“Does she know… that um… I’ve only dated Eros since becoming a cupid, and I don’t remember anything from before.”
Love sighs. “Juliet, we’re immortal. And yes, I told her. The only thing that matters is if you’re interested in her.”
“Well, I mean look at her, Love. She’s the most beautiful, confident—well no, you might be the most confident person I’ve ever met. But I don’t know, maybe I feel intimidated? She’s so pretty and seems like she knows what she wants, and I’m just starting to figure my life out.”
“Juliet, I say this with all the love in my heart. If you don’t get out of your own head and go and enjoy that date, I’ll be exceptionally disappointed in you.”
I blink at Love, hating the idea of disappointing anyone, but especially her. I look back at Mors, and she has her arms crossed. She almost looks as nervous as me. There’s no way she’s worrying that I might say no?
“She has a cat,” Love tacks on at the end.
“Huh?”
“A cat. The scary hot reaper you’re scared to go on a date with has a cat named Hades. He has three legs, and I’m pretty sure she rescued it from the depths of Hell. Go on a date with her and talk about her cat, talk about whatever. But if you don’t go, I promise you’ll regret it.”
I swallow, and Love squeezes my hand.
“I promise she’s not as intimidating once you get to know her. She has a kind heart, and I just know there’s a soft and gooey interior to her bad bitch exterior. Plus, from my experience, I think you’re better suited to be with a reaper than a cupid.”
“Okay, I’ll go,” I respond, even though I wonder why she thinks that. I have other self-doubts about how I’m not cupid enough, but I quickly shake them away.
“Excellent.” Love smiles, tugging me back over to Mors. “Your reservation is at Nightshade in ten minutes,” Love tells us, grabbing us both by the arm and all but pushing us out of the door. “Have a great time!”
She slams the door behind us, and I look over to Mors, who seems a little more shy than she did earlier. It’s lightly raining, and she leads me to an awning that we can walk under to get to the restaurant.
“Is that what you normally wear? Or do you wear robes too?” I ask, not knowing what to say and not wanting to say the wrong thing. Like how long her legs are, or how much her skin glows in contrast to the dark pantsuit.
Gods, she’s gorgeous. Her face is bare of most makeup, except a sharp cat eye and mascara. Her long, dark hair is pushed to one side as she smiles at me. Her teeth are white and perfectly straight.
“I usually wear the robes. Love said they did absolutely nothing for my figure and had me buy this for the party.”
I swallow and nod my head, because, well, Love is right. Mors is tall, lean, and has such an air of dark femininity that surrounds her, I could see anyone wanting to be in her orbit. She exudes power not in just the way she looks, but in how she carries herself.
“Because… because I was coming?” I stutter.
“Yes. Ever since Love came to Purgatory for the first time I’ve been eager to find a cupid who might be a good match for me.”
“Why a cupid?” I ask, furrowing my brow.
“Being a reaper can be heavy sometimes. Having a partner who is full of joy was appealing to me.”
I blush, and she places a hand on my lower back, touching my wings as we approach the restaurant. Mors holds the door open as we walk through, and she lets the hostess know of our reservation. There are a few odd looks my way, but not nearly as much as I suspected.
“Love and Death come here a lot. If anything, it’s because you’re a cupid they don’t recognize.”
“The cupids weren’t as gracious when Love brought him to the ball,” I say and wince when I think about my behavior that night.
The maître ‘d brings us to a booth, and I wince. If I could get these fucking wings to retract sometime soon, that would be just fucking awesome.
I attempt to slide in, but Mors gently grabs me by the wrist.
“Do you have a table that might be more suited for my date with the beautiful wings?” Mors asks, and I swallow.
“Of course, madam,” he says respectfully and walks us up a set of stairs until we’re at a table with an ottoman that is much more suited for my wings.
He leaves us with the menus, and Mors smiles at me. “Is this okay for you?” she asks.
“Yes, thank you. Hopefully I’ll be able to retract my wings soon. It’s… it’s been an adjustment,” I say, feeling slightly insecure. Who knows how long she’s been a reaper, clearly long enough to demand a certain level of respect in Purgatory.
