Page 13 of Captured By the Cupid

I have never, in all my centuries, lost myself to a mortal. Not since Psyche.

My deep growls echo, reverberating all over the chamber because I will never allow history to repeat. This little mortal and the dark paradise of her lips will not overthrow all that I hold left.

If I lose myself to a mortal again, it will destroy me.

I slam my fist into the wall, fracturing it, taking whole chunks of rock and obsidian out, shaking the foundations.

And then, I groan when I hear the ominous and thundering four-note motif of the infamous refrain playing in the doorway. Followed by the tingling of tiny bells from his cap.

“Fuck, Cres,” I snarl, turning and snapping at my musical jester, who wears his usual vibrant purples, blues, and blacks that would seem opulent if they were not a patchwork of fabrics stitched from royal robes.Myroyal robes. “If you don’t stop playing Beethoven’s 5th right now, I’ll rip those balls right from your decent dick and substitute them with the inferior bells from your fucking cap!”

“Sorry, sorry, so sorry, my Lord and Master!” He ends the music, removes his cap, and clutches it to his chest. His horns bob the whole time. “You know I can’t help it. It seemed so fitting, given your distress. But perhaps…”

When he switches to a lively tune, I lower my chin and knead my eyes, shaking my head in disbelief. “Seriously? Crescendo,don’t make me regret keeping you around. Your dick is decent, but do not forget I have a host of floozies at my beck and call.”

“Aww, but we know who is your favorite, my dear Lord and Master.”

“Stop calling me that,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Of course, your masterful magnificent majesty!” He lays it on thick and grovels at my feet, his bells jingling a chaotic tune.

I glare at him. “Are you finished?”

He shrugs, rises, and kisses my cheek. “Come on, Eros. Smile already.”

I roll my eyes but oblige my partner with a half smile before I drive him up against that fractured wall.

“Well, now, someone is quite—”

I stop his mouth with mine, crushing my jester/lover’s lips before opening them while gripping that sizable dick. He may be a gargoyle, but he’s a damn fine one. Nowhere near my level as he’s a common rooftop gargoyle, but fine nonetheless. Nothing like those floozies, my lower gargoyle staff. Helps that he’s a simpering fool for me. And gods know I love simpering fools.

My other hand cups one firm globe of his ass and digs between the seam and into the worthy hole that can satisfy me. Satisfy but not truly rouse me, nor give me the power I have sought for a century.

Not one being, mortal, deity, or ghost has fulfilled that since Psyche. No other being can unite with my damned soul. Nor soothe it. No other sings to me. But…that little Butterfly makes my arrow hard. And when I kissed her…her soul fucking hummed to mine, stole my growl, and touched my unbeating stone heart.

I break from Crescendo. “Fuck!” I roar and throw my fist into more stone, subtly noting how my jester plays the tune to Ashnikko’sTemper Tantrumwhile I set upon the torture instruments, destroying them until the dungeon floor can barelybe seen beneath the scattered fragments of metal, iron, bronze, and wood everywhere.

When I turn, Crescendo halts the music and looks up at the ceiling with his hands casually folded behind his back. Bastard whistling a nonchalant tune.

“Feeling better?” He brushes some metallic dust off his shoulder.

“No.”

He shrugs. “Bound to happen when you bring a mortal to the realm of Purgatory for the first time in—”

“I didn’tbringher,” I snap and ball my hand into a fist, pacing.

Crescendo opens his mouth but pauses. I heave a deep sigh as he plays the tune of Shinedown’sHer Name is Alice. Tapping his foot and locking his eyes with mine, he asks, “Mayhaps, is she—”

“She isnota ‘tween traveler, Cres. This is not her dream, nor hallucination. Nor is she a living comatose.”

“But…that has never been done before? Not even Psyche—”

“I know!” I yell, kicking a hunk of metal to crash against the wall.

Another pause. My spine tightens, my wing muscles hardening from his tune of Christina Perri’sHuman. “So, what do you wish of me, my Lord?”

I throw him a daggered look.

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