*CUPID'S MATCH BOOK 3* FIRST DRAFT
For the third time, follow Lila into a world of cupids, arrows, betrayal, and love, in the Watty award winning series with over 50 million reads online.
CUPID'S MATCH is published and in stores now!
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As we ride the River Styx, the buildings in the distance get taller – bleak, black skyscrapers looming over the water and smothering the dark landscape ahead. The way to them is blocked though by a heavy looking gate that extends across the water.
Before we can get to it, we reach a long bone-white pier that cuts into the river. Charon anchors the Ferry of the Dead by it and Cupid, Cal, and I are removed from our cages and marched along the decking.
There's an odd shuffle between Charon and Cal for a moment – I catch it out of the corner of my eye. But then I'm pushed down a ramp after Meg who is already marching ahead – a blade glinting from her belt.
Our hands are still bound in front of us and I stumble forwards. Cupid grabs the back of my leather jacket before I can fall flat on my face onto the ground. He pulls me back into him.
"You OK, lovebug?" His whispered words tickle my ear.
Breathing quickly, I push myself into his body for a moment, feeling his hard torso, and the comforting rise and fall of his chest. I'm cold and I let his warmth spread over me.
"I -" I start.
"To the Courthouse," hisses the blonde Fury – still stood on the ship – cracking her whip through the darkness.
I flinch then look at the concrete block like building ahead – its barred windows looking out like hollow eyes. Meg stops outside it's entrance; it looks like a down-turned mouth - open, and arched- about to swallow us whole.
She turns her head, dark braid whipping over her bare arms.
"Come on." A wicked smile crosses her face. "Your souls won't judge themselves."
Then she marches inside – biker boots clicking against the pier of bones.
I don't move forward. I don't want to go in there. There's something wrong about it – something that makes my stomach clench and adrenaline run cold through my body. And I don't know if it's just because of our imminent torture.
I don't want my soul to be judged. I've seen it, I think. In the center of my mind's labyrinth.
And it is filled with darkness.
Cupid's hand still touches my back and I feel his breaths on my cheek. The air here smells thick and old – like the forgotten air of a mausoleum; but the scent of Cupid's deodorant and the light aroma of pasta sauce from earlier clinging to his pale blue shirt brings me a small amount of comfort.
He smells warm. He smells alive.
I tilt my head back to meet Cupid's gaze, my heartbeat thudding dully against my chest. He gives me a reassuring nod – his expression un-phased even though we're about to enter an ominous building in the Underworld as prisoners of the god of the dead...
