Chapter 36

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I stare at James through the cool, dusty air. The two cupids killed on the beach stand on either side of him, one tall and slender with black spikey hair, the other shorter with a stockier build.

They seem to be letting James take the lead, and I wonder if – because of our history – they expect him to be able to negotiate with me for the box.

"How are you here, James?" I say.

His eyes lock onto mine – dark smudges beneath them. He doesn't look good. His usually tussled light brown hair sticks to his clammy skin, and the blue hoody that covers his slender frame is torn at the sleeve.

"The one who turned us gave us coins. We need the box."

He aims his arrow at me – arm wavering a little.

"I can't give you the box," I say softly.

A hurricane of emotions rages in my chest. I thought I'd never see him again. He was gone. He's not supposed to be here. And a part of me is relieved he's alright.

Only he's not alright, is he? He's here. In the Underworld.

He's dead.

He's really dead.

"I need it." A glimmer of panic bursts into his eyes before his features harden.

"I'm sorry this happened to you." There's a tremble in my voice as it carries across the cavernous hall.

"Give us the box and we won't hurt you," says James.

I say nothing. Just stare at him. Frozen to the spot.

And then Valentine chuckles; the low, gruff sound resounding around the museum like space – echoing from the glass pyramid ceiling and vibrating through my core. 

James flinches as though suddenly realizing I'm not the only one he needs to get past to get what he needs. His eyes slide to Valentine and the color drains from his face.

"You know this boy?" says Valentine.

"Yes," I say softly.

"The ex, I take it? First him. Then Cupid. You really do have poor taste in men, Lila."

I flick my gaze to Valentine – wary of what he will do. His eyes are fixed on James. Something glints violently within his irises, and there's a wicked grin spread across his face. He reminds me of a cat playing with a mouse; a predator playing with his food. He takes a steady step forwards.

"Three newly turned untrained cupids," he says – his low voice almost a growl. "Whatever shall we do, Lila?"

He runs a hand under his jaw in an imitation of pensiveness.

"You know, I'm almost insulted that my mother sent you to face me. Perhaps she just wanted rid of you. You know who I am, I presume?"

The three guys shift near the doorway, bows wavering. Valentine takes another step forward – his footstep echoing ominously around the room.

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