Hence why I’m currently stalking the cupid. He needs to learn that he can’t just keep preying upon inexperienced new cupids and continue taking while giving nothing in return. That isn’t what love is about. He’s giving cupids a predatory name.
Maybe I’m holding more resentment than I realize.
He’s alone as he pops over to Cupidale. I quietly teleport to our realm and follow him into the break room. He runs into Aphrodite and, to no surprise, starts talking about himself to the poor cupid who looks bored out of her mind.
He places his special plated quiver full of arrows on the table and turns away, flirting with the disinterested cupid. Poor Aphrodite, the bastard just keeps droning on and on about how he created conversation hearts and how all red Starburst jelly beans were his idea. He’s full of shit, there’s no way he’s that smart.
I take a breath and as quietly as possible, walk behind Eros and wrap my hand around the cross body section of the quiver. Aphrodite sees me, but says nothing, as I snatch the quiver. Igive her a thumbs up for being a girl’s girl before teleporting back to Earth.
Maybe it’s subconscious, maybe I just really wanted to see him, but I wander the halls of the hospital, looking for Death.
He’s leaning against a doorframe as I round a corner, a knowing smirk plastered on his handsome face.
“Love? To what do I owe the pleasure?” he drawls.
I swear he draws out pleasure in a tone that would make anyone weak in the knees. I’d like to hear him say it in a more private place, preferably between my legs.
I think I finally understand the human phrase tall, dark, and handsome. Because looking at Death right now has me nearly speechless. How could anyone not see the tremendous beauty these misunderstood immortal beings hold?
“Love?” he questions again, arching a dark brow in my direction.
“Oh,” I gasp out laughing at myself. “How do you feel about being an accessory to a small, teeny, tiny crime? Like there wouldn’t be a documentary about the crime if I were human, but I could seriously be fined and spend a few hours in a slammer sized crime,” I ask him.
His lip twitches in amusement.
“What did you do?” he asks, his voice deep and amused, not at all frustrated or judgmental. Could this reaper get any hotter?
“I may or may not have hypothetically stolen Eros’ super special plated quiver and arrows,” I say, shrugging my shoulders.
Death laughs, and it makes my smile widen. His eyes crinkle, and he looks so young and carefree at the moment that I have to stop myself from melting into the floor, or worse crawling to my knees and sliding under his robe to see what he’s packing in there. My guess is he’s huge, and damn, I hope I’m right.
“How long do you plan on holding hisprecioushostage?” Death asks, holding his hand out. I place the quiver in his large hand and he gages the weight.
“I didn’t have a specific amount of time in mind, per se. I mean if I had to give a time frame I’d say when he finally feels remorse for being a predatory, narcissistic tool.”
“I didn’t realize he hurt you this much,” Death says, his knuckles whitening as he grips the quiver. “You must have really cared about him.”
“I’m not upset we’re not together anymore,” I reply quickly. It’s not a lie and I feel like he knows that in the way he looks at me. I swear I see a sense of relief as well.
“Then why steal his arrows? Why invite me to the party?”
I tilt my head and look at Death. His face is hard to read, but I’ve seen a similar look in humans. It’s when they’re too afraid to say what they’re really thinking.
“I’m not doing all of this because my heart is in tatters or because I have residual feelings for Eros.”
“Then why?” he asks.
“Because he made me look stupid. Because I feel so naïve for ever liking someone like that, for allowing someone to make me feel less than. It’s petty, I know; stealing his quiver and wanting to show him up at the ball. Maybe it’s ridiculous, but it’s making me feel better, making him look as stupid as he made me feel. I was a new cupid with hearts in my eyes and he took that from me, he should hurt the way I hurt,” I spew out, feeling insecure and that perhaps Death is reconsidering our deal.
“I’ll keep it safe until you decide to give it back,” he says, tucking the quiver in his cloak and looking down at me, not with pity but with something indiscernible.
“I can’t tell if you’re judging me or not.” I cross my arms over my chest and puff out my pink feathered wings.
“Not judging. Admiring,” he says with a smirk. “How did you steal his quiver? That pink shitlord never puts it down.”
I laugh hysterically at the use of shitlord until I can breathe again and look at Death. He’s grinning down at me and I wipe my eyes before answering.
“He just put it down at a breakroom table while he was trying to flirt with another cupid. He has a girlfriend, mind you, and yet he was trying to get under Aphrodite’s skirt.” I take a second to realize he was probably flirting with all the other cupids while we were together and it forms a knot in my stomach.
