Sun God Seeks...surrogate? (11 page)

“I cannot. I am under orders from your brother to have every able warrior preparing for war.”

“Then I will go myself and catch one,” Kinich stated.

There was a long pause. “Why?”

“Why what?” Kinich asked.

“Why take a risk for this woman?”

Again, Kinich didn’t actually know why. He simply felt…needs. Lust-driven, obsessive sorts of needs. “That is my business.”

“I see.” Niccolo replied, followed by another long pause. “He’s going to kill me for saying anything, but lucky you, I enjoy pissing people off. Guy has someone on the inside now. Perhaps his spy can help.”

On the inside?

“Thank you,” Kinich responded dryly.

“Don’t mention it.”

“One more thing,” Kinich added.

“My daily quota for helping useless deities is filled.”

Kinich ignored Niccolo’s jab—he had more important things to worry about at the moment. Plus, he really liked the bastard. “I need to leave Penelope here for a few days. There are some urgent matters I must address. Your man—Andrus—can he handle her?”

Niccolo growled. But then again, he growled every time he heard the name Andrus. Andrus had kidnapped Helena once, intending to use her as a bargaining chip to get his hands on the now-deceased, evil vampire queen. To make matters worse, Andrus had also made a play for Helena. It chapped Niccolo’s hide to have Andrus under his roof guarding Helena and his daughter, little Matty. But Cimil had foreseen an attack where Andrus saves their lives. The decision to swallow his pride was a no-brainer. Helena was also madly in love with Niccolo, which helped keep his jealousy in check.

“Is she going to be trouble? Because I’m guessing if you’ve taken an interest in her, she’s a pain in the neck,” Niccolo said.

“I haven’t taken an interest. She’s in danger, and I can’t help wanting to protect mortals. But, yes, she’s no pushover.”

In fact, he found her bravery to be one of her most fascinating traits. She seemed afraid of nothing—not even him. How arousing.

“I’ll send Viktor to the Penthouse,” said Niccolo. “He is in New York taking care of an issue. I’m sure he’d planned to visit with Helena, anyway.”

Viktor, a very old vampire, was Niccolo’s right hand and best friend for the last millennium. He’d also been the one to turn Helena, which is why she’d grown quite attached. It was yet another relationship Niccolo had to come to grips with.

It was truly a goddamned immortal Mexican soap opera.

“Thank you, this means a lot,” Kinich grumbled.

Niccolo howled with laughter on the other end of the phone. “Wow. Sun God showing kindness? She must be something if she can make
you
civilized. Can’t wait to meet her.”

“Fuck off.” Kinich hung up the phone, irritated about the whole situation. He knew he cared more than he should about the human, but that didn’t mean anything. It was sexual. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

He would figure out why the Maaskab came for her, get her somewhere safe, and then go back to his life of being a god. After all, they had a war to prepare for, humans to save, and the issue of restoring balance to the universe—starting with putting a stop to the gods breeding with the humans. Although, he could be persuaded to make an exception for bedding them. That part, he again noted, was a diversion worthy of the gods.

CHAPTER 12

Vaguely aware of the unfamiliar yet incredibly soft sheets and fluffy-as-a-cloud pillow cradling my head, I rolled over in the bed. Some mysterious force made it nearly impossible to coax my mind from the transcendent state of relaxation, despite the unsavory snippets swirling aimlessly in the back of my mind—monsters with black teeth, garbage, flashes of light, and…

“Kinich!” I sprang from the bed, trying to gather my wits, my head whipping from side to side.

The room, decorated in pristine white, reminded me of those high-end European resorts—not that I’d ever been to one, but I had it on my To Do list. Right there along with renewing my passport, taking salsa lessons, and getting a Brazilicide (getting hammered on suicides—a schnapps and vodka drink—before getting a Brazilian bikini wax) my best friend, Anne, recommended.

I pulled up the thick, cream-colored blinds, shocked to discover I was in a very tall building. The city seemed daunting and glacial with its hazy winter air. The sun was just dipping below the skyline, bathing each and every gray building in an even gloomier gray hue.

Christ!
How long had I been out if the sun was setting? It had been night when Nick…Nick…

He put me to sleep after voodoo Terminator attacked.

Son of a…what is going on?

Waves of dread undulated beneath my skin. Ironically, however, I didn’t feel afraid. No. Quite the opposite. I felt resentful. I felt…like kicking ass and taking names. Because whatever inexplicable bizarreness was occurring—monsters, the strange things I’d witnessed Nick doing, his crazy sister’s psychic handbook—I didn’t appreciate the intrusion in my life. Good or bad, it was my life. Mine. And nobody got to drive the Penelope-mobile except for me. How dare these…
people?…Creatures?…Funky beings?…
How dare these funky beings get in my car and drive.

Oh, so you think you can control everything, huh?

Yes.

Ha! Good one.

Shut the hell up!

A baby crying off in the distance caught my attention. I cracked open the door and found the brightly lit hallway empty.

I tiptoed in my pink, fluffy socks toward the sound.

Pink, fluffy socks?
I looked down.
Oh my God!
I was wearing a Hello Kitty nightie. “What the…?” I moved my hands over my various parts and then lifted up my gown.

Speaking of intrusion…

“Kitty underwear, too? Damn him! How dare he touch me.”

And Hello Kitty? Seriously?

“Anything I can help you with?”

I spun around to find a shamefully attractive, well-built man with spiky, dark hair and turquoise eyes casually watching me—or, really, watching my bottom half. I gasped and dropped the nightie.

“Wait! It’s you!” I pointed. “You’re…you’re…”

He bowed his head. “Andrus. So we meet again, Dorothy.”

Oh oh oh. This little traveler knew damn well she wasn’t in Kansas anymore.
Because Kansas doesn’t have men who hex you with sleeping spells and then dress you like a kindergartner.

“Where am I? And where is that SOB, Nick?”

He smiled. “SOB? I see that you and I will get along famously.”

I narrowed my eyes and tightened my lips, waiting for my answers.

He cleared his throat. “Come with me.”

Fuming, I trailed behind him and his leather pants. As we rounded the corner, the wide-open living room came into view. It had floor-to-ceiling windows and the most breathtaking view of Central Park I’d ever seen. A chubby, blond baby sat in the middle of the floor on a large blanket next to a set of multicolored blocks.

My memory clicked. “That’s the baby you were holding at Cimil’s. Right?”

He nodded with a glowing smile.

“Dat sweet wittle baby,” he said in baby talk as he pranced over to her, “is our wittle Matty.” He plucked her off the floor and nibbled her ear. She instantly stopped crying and gave a little giggle.

Okay. That was weird. The large man appeared deadlier than sin—like he ate bullets for breakfast and drank gasoline martinis—but turned into a mindless ninny for this baby?

Oh stop! That’s totally adorable, and you know it!

No! You stop! You’re in deep shit and here you are judging the man’s domestic diva-ness. Enough! Focus, Penelope! Drive the car!

“So that answers one of my questions. Now, what about Nick?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

Andrus parked the baby on his hip. “Oh, the gwumpy lady wants to know where dat bastard of your uncle Kinich is,” he said again in baby talk to Matty.

“Baaa ba,” she cooed happily and latched onto his black tee with her chubby little hands.

“Yes. Right you are, Matty. It is time for your bottle.” He marched off.

“Hey! Now where are you going?” I chased after him.

By the time I caught up in the showroom-like kitchen, he had Matty strapped into a high chair.

He shot a scowl my way. “I don’t know where Nick is, but he left you here yesterday. You are in my care until he returns.” He glanced at my lower half. “And no. I didn’t bathe and dress you, if that’s what you’re wondering.” His stone-cold expression instantly melted into a dopey grin the moment he looked at Matty. “Cuz wittle Matty is the only lady I do that for. Isn’t that right, my little cupcake of darkness?”

Yes, he just called her “cupcake”—
I swallowed
—“of darkness.”

I hit the reality-denial button—I had been born with one in my brain—and moved on.

His head disappeared inside the extra-large stainless steel fridge. “Helena should be awake in a little while. She’ll be able to answer any other questions.”

“Okay. And this Helena person, whoever that is, will tell me what attacked me? Or how Nick put me to sleep?”

“Perhaps.”

“Is Helena your wife?” I asked.

His head darted out from the fridge, and he gave me a look that could cap a flaming oil well. “No. Helena is Matty’s mother. She is
not
mine.”

Ouch! Hit a nerve, did I?

“Helena is married to Niccolo DiConti. This is their home,” he elaborated.

My mind sputtered. “Wait. So you’re the…nanny?”

He slammed the refrigerator door and popped a bottle of red liquid into the microwave. “I prefer bodyguard and caretaker.”

He’s a manny!

Or a leather nanny?

Hee hee hee.

Stop that!

I bit the inside of my cheeks to smother a budding smile.

The microwave beeped. He plucked out the bottle and screwed on a cap before giving it a little shake. The baby held out her hands. He was about to pass it but froze. “If you don’t mind, I need to give Matty her bottle.”

He didn’t want me to see? Jeez. Maybe he wasn’t as comfortable with his role as he let on.

“I’ll just go use the phone. If that’s okay.”

“Help yourself.” He stared, waiting for me to leave.

I shrugged and returned to the living room where I found a phone off to the corner on a small table. I held it in my hand, staring at the white-and-black buttons.

What was I going to say to my mother? That I’d been attacked in our apartment by a monster and saved by a man who I may have slept with after being drugged by his lunatic sister who had offered me one million dollars to be the surrogate mother of his child, a child he had no interest in having? And that—here comes the giant cherry on my sucky-sundae—I might now actually be carrying this man’s baby! If we slept together at all, but who knew?

Aaah yes. Now there’s a story every mom wants to post on her Facebook timeline. “Oh! Lookie here what my daughter’s been up to!”

Like?

Click!

No. She needed to focus her energy on healing. I’d have to pretend everything was okay and save the truth for another day. Perhaps after my death.

I dialed, but her cell was once again busy. Maybe because she was overseas? I’d have to call the clinic in Sweden directly, but I didn’t have the number.

I returned to the kitchen, hoping Andrus wouldn’t be too offended by the intrusion. Maybe he just had to see that I was cool with the whole man-nanny-bodyguard thing.

“Andrus?” I called out.

He sat at the kitchen table holding Matty in his arms, the bottle filled with red liquid in her mouth.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Uhhh—cranberry juice.”

I’d done the babysitter gig for a few years in my early teens and never remembered giving anything other than apple juice, water, or formula to a baby that young. “And she likes to drink it warm?”

“She…um. She loves it. Lots of vitamins ’n’ stuff. Is there something I can help you with?”

Alrighty then.

“Is there a computer I could use?”

“In the study,” Andrus replied. “Just through the living room. Help yourself. The password is
demilord
.”

I thanked him, happy to escape his scathing sneer.

I found the study easily enough. And aside from the breathtaking view, nothing about it stood out: bookshelves, a few family photos on the walls, etc. But despite its normalcy, something about this entire home really struck me as, well…off. I couldn’t put my finger on it.

I popped open the laptop, typed in the password, and did a quick search, but shockingly found nothing. Had I forgotten the name of the clinic? No. No way. Center for Immune Management and Integrative Lifestyles.
Stockholm.

I scratched my head. Why wasn’t it coming up?

I tried several versions of the spelling before deciding it would be faster to call my neighbor.

I dialed the number and Mr. Harris, a retired plumber, answered. He said he had no idea where my mom’s information was, but that his wife would be home in a few minutes. Oddly enough, when I asked if everything was okay after all the commotion, he had no clue what I was talking about.

“So you’re sure? There’s nobody weird hanging around the building?”

“No, Penelope. Why? Are you in some sort of trouble?” he asked.

You bet your plumber’s crack, I am!
“No. Everything’s fine. Just some disgruntled ex-boyfriend,” I lied. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

I looked at the clock on the desk.
Oh no!
I had a karate class to give at seven.

I rubbed my face. I was on the edge of losing my sanity, but keeping what remained of my life intact felt like a necessity. Yes. I would go home, get my gi and other personal items, and stay with a friend until I could figure out what was going on.

That’s right, honey. You take that steering wheel!