Psyche's Heart : CUPID'S MATCH BOOK 3

Chapter 34

At the bottom of the steep stairway there is another door. I feel Valentine too close behind me as I stop by it – watching to see what I will do. I take a deep breath and I push it open.

My eyes widen.

The room opens out into what appears to be an old fashioned speakeasy – reminiscent of the Prohibition era. There's a stage against the opposite wall where a jazz band plays in front of a giant glittering dreamcatcher hung on the wall. Women in colorful flapper dresses, and young men in sharp suits and braces dance beneath glistening crystal chandeliers – weaving around the scattered round tables. And the air is thick with laughter and the scent of cigar smoke and hard liquor.

My eyes are drawn through the noise, though, to a man lounged on a crimson couch across the room. His arms are spread along the back; hands curved around a woman in a silver dress on his one side, and a blonde man on his other – both of whom are kissing his neck.

He is looking at Valentine though – a smile spreading across his face.

"Like I said, he's easily bored." Valentine's low voice tickles my ear and I breathe in sharply.

"That's Morpheus?" I say quietly – already knowing the answer.

"Yes."

I survey the God of Dreams across the glittering room.

His skin is dark, and his frame slender. He wears a long coat, a shade of blue close to black, and his loose white shirt is unbuttoned halfway down his chest. His black hair is short, and his dark eyes glitter with mischief when they slide onto me.

Something clenches inside me at his penetrating gaze and my heart begins to pound. He feels...powerful, somehow. An aura seems to radiate from him, hitting me even all the way over here.

Valentine nudges me forward and I pull my gaze away – but feel his on me still.

I start to walk through the crowds - eyes greedily drinking in details I missed before; a bar stocked with decanters of different colored liquids in front of a wall of clocks - each showing a different time, a ceiling black as night, and a large hourglass filled with glistening silver sand by the stage – tuned by a mechanical metal device.

The place seems to have a wild thundering pulse - that feels almost contagious.

When we reach Morpheus's table he grins up at us with a perfect set of white teeth. 

"Valentine!" he says. "And Valentine's friend."

With a flamboyant wave of his willowy arm he dismisses the man and the woman still sucking at his neck – his star like cufflinks glistening in the candlelight. I watch as they get up and skulk off back to the dance floor.

"We are all such stuff as dreams are made on," he says in a voice smooth as silk. I flick my gaze back to him and his smile widens. He gestures at the table before him with his slender fingers. "Please, take a seat. Join me."