*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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No-one speaks.
It's like time has stopped.
After the noise and carnage from moments before, everything is silent. Still. The air heavy and unmoving.
Cupid stands behind me, holding my arms – his hands firm around the sleeves of my jacket. I'm enveloped in the heat from his body, but it does nothing to comfort me. We stare out through the shattered glass at the LA street outside the offices.
My heart beats fast.
Valentine is gone.
And so are Morta's shears.
Looks like you just lost the only weapon that could have killed me.
Valentine's gruff, taunting voice echoes around my mind, competing with the dull thump of my heart that I can hear pounding in my ears.
That's what he came here for. The shears. Not me.
And it was my idea that led to him taking them.
Though it's Cupid's hands I feel on my arms now, Valentine's touch seems to linger on my skin. I can still see the shocking blue of his eyes on the back of my eyelids every time I blink.
I shiver.
I'll be seeing you, Lila.
"Are you OK, lovebug?"
Finally, Cupid disturbs the quiet.
I turn to look up at him. There's a smear of blood across his face from where he has wiped his bleeding nose with his sleeve. The skin around his left eye looks bruised and swollen. And, below his leather jacket, his grey top clings to his torso with sweat. His masculine scent floods my nostrils.
"It's my fault," I say, quietly.
He shakes his head violently. His eyes burn into mine.
"No. No it's not. Don't ever think that."
I glance past him at Cal, Cassie, and Morta, who are all stood in the center of the now disheveled looking reception area. The smashed monitors behind the desk still loop through news channels behind them.
Morta is the image of outrage.
The muscles in her bare arms are tensed beneath her black band T-Shirt, her jaw gritted. She stands stock still, curling and uncurling her hands repeatedly, her combat boots covered with blood, gore, and ash. Momentarily her cool blue eyes flit from their fixed position on the floor, to meet mine and I wince at the ferocity in her stare.
But then she shakes her head.
"I should have known better. What's done is done. Now we know."
"Know what?" says Cal – his face drained of color.
