I enter her space, creating a shadow barrier around us and she gasps, looking up at me.
“Do you like shadows, little cupid?” A tendril strokes her cheek, and she shivers.
“I think I just might.”
My hand goes up to her cheekbone and I brush it with the back of my knuckles.
“You’re so soft.”
She swallows and blinks up at me. “Do you like soft?” she asks breathlessly.
“I think I just might.”
Our moment is interrupted by the loud playing of harps signifying for us to take our seats.
Love and I stare at each other for a moment before she takes my hand and leads us to a table with the number seven on it. The tablecloth is bright pink—shocker, and the silverware and champagne flutes are gold. There’s a hot pink heart-shaped air balloon with a teddy bear in the basket at the center of the table. It’s truly obscene.
Cupids whisper and gawk as they walk past us, but Love acts like they don’t exist and I attempt to do the same, but mostly I just glare, and keep my mouth shut. Love slides her hand under the table and places a reassuring hand on my thigh. It does nothing to calm my nerves, it just makes my dick hard.
My muscle tenses under her touch and the little pink minx just gives me a smirk, not moving her hand.
Two women come to join our table, one with a look of surprise, another with a look of glee.
“This is my best friend Amore, and her girlfriend Doe,” Love greets. “This is my date, Death.”
Doe’s mouth drops even further, but both the cupids sit.
“You really fucking did it,” her friend Amore says blinking at me.
“You were in on Love’s little quest?” I ask the cupid who is staring at me in disbelief.
“I suggested it,” she swallows.
“Then I suppose thanks are in order,” I reply, and Love blushes next to me, I wonder where else I can make her blush.
“I feel like this should count towards my quota,” Amore says and Love throws a roll at her friend. “What? It was my idea.”
“True, but I convinced him to come,” Love says and Amore bursts out laughing, I hide a smirk over the innuendo, and fuck do I hope it comes true tonight.
Love blushes again and squeezes my leg. “Ignore her, and I do appreciate you being my date. I?—”
There’s a dinging of expensive china interrupting her sentence and all of the cupids take their seats at the rows and rows of tables throughout the space.
The cupid at the podium is near ancient, though you can’t tell by appearance. He’s young and youthful, but everyone knows he’s the oldest thing in this realm, the original cupid, Cupio.
“Cupids, welcome,” he says, while holding his champagne glass in the air. “It’s been another year of stupendous love and I’m so honored to have you here today. We’re here not to just celebrate your accomplishments, but to also ring in the new year of love. I have a feeling this is going to be the best year yet!” he says happily.
“Before we start with the awards, I’d like to make a toast.”
Everyone raises their glasses, except for me. Love squeezes my thigh—hard. I grunt and hold my glass, not nearly as high as the other cupids surrounding me.
“When we love, we always strive to become better than we are. When we strive to become better than we are, everything around us becomes better too.”
Did this man, the High Cupid, really just fucking plagiarizeThe Alchemist?
The cupids all smile and toast, and look nearly teary eyed at his toast. Fuck, I really don’t belong here.
I down the champagne in one go.
