“One of them?” The blond looked like he might explode with the strength of a bomb. “Stay here.” He strode past her with the power and grace of a panther and pulled a bow from his back. Amorette gawked at him as he nocked a golden arrow. Maybe she was unconscious; the blow from her fall worse than she thought because where on earth had he gotten a bow and arrow? The gold clutched in his fists was no ordinary bow, either. Its precious metal was the only thing soft about it as its curves hung halfway down his body, its edges and designs harsh and tactical. As long as she was tall, that was no hunting bow. Neither was it a competition weapon or a showpiece. That bow and arrow was an angel of death, a harbinger of pain, and the only reason one would carry such a monstrosity was to end another in a brutal display of carnage.
“What…?” Her voice gave out. He hadn’t had that when he walked in. She would have noticed the golden craftsmanship of war. It was too large to ignore, much like the intimidating warrior storming toward the back room. “What are you doing?” she squeaked, finally finding her voice. “Why do you have that?”
“Stay here, Amorette,” he said, not slowing.
“How do you know my name?” she grabbed his biceps in both her hands and yanked him to a stop, vaguely aware of howdangerous it was to physically restrain a man with an arrow aimed for the kill. “What are you doing? And where did you get that?” She could feel her sanity spiraling.
“I’ve always had it,” he said, anger in his eyes, but tenderness in his voice. “Now please stay here. I wish to shield you from this sight.”
“You have not always had that,” she practically shouted. She should stop fighting the warrior bent on vengeance, but something about him promised she was safe. She could argue with him, fight and confront him without harm befalling her. And she was tired of men leaving her oblivious, only for her to pay the price. “I would have noticed a god damned golden arrow and the tactical gear…” she trailed off, convinced she’d gone insane. Since when had he been dressed in black, form-fitting tactical gear? She swallowed, painfully aware of how unreasonably sexy he was in the formidable uniform that hugged his every muscle. Amorette always thought her blond Adonis was gorgeous, but seeing him like this was like walking into a fire and letting it flood your veins and ignite your heart. He was otherworldly in his beauty. An angel with ice atop his crown, and the devil with violence simmering beneath his surface. He normally wore sweaters and dress coats, tailored ensembles that conveyed wealth yet somehow hid his unnatural size, but dressed like this, there was no mistaking him. That man was a warrior, a demon, a monster, and his wrath was aimed at all who harmed her.
The blond pointed at the sign hanging above the cracked café door where her name hung in curling script, and her cheeks blushed at the obviousness. “I’ll explain,” he said, gently extracting himself from her hold. “But I won’t allow any more harm to come to you. Stay here, and let me avenge you.”
“Avenge me… wait, you’re not going to kill him, are you?” Amorette chased after him.
“Was he trying to kill you?”
“Yes.”
“And when he regains consciousness, will he try again?”
“Probably.”
“Then he sealed his fate.”
“But the cops? You can’t go around killing people.”
“Mortal rules do not apply to me.” He drew the arrow back and rounded the corner. “Do not watch.”
“No.” Amorette stood her ground despite his odd comment about mortals. “This is my fight. My brains they were going to paint across the bedroom. I’m not hiding.”
“If this is your wish, so be it, my brave Amorette.” He aimed for Derrick’s heart. “Witness what happens to anyone who so much as lays a finger on you.”
And the blond warrior shot.
Valentin rubbed Amorette’s back as she heaved, her hands desperately clutching her knees to keep from toppling forward in shock. He was impressed by how she handled herself in the face of death. In hindsight, he handled this poorly. He should’ve taken her somewhere safe and then delivered justice, but the moment he saw the blood on her perfectly full lips, his vision filled with red. No one touched his Amorette without paying the price. No one bruised her gorgeous skin without experiencing his punishment.
“Here.” He handed her a glass of iced water and helped her to the front of the café, easing her into a chair before striding toward the refrigerated display case. He seized a tray of chocolate-covered strawberries since they were the closest thingto breakfast in the shop and placed them on the table as he crouched before her. “Eat,” he ordered as she sipped the water. “It’ll help with the shock, and I need you to tell me everything.”
“What’s your name?” Amorette asked, suddenly staring at his ears, and Valentin cursed. He’d let too much of his glamour fall, and in the heat of the moment, he forgot about his pointed ears.
“Valentin,” he answered, capturing her smaller hands and pushing a strawberry into them. He couldn’t stop touching her. He needed to feel her pulse beneath her skin, to assure himself he’d arrived in time.
“Am I dreaming?” she asked, obediently taking a bite, and his thumb wiped the strawberry juice dripping down her jaw. Despite his title of Cupid, he didn’t love chocolate, but damn, did her lips around that fruit make it appetizing.
“No.”
“Then why are your ears pointed?” Amorette withdrew her hand from his hold and traced the outline of his ear.
“I’ll explain after you tell me why you’re in danger.”
Her expression soured, and she lowered her fingers. He instantly missed the warm electricity they sparked against his skin, but he watched mesmerized and heartbroken as she traced her split lip to wipe off some smudged chocolate. Valentin had the urge to kiss her pain away, but he held still, sensing the storm brewing inside her. Something about her aura told him he shouldn’t touch her. Not for this confession, so he handed her another strawberry before pulling his hands into his lap.
Valentin expected her story to gut him, but as she spoke of Doug, Cavitto, the stolen money, and the death threats against her and her family, it felt like a dull and rusted saw had carved into his chest with sloppy, excruciated cuts. It took all his strength not to react as she sobbed, and the fear in her eyes when she recounted kneeling on her asshole boyfriend’s carpet broke him apart. He longed to pull her into a hug, to promise thiswould never happen again, but her hands remained at her side, so he followed their lead.
Amorette finally fell silent, the magnitude of the situation hovering between them, and Valentin’s memory drifted to three weeks ago when he abandoned her. He had blamed the wrongness enveloping her on himself. A Cupid couldn’t get personally involved with mortals, and his growing attraction had muddied the waters. At least that’s what he thought had happened, but Amorette’s story told him that while he played a part in corrupting her emotions, the pollution surrounding her was born of Doug’s sins.
“I don’t have the money,” she finished, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Cavitto knows who my family is, so even if I flee, my parents will pay the price. I don’t know what to do.”
