*CUPID'S MATCH BOOK 3* FIRST DRAFT
For the third time, follow Lila into a world of cupids, arrows, betrayal, and love, in the Watty award winning series with over 50 million reads online.
CUPID'S MATCH is published and in stores now!
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I wake up with a start. I jolt upright - a tangle of damp sheets and limbs. My heartbeat is thundering against my ribs.
Something is wrong.
My eyes dart across the shadows.
I'm in the bed Valentine put me in when he first brought me here. I'm alone. I talked to Cupid for a while. Then I came here to get a few hours sleep before we headed to the Styx to get the Ferry back to the world of the living. So did the others.
I fell asleep.
I'm not hurt.
I'm fine.
So why are my breaths coming out hard and fast in the darkness? Why does something inside me feel so . . . bad?
And then I remember something else.
A flash of blinding white light.
A cave.
A dream.
Valentine.
I look down at my hand – the one with the faint scar cutting into my palm. It glows white in the darkness. I curl my fingers around it, creating a fist.
The memory that came to me when I was being tortured by the Furies floods back; crashing into my consciousness.
Valentine gave me my life thread.
I'm cold. Nauseated.
Furious.
Valentine has been toying with me. I know it. I feel it.
Why else would he have hidden this from me?
And what does it mean? Why does he need me to have my life thread?
Is it even mine?
I need answers.
Now.
I throw myself out of bed, almost getting caught in the white net curtains that hang from the four black posts. I curse under my breath. Then I storm across the room. The chipped tiles are cold against my feet as I reach the armchair in the corner.
My quiver full of arrows – doused in Morpheus's sleeping sand – is propped against its clawed food.
I sling it over my shoulder, pull on my boots, and head into the corridor.
It's silent as I power onwards, eyes fixed ahead, hardly noticing how the postmodern art on the walls seems to move in the darkness. When I reach Valentine's room, I take a deep breath – steadying the tremble of anger that vibrates through my body.
Then, softly, I push the handle. The door clicks open.
I step inside.
My hand reflexively moves over my shoulder for an arrow.
