and I can barely breathe when I look at him.

Though he's nearly transparent, the outline of his naked body glistens  with drops of ocean water reflected by the sun. I've never seen a more  beautiful man. Shoulders that span the width of two normal-sized men,  powerful arms and legs that make me wonder if he's not actually carved  from rock or molded from steel, and incredibly sculpted …  jeez,  everything. There's not an inch on this beast-not a neck, an ab, not a  pec or a thigh-that isn't constructed from potent, lethal-looking  muscle. Well, except his hair. Though I can't see the color, it's  beautifully thick and falls to his shoulders. I imagine it's a warm  shade of brown, streaked with reds and golds. Because he's utterly  beautiful and that's the kind of hair a beautiful man would have. Yes,  he's a god, not the bringer of death. And I can't help but wonder why  he's made that way. Is it so that when he comes for me, there'll be some  sort of consolation-getting to see his face? I don't know, but I'm not  ready to see it yet. I want to live. I want to grow old. I want to fall  in love. Just once before my time is up.                       


Yet somehow, I want him, too. Why? That's gotta mean I'm loca, right?

My eyes study every poetic detail of this "man," hoping to find answers.  But there's nothing. Nothing that will help save me from him.

Suddenly, I see his chin lift and his head turns in my direction.

Can he see me? Oh my God. He's coming right for me.

I bolt from my hiding place and make a run for it. I know if I make it  to my house I'll manage to lock the doors, but that won't stop him.  There is nowhere to hide from death, but I run anyway.

I make it to my back porch and reach for the door, but I slip on something. Shit. Really? A banana peel?

My body crashes to the hard cement. My head cracks on the sharp edge of  the porch's step, and I can't move. All I feel is my beating heart and  heaving lungs, burning with fear.

"Dammit, woman. Why the hell do you always run from me?" His deep,  melodic voice washes over me, and I love how it soothes my soul.

I look up and try to focus my eyes, but he's difficult to make out. His  dripping hair catches only a few rays of morning sunlight.

"You're so beautiful," I croak. "But I changed my mind; I don't want to die. Please don't take me away."

I feel his warm hand brush against my cheek. "I am trying to save you, Ashli. Why won't you let me?"

Why does he say that? Why is he lying to me? It doesn't matter now,  because I'm already dying. The darkness begins to swallow me.

"Shit!" I roll from my bed and fall to the floor with a thump.

Sonofabitch! Why do I keep having these dreams?


Camp Uchben. Sedona, Arizona. Near the Estate of Kinich Ahau, ex – God of the Sun. February 1

Eenie, meenie, miney, mo. Catch an invisible deity by the toe. If he  hollers, don't let go. Just give him Ashli and watch him-oh, dammit,  what rhymes with go? Ho? Crow? Potatoooo?

"Cimiiil? Are you listening? Cimil!" Roberto the Ancient One rapped his  pale knuckles on the thick glass of the holding cell. "Have you not  heard a word I said, woman?"

From her cot, Cimil looked at the very large, very angry vampire  standing outside her cell and wiggled her fingers. "Howdy, Bob!"

Dark, lethal eyes gazed back with frustration. Or was it lust? Maybe both? Yes! It's lustfration! My fave!

"I sincerely hope," he said, "that you were not in the midst of devising  yet another escape from your cell. It would foil everything."

Escape? Not even a magical flea-Minky, her unicorn, hated those-could  escape this three-story underground prison built to contain the most  powerful of creatures alive: the gods themselves. Now, as for the  foiling? Well …

"How did you know?" she asked.

"Because I am your mate," he said. "And you are the Goddess of the Underworld; you cannot help your evil ways."

"Good point." She sat up and sighed happily, tugging at the hem of her fuzzy pink tank dress. "So wassup?"

"I am here to tell you the first task is complete. And now we will have sex. Hard. Hot. Savage immortal sex."

"Sex? What? And why are you speaking? You vowed not to speak until this  was over. It's not over." Cimil feigned a sudden interest in her jail  cell, twisting a long lock of hair around her finger. She knew how that  drove him crazy. Her long red hair was his fave. Or was it her ass? Or  perhaps both?

Thank the gods I don't have a hairy ass. Then he'd never leave me alone.

Carnal eagerness twinkled in Roberto's ancient eyes. "I have captured  the gods. Something you wagered to be impossible. In fact, I want to  hear you say it. Say I am this thing you call awesomesalsa. Because that  is what I am."

"Awesomesauce," she corrected.

"Yes. That," he agreed.

She stared.

"Cimiiiil?" Roberto's eyes bored into her, cautioning not to push him. "Say. It."


"Do it or no Love Boat for you tonight."

Dammit! Why are vampires so cruel?

"Okay." She stomped her foot. "I'll say it: You rock. You're the most awesome vampire ever to walk the planet."                       


Roberto crossed his powerful arms over his broad chest. "Aaaand?"

Cimil huffed like a crabby four-year-old. "And if the apocalypse is  halted, I vow to have your love child." Maybe. "And I will keep my vow  to marry you." Maybe.