God of Temptation (Immortal Matchmakers, Inc)

“Our connection is real,” Zac growled.

“Then you have nothing to fear. Tula will feel drawn to you no matter what you look like.”

“If I say no?”

Maury shrugged. “Like I said before, I will pursue Tula all the same. Here in the underworld.”

Zac growled again. He was likely beginning to see that this challenge was his best bet to keep Tula alive and all to himself. Doing nothing meant giving Maury full access to her.

Of course, either way, Zac would lose. Maury would make sure of that. Never trust a demon, Zac.

“Challenge accepted,” Zac said. “Two weeks. I will prove that Tula finds my soul just as irresistible as my body. But how do you plan to pull this off?”

Zac knew this was a trap. Demons could not be trusted. But whatever the king’s angle, gaining Tula’s affections wasn’t Maury’s ultimate goal. A woman like her was of no use to a creature who got all hot and bothered over destroying others’ lives. She would never be a fun companion to such a beast.

Unless… If the king got some sort of thrill out of the idea of turning Tula into a woman who enjoyed demonic pastimes. That might be a motive, though he’ll be sorely disappointed. Zac knew all about Tula’s pure heart. She was incorruptible. Even when she had given herself to him out of wedlock right before the big explosion, it was with the knowledge that his heart was hers and they would be married at the first possible opportunity.

So what possible motives could the king have for wanting to claim her? Zac could only think of one reason: to humiliate him. The king wanted to show his people that he could best the best. Basically, your standard pissing match.

“So what’s next?” Zac asked, still chained naked to the cold damp wall, while onlookers gathered behind the king.

“I am going to prepare Hilbert’s body—give his soul a fun place to play for a spell or two. When you wake, you will be in his body, free to roam in the human world.”

How the hell did he plan to manage all this? Zac had been under the impression that the king wasn’t able to physically manifest himself or anyone else in the human world.

Oh crap. I was wrong. Which meant Zac could be wrong about his other assumptions. “On second thought, I would like to rethink this deal—”

The king waved his hand, and a blanket of darkness washed over Zac. His eyelids grew heavy, and his muscles went limp.

Zac’s last thought was that he’d just screwed himself, and everything now rode on Tula. Her love was the only thing that could rescue him from this idiotic agreement he’d just made.

CHAPTER FOUR

Cimil, the glorious redheaded Goddess of the Underworld, paced in her pink tutu across the jail cell located deep in the basement of Hell. Well, it wasn’t exactly Hell. This was the section of the underworld where she sent evil souls to be tortured in creative ways for all eternity. Serenaded with kazoos, twenty-four-hour tickling, and, of course, her favorite, becoming Minky’s sex pet—the thing of nightmares. But such tortures were what the wicked deserved in the afterlife.

Why did that bastard Maury let the bad souls out? All those nasty beings she’d worked so hard to collect were now roaming free in the underworld or returning to Earth in fresh new baby bodies. Meanwhile, it was like a ghost town down here—minus the ghosts.

“Cimil, sit your ass down. I’m tired of watching you walk back and forth,” growled Votan, God of Death and War.

She looked over her shoulder at her brother in his black cargo pants and T-shirt. Votan was a large deity, at seven feet in height, with long blue-black hair and a scowl that made most mortals wet themselves.

Today, however, Votan looked like he might implode. Balled fists, perma-frown, and one giant vein bulging smack in the center of his forehead. I bet his butthole is tighter than a mosquito’s belly button. He looked that wound up.

Cimil flicked a dismissive hand through the air. “I can’t sit. I’m too busy listening in and thinking.”

“What are the dead saying now?” Votan asked.

That was the problem. She wasn’t sure. As Goddess of the Underworld, her special gift was listening in on all the chatter from the souls of the dead from the past, present, and future, and deciphering how different events played out. Billions of voices. Billions of different outcomes.

“I think…” Cimil tilted her head toward the moldy, dripping ceiling and closed her eyes, allowing the strongest voices to float to the surface of her mind:

“Ahhh! Why is everyone so naked?”

“McDonald’s is the only restaurant left in the world now.”

“The internet is out permanently? You mean I’ll have to talk to people face-to-face again? The humanity!”

Cimil’s eyes went wide, and she looked at Votan. “It sounds like we are facing a massive demon takeover.”