Psyche's Heart : CUPID'S MATCH BOOK 3

Chapter 49

Behind me the fire roars in the grate making my back sweat beneath my off-white top and shabby leather jacket. Crystal, Mino, and Cal's voices drift through from the kitchen. Ahead Cupid's gaze is locked on mine – his body a barrier in the open doorway. His jawline is hard, and there is tension in his lips.

I shift on my feet. I'm hot. Uncomfortable. Trapped. I feel like a lion in a cage.

We stare at each other. It's like neither of us can find the words to say.

Then I push my hair out of my face and walk towards Cupid and the door. He doesn't move, watching me as I brush past him into the corridor. I feel his warm breath on my forehead as I do, smell his summery fabric conditioner and musky shower gel. It makes me feel worse; unclean. I can't remember the last time I showered and I imagine the scent of death and the Underworld clings to my skin.

"I need some air," I say.

"Okay."

I feel his heat as he follows me closely down the corridor, and up the black spiral stairs. The voices of the others fade behind us. In silence we head to the rooftop terrace – the scene of our first kiss. So much has changed since then. Both of us head to the edge and lean against the black twisted railings into the breeze.

We don't speak.

The sky is unnaturally grey for Forever Falls, the winds heightened. Something supernatural seems to crackle in the air – like the weather knows what Valentine and I brought to the world of the living; like it knows what will happen next.

War.

Cupid's arm brushes against mine - tensed – as he looks out onto his grounds. Like the weather, his face is uncharacteristically stormy.

"So . . . you're Psyche," he says, finally – his voice low, is almost carried away by the wind.

"Yes." His jaw clenches harder in response. "At least. . . in a way. Her life thread is my life thread. And I remember things, parts of her memories. Just snippets. It's not clear. Not yet, anyway."

"You have some of her power, too," he says. "You caught the Ardor Cal shot at Valentine. You killed the Fury at your birthday party. Not many fully trained cupids could have done that." He runs a hand through his tussled hair. "You've always been good with a bow and arrow."

I glance at him. "You finally admit it."

The corner of his lip lifts. He catches my eye, just for a second, before bringing his gaze back over his pool and the mythological statues that stand in his yard. Then he exhales – brow furrowing.

"It seems that history really has repeated itself. My older brother has tricked us into being together once more."

"Maybe."

Darkness shrouds his features. "What else do you think has happened? He orchestrated the match this time, just as he did the last."

He sounds tired. But there's a note of anger behind his tone.