Sun God Seeks...surrogate? Read Online Free PDF Page B

tied any more strings to this little bunny.
    “Penelope,” she bellowed as I was almost home free and out the front door.
    I cringed and turned to find her scampering after me.
    “Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked.
    Oh jeez.
    “The check.” She shoved it at me. “And buy yourself something nice for tonight. It’s your birthday.”
    Thanks for the reminder. I put the check in my purse and gave her a polite smile as I reached for the door. Then I paused, fighting the urge to kick my own tuchus.
    Dammit. I couldn’t leave without saying something. As awkward and ludicrous as the situation might be, she was about to help my mother.
    I took a deep breath and faced her. “Cimil, I know you’re not doing this to help my mom, but I wanted to thank you, anyway.”
    She flashed another wicked smile. “Don’t mention it. Helpful is my middle name—except on Saturdays. Then it’s Jaaaasmine…” She waved her hand in a semicircle through the air.
    It was actually Saturday, but I thought it best not to say anything.
    “Any hooo”—she shrugged—“you’ll pay me back someday. They always do.”
    I didn’t like that answer one little bit. In fact, my body lit up with tiny adrenaline-fueled tingles. Why did this woman evoke the fight or flight—mostly flight—response?
    I scrambled out the door.
    “And, Penelope…” she called out when I reached the bottom of her front steps.
    No, no, no. More strings. I reached for the wrought iron railing at my side to steady me.
    “There are three rules…”
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    “I ask you to leave here tonight, you knew it was planned
    When the world takes your heart from the fight
    You do what you can,
    You’re living here lost in this land
    So brother, don’t force my hand
    Please let’s see the forest for the trees
    ’Cause it’s time to rise up, it’s time to rise up from your knees ”
     
    — Pilot Speed
     
     

CHAPTER 6
     
     
    Kinich. December 1, 9:30 p.m.
     
     
    Grinding his teeth, Kinich watched his brother, the infamous God of Death and War, stroll into the trendy Manhattan hotel bar with an expression on his face that could, well, kill. The maître d’ took one look at the towering mass of muscles donning an Armani suit, and thick black hair wild and loose, and practically dove out of the way. The crowd parted like the Red Sea, leaving a trail of gaping-mouthed females in this muscled man’s wake. Like all gods, if he did not leash his energy, humans of the opposite sex—sometimes of the same sex, too—turned into rioting, sexually flustered mobs.
    “Good evening, Kinich.” Votan took the barstool to his side.
    “Nice of you to come, brother, but must you always flaunt your powers in public?” Kinich scolded to hide his uneasiness. Votan was the one brother whom he admired and respected above all others. But this was not a conversation either would enjoy. Kinich could only hope that Votan’s sense of duty would prevail over his anger.
    “Can’t help it. It is impossible to contain such strength inside this humanlike body.” Votan stretched his neck from side to side.
    “Perhaps you need to return to our realm for a vacation,” Kinich suggested.
    “I cannot. Emma has forbidden it until things are”—Votan cleared his throat—“settled. So what’s your excuse? Why haven’t you returned?”
    “I have been spending time with an old friend—a very old friend. One who may help us with the Obscuro problem.”
    “Who is he?”
    “I am unable to discuss the details, Votan—”
    “I no longer go by that name,” Votan snarled.
    “Ah yes.” Kinich stifled a laugh. “You’ve chosen a new name. What is it that Emma calls you?”
    Kinich knew, but enjoyed egging his brother on.
    “Guy. She calls me Guy.”
    “Very modern,” Kinich said teasingly.
    The bartender tiptoed over like a gazelle about to serve two hungry lions. Kinich ordered a bottle of Chateau Petrus 2008.
    Guy raised his two dark brows.