*CUPID'S MATCH BOOK 2* FIRST DRAFT
Lila receives an ominous Valentine's Day card.
Cupid & Cal are keeping a dark secret.
Fate is being interfered with.
And a sadistic, and extremely powerful banished cupid is intent on stealing Lila's heart. Literal...
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I hold Cal's gaze.
The white lights from the threads around us illuminate his pale face as he looks up at me – crouched down on the floor. His silvery eyes are wide, panicked. His fingers linger on the empty hook- the hook that should have his life thread looped around it.
Await my instruction. I have something of yours...
The scrawl of Valentine's writing seems to be imprinted in my mind.
Valentine has Cal's life thread.
Valentine controls whether Cal lives or dies.
A low whistle escapes Cupid's lips.
"Unlucky, brother," he says.
He's trying to be casual – but it sounds forced.
I turn to look at him.
A cut runs across the palm of his hand where he's just smacked the wall – adding to his array of Valentine induced injuries. His tanned face has lost some of its color and his jaw is clenched tight. His ocean eyes, one surrounded by a light purple bruise, are fixed on Cal – shining slightly in the eerie light.
I know that the two don't always get on, but they're brothers. They care for each other. I remember the battle against Venus in the trial room, Cal's face twisted as he screamed at me not to kill his brother – even if it meant his eternal torture.
Cal drags his gaze away from the two of us and stands suddenly, brushing himself off.
"It's fine," he says brusquely. "I'm fine."
"What are we going to do?" I say quietly.
Cal shakes his head.
"He could have killed me already. He hasn't. He obviously doesn't want me dead...yet. I'm fine."
Cupid comes to stand closer behind me – stepping over a white string. His body heat envelopes me but it brings me no comfort.
"I agree, brother," he says. "We just need to get it back before he can carry out whatever he has planned."
Cal nods stiffly. He's trying to come across like he's OK, but worry is painted across his angular features.
"Let's get out of here," he says.
He starts to navigate briskly across the strong, immortal threads toward the stone steps. I share a look with Cupid and we both turn to watch him as he makes his way up the stairs, his head bent, eyes to the floor.
A dark look flickers across Cupid's face. I see the storm brewing behind his eyes, a flash of anger. He crumples up the Valentine's Day card in his fist and tosses it onto the floor.
He sighs heavily – seemingly getting a hold on his emotions.
"He'll be OK," he says.
He doesn't sound convinced, but I nod. I lightly put my hand on his arm in the hopes of offering him some form of reassurance – feeling the warmth of his body even through his jacket. He flinches momentarily, then seems to relax at my touch. He looks down at me, holds my gaze. His eyes look lost.
