God of Temptation (Immortal Matchmakers, Inc)

CHAPTER FIVE

When Zac woke, it was to the sensations of warm sand in his ass crack and the hot morning sun burning holes through his eyelids. Something did not feel right, like a sickness crawling under his skin.

Slowly, he sat up, blinking away the grit stuck to his lashes. What in the name of the gods is that smell? It was like a bad cheese had sex with a skunk and gave birth to a whole new level of ripeness.

Gurgle, gurgle!

He looked to his side at the tiny hot spring bubbling away. The opening was no bigger than a dinner plate.

Mystery solved. That was a tiny demon portal. No wonder he and the other gods had missed it. Unfortunately, it meant he’d been right about being wrong or—whatever! What he meant was he’d gone into that conversation with Maury making lots of assumptions. Bad assumptions.

Zac was going to have to up his game and tread carefully, because the deal was struck, and the gods only knew what other surprises Maury had in store. Especially if demons had in fact been making visits to the human world during the gods’ absence.

Zac lifted his arm to block the glare of the morning sun. Where the hell was he? Dry hot desert stretched for miles in every direction with only an occasional desiccated bush to break up the scenery.

Off in the distance was a city with odd shapes in the skyline. Farther off were rolling foothills and mountains.

Vegas. Of course. What better place for demons to hide a portal?

Zac got to his feet and stretched his arms, noting an odd sensation in his limbs. So heavy. He glanced at his right arm, which resembled a pork haunch. “What!”

He looked down at his legs. Fleshy tree stumps. “Oh gods.” He’d completely forgotten about being placed in Hilbert’s body.

Zac pressed his hands to his face, feeling lumpy, protruding cheekbones and bumpy skin on his bulbous forehead. Great, I’m Mr. Potato Head.

He inspected his hands with little bratwurst fingers and brown-stained fingernails. His feet had black toenails like charred tree bark. Nasty. Don’t demons know how to do manis and pedis?

Slowly, his gaze fell between his legs. No! No! Nooo… Where his glorious cock once hung, there was a gangly little spaghetti noodle. Three inches? How the fuck am I supposed to seduce anyone with this?

Hilbert was lucky he had personality, because this body was like a rotten onion. When you peeled back the layers, it revealed all sorts of slime and stench. Couldn’t entice a moss nymph with this monstrosity.

No, no. Do not say that. I am still Zac, God of Temptation. My winning personality and charm are all I need. Some clothes would be nice, too. At least he was free from those horrid rusty chains.

But where was Tula?

She was the point of all this. He had two weeks to prove she would love him no matter which body he occupied.

Still, he needed a plan. He couldn’t burn up the clock searching for her.

All right. Where would she be?

My woman would be waiting for my return, making calls, checking in with the Uchben to see if I’ve been spotted. She would be working out of a home base, and that place would be the Immortal Matchmakers, Inc., office.

His heart fluttered, albeit a strange and irregular demon flutter reminiscent of a stalling car engine, but a flutter no less. He could not wait to see his beautiful, sweet Tula. If anything, he needed to see her smile again and ease her worried mind. She had to be miserable without him.

Zac started hiking toward civilization, his feet burning in the hot sand. Actually, not so bad. He lifted one foot and inspected the inch-thick layer of calluses. Demon feet.

See, things were already off to a good start. Next, he simply had to catch a ride. Naked. In a demon body. How hard could it be?

“Humans are so rude! I will make them pay.” Around three in the afternoon, Zac arrived at the offices of Immortal Matchmakers, Inc. It had taken over four hours of walking naked until someone finally stopped. No highway patrol assistance. No Good Samaritans. Not even an encouraging honk from a horny, indiscriminate trucker.

I bet it would have taken ten seconds to catch a ride had I been in my real body. But nooo. Car after car swerved, giving him a wide berth. Finally, a senile old man stopped. From the thickness of his glasses, he was probably blind, too, which was why he kept calling Zac “Ricardo.”

“Ricardo, what are you doin’ out here naked in the desert? Ricardo, dontcha know you’re gonna get a sunburn on them ass cheeks? Ricardo, where is your parakeet?”

Zac made up some lame excuse about sleepwalking and not knowing how he’d lost his pajamas or his parakeet. Luckily, the man didn’t question Zac’s answers. He also happened to be heading to LA to stay with his sister, so he loaned Zac some clothes from his suitcase. A fine pair of brown polyester pants and a neon-orange golf shirt. Classy.