Soul in Darkness Page 20

  The girl’s grip tightened on her shawl with one hand and she abruptly set the bauble down.

  “Sorry,” Cupid chuckled. “Not my intention to startle you.”

  She let out a small laugh that pleased Cupid’s ears, making him blink.

  “It’s all right,” she said in a voice both husky and soothing, picking up the cat once more. “This one reminds me of something that happened when I was a child.”

  “And what was that?” Cupid leaned forward just enough to watch the girl pull her plump bottom lip between her white, straight teeth as if considering. His insides jumped, and he blinked again.

  Gods, what in Hades was wrong with him today? It was just a human girl.

  Again, she released a breathy laugh, almost nervous. She surveyed the cat, which he realized now was more of a lion.

  “When I was small I came across an injured mountain lion cub and brought it home. My parents were furious and scared to death—its claws were enough to shred me—but I insisted on nursing it back to health. So, I did. And it never once scratched me, though I can’t say the same for my room’s furniture. I cried when I had to set it loose.”

  Cupid stared at the tiny bit of her profile she allowed to show. Then he stared some more. She hesitantly turned enough to glance at him, and he watched with immense satisfaction as she did a double take, forgetting herself and showing the oval of her face within the cloth. He jolted with something he’d never felt in all his long years of existence. The sensation was so foreign he couldn’t begin to put a name to it. Her eyes, so round, were a mix of golden honey, amber sap, and sunshine. As bright and beautiful as her soul. Her lashes stretched wide like dark butterfly wings. This was definitely, without a doubt, Psyche.

  The stall owner gasped at the girl’s raised face and began to point, but Cupid cut her off mentally—“Look away. She is a normal girl.” The woman’s eyes and hand dropped.

  “I know,” Psyche said sheepishly, peering down at the figurine once more. “It was silly.”

  “What?” he asked. Oh, the cub story! Cupid shook his head. “No. I do not consider a tender heart to be silly.” He meant it and truly wished it was not the case. He needed her to be inconsequential.

  She tilted her head and stared back at him now, studying him. He wondered why she scrutinized him so. What did she think when she looked upon him? Was she suspicious? Did she not believe his words to be genuine? He wanted to understand this look from her. He wanted to know and understand everything about her. His thoughts gave him a shot of chilling fear.

  No.

  He did not need to understand her. Nor did he need to know her. This ended now.

  “Where are you from?” she asked at the same time he said, “What is your name?”

  The girl peered down. “I’m nobody.” A non-prideful response.

  His heart clenched tightly in his chest and he forced himself to breathe.

  “What is your name?” she asked.

  “Leodes,” he answered automatically, using the Earthen name he always gave.

  “Leodes,” she repeated with a sweet smile, and the way it sounded from her lips made him overly alert in all the wrong places. That was not part of the plan.

  “I seem to have lost track of time,” he told her stiffly. “My boat will leave without me.”

  Disappointment flitted across her face as she gazed at him now, full on. “I didn’t mean to keep you with my stories, sir. Thank you.”

  “For what?” he asked.

  “For…listening.”

  Odd. A princess surely had an arsenal of listening ears at any time. He let out a breath, fighting instincts that fired up inside of him before pushing forward with his thoughts. He had a mission. He must put his misgivings away and trust his mother’s instruction. “You will visit the pig stall. Now.”

  Her eyes glazed, and it gave him an ill sensation. He’d never felt regret or remorse for any mission, and he dared not start with such foolishness now.

  “I have to go, too,” she told him. “I wish you safe travels.”

  He could not bring himself to respond. Cupid tore his eyes away and walked heavily in the opposite direction. A single glance behind him showed the guards all moving to follow her, leaving no doubt this was the third princess. The princess who calls herself “nobody,” takes pity on stranded animals, and hides her beauty. A girl with the brightest soul on the island, who his mother mistakenly believed to be cruel and selfish.

  It mattered not how the girl caused him to feel. Or how she seemed unworthy of punishment. Cupid’s place was to obey. His mother trusted him, and he trusted her.

  Cupid gave his head a hard shake and stalked behind a stall, shivering as he shook off his human glamor and filled out his true form once again, remaining hidden from sight. He yanked the bow over his head with more force than necessary. On this day he didn’t bother bringing his vials. He had dipped his arrowhead straight into Venus’s own fountain that morning before leaving Olympus. The tip of his arrow was poisoned with the most potent love potion.

  One scratch and the glowing girl would be in love with the pigman.

  He ignored the churn in his abdomen and bent his knees, leaping onto the stall roof, then gliding from one rooftop to the next, flying the last bit until landing on the flat roof of a barn within shooting distance of the pig stall.

  The man was shoving a different squealing piglet into a wooden crate as Psyche approached. Cupid held his breath as he watched how she walked with natural grace, almost gliding along the pebbles and dirt as smoothly as his mother.

  No. That was the same foolish comparison the humans made, and it angered him that he could understand now how the rumors came to be. He had not even seen the girl in full, and he was overcome. He could only imagine how the stupid humans felt. Cupid grabbed his forehead and closed his eyes a moment. He needed to finish the job and get far away from this damned isle.

  “What do you wannn…hello my dear.” The pig farmer had noticed her. A chill raked up Cupid’s spine at the way the man leered, showing all of his graying teeth. The guards gave one another concerned glances, all stepping a bit closer. Psyche was still under Cupid’s spell standing at the stall, presenting her back to him as a perfect target. He could not wait a moment longer.

  Without taking his eyes off her form, Cupid reached back and pulled the arrow from his quiver. No more delaying the inevitable. Squatting, he aligned the tip of the arrow with the part of Psyche’s back where her heart lay. He would not think about how brightly she shone, especially in comparison to her future mate, dim in every way—the man whose filthy hands would soon be all over her.

  Hades.

  Cupid wiped his brow. Was he sweating? Was that a tremor in his hand? What fresh madness was this?

  When he looked back, the pigman shouted and kicked a piglet who’d managed to pry its way from a crate. Psyche bellowed a cry and covered her mouth. Her heartfelt reaction to the treatment of the animal gave Cupid pause. Would her emotion be strong enough to break his verbal spell? How would she react to the pigman? He stared in fascination, his bow drifting downward as he allowed himself to watch for one more indulgent moment.

  Just one.

  She really was a mesmerizing sight. Her guards all watched from nearby, seeming baffled as to what she was doing there.

  Finally, she dropped her hands, making tiny fists, and raised her chin. “You don’t have to kick the poor thing!”

  The pigman’s eyes narrowed and he forced a laugh. “No worries, Miss, they don’t feel pain the same as us, you see?”

  “That is not true.”

  “Say, what’s your name, Miss?” The pigman licked his lips. “You seem familiar.”

  She stiffened, the motion bringing Psyche to her full royal posture just as a wind gusted, her hood falling back to reveal rich waves of honeyed brown hair, shining like silk kissed by the sun and sea. The breeze picked up her hair, pulling it from beneath the cloth and blowing it out from her body. The farmer gasped, a
nd the god gaped as she tried to wrangle the long strands back under her hood. Gods of Olympus, she was a sight.

  A sting of pain caught Cupid on the knee and he hissed. What in darkness? Cupid peered down at the cut in his skin, now tingling. His arrow, no Psyche’s arrow, hovered above the spot where blood pebbled to the surface of his skin, then immediately healed over. In a moment of confusion, he looked back down at the pig stall and saw Psyche turning, shaking her head as if bewildered, then he saw her face. A rush of strong emotion hit him like a hurricane, swirling furiously around him, forcing his breaths to come in gasping waves, his eyes widening, his heart soaring.

  Oh.

  OH.

  His knee. His arrow. Psyche’s glowing face of perfection. His mind expanded, stretching wide enough to take in all of Earth and Olympus and all of the worlds beyond. The feeling strained his mind and heart, muddling everything he had ever known. Cupid began to tremble. He could not look away from the small sliver of her heart-shaped face beneath the hood, those soft and lush lips, and her creamy hands.

  He loved her. There was not a single, miniscule part of him that did not love her. The feeling was all-consuming. A devotion more powerful and wondrous than anything he had ever known.

  Somehow, his mind-spell over her had been broken much more quickly than normal, and she seemed to want to get as far as she could from the stall. She moved faster when the pig man shouted after her.

  “Don’t you know it’s rude to walk away from a man without responding? Hey!” He glared at Psyche’s retreating back. When the largest guard passed her, heading toward the stall to deal with the mouthy farmer, the princess grabbed his arm and begged him to leave it—the pig farmer had no idea to whom he spoke. Within seconds the remaining guards were surrounding her as well, and they rounded the corner out of sight.

  Cupid flew down at top speed, still invisible, and crushed his golden fist into the pigman’s face. The farmer, having no idea what hit him, flew back into the hay and manure, grabbing his face and yelling, flailing in pain and alarm.

  Nobody shouts at my love, Cupid thought.

  His love…yes. Nothing had ever felt more right.

  Psyche didn’t know it yet, but she was inescapably his. And he was hers. Nobody, not even his mother, would lay a hand on her.

  MOTHER DEAREST

  Cupid caught up to Psyche and her guards, flying above them as she moved quickly through the crowds, her head down, face and body hiding behind the large, loose shawl. When the guards moved closer, she waved a hand as if to keep them at bay. They arrived at the gated entrance of the royal living area, and Psyche paused to look upon the massive pile of items against the wall.

  The god realized with a pang that these were the offerings his mother spoke about. Baskets of fresh fruits and vegetables. Bushels of wheat tied with twine. Shiny bits of jewelry and gems. Handwoven rugs of fine quality and color. Yes. Psyche deserved all of this and more. But to his amazement, she gave her head a sharp shake and barked something at the largest guard, who gave an order to a younger soldier before escorting the princess on while the younger guard began to gather the items. Cupid scowled when the guard momentarily touched her lower back. If he did that again, the god would snap the man’s fingers.

  Glancing back, he saw that the younger soldier was not carrying the offerings through the palace gates. Instead, he headed down a smaller path toward the squat homes that leaned against one another, one sea storm away from toppling over.

  Cupid’s heart constricted. His love was giving her gifts to the poor.

  His mother’s information had been so very wrong. He wanted to pummel whoever had spoken ill of Psyche. She could do no wrong. Cupid would clear up this entire mess, and all would be well.

  Once he saw her safely into her home, Cupid flew swiftly, crossing the layers of atmosphere between the realms that only gods could see, passing from Earth to Olympus. It took only seconds for his eyes and nose to adjust to the brighter colors and more vibrant scents. He flew straight to the seaside villa of Venus, surrounded by fields of flowers and covered in lush vines.

  He was out of breath when he landed before his mother, but not because the trip had winded him.

  “Mother!”

  Venus’s hand flew to her chest and she let out a startled laugh. “Son! Why do you look as if all the spirits of Hades have risen? Did you accomplish what you set out to do?”

  “Listen.” He took his mother’s thin, but strong, shoulders in his hands. “We had it all wrong. Princess Psyche is not at fault. She has no interest in the offerings—”

  “Cupid.” The goddess shrugged out of his grip, her face stern. “What in the name of Olympus has gotten into you? You are crazed! Is that sweat on your brow?”

  “No, Mother, please.” He closed his eyes, grasping his hair, desperate to make her understand. “She is good. Her soul is…” He let out a deep sigh, remembering. “The most beautiful soul I have ever seen.”

  When Cupid finally opened his eyes, his Mother was gaping at him as if looking upon a stranger. A particularly odd stranger. She shook her head slowly.

  “Do you mean to tell me you did not do as I asked?

  “Did you not hear me, Mother? Her soul—”

  “I do not care. Her parents also had bright souls. Do you recall?”

  Cupid shook his head. He had to make her understand. “Not like hers. Nothing like hers.”

  Venus scoffed. “Her feeble soul will be sullied in the blink of an eye, Cupid. Do you deny she has been given offerings? That she is but a false god?”

  “She does not accept their gifts. She gives them to the poor.”

  “They are my offerings. They should not be going to any humans!”

  The mother and son faced off, standing close, both speaking in raised voices.

  “Then punish the people, not Psyche!”

  Her voice lowered a dangerous notch. “How dare you question me? I will punish everyone on that forsaken island and their beloved princess.”

  Cupid gripped his hands into fists. “I will not allow you to hurt her.”

  A bubble of laughter rose up from Venus, but her face held no amusement. “Allow me? Are you hearing yourself?” The goddess’s hands lashed out and shackles appeared on her son’s wrists. Her hands flicked again, and he flew back, crashing into the wall, struggling to break the manacles.

  “No!” Cupid rushed to his feet, only to be bound by the waist and ankles, yanked back and pinned against the wall by his mother’s immense power.

  She glided forward, her face a mask of terrible anger. “Are you so weak as to fall for a pretty human face? Is that what this is?”

  “I love her!” he shouted, panting for breaths.

  Venus jerked as if struck, and for a moment her mouth hung open. Then her eyes darted to his bow and quiver, squinting.

  “There is blood on your arrow.” Her eyes narrowed, and she began to shake as she stared. “Who did you strike?”

  When his mouth clamped shut, she moved to him, crouching close and stroking his cheek with gentleness. “Cupid?” Venus cupped his chin. “You know you have my heart more than any ever has. There is nothing I would not do for you.”

  He all but crumbled under her touch and kind words. All of the fire left his body and he slumped into her hand.

  “Whose blood is on your arrow, son?”

  Cupid swallowed hard. “My own.”

  Time seemed to pass in slow motion as Venus processed this information. And this time when she began to laugh it was genuine, earnest humor. She kissed his cheek and rolled back on her haunches, laughing so hard she had to grip her stomach. Cupid glared at her misplaced hilarity. He had never seen his mother in the clutches of such merriment. He gritted his teeth, wishing it would pass.

  “Are you quite finished?” he asked when she finally began to gasp and sit up, wiping tears from her eyes.

  “Oh, Cupid. Darling.” She brushed his cheek again. “You know I cannot let you go until the effects have pas
sed.”

  Cupid frowned, yanking the chains. “Mother, no. I must go!”

  All humor left Venus’s face. Her soft touch turned to the rake of a fingernail along his jawline.

  “I know what is best for you. If my potion lasts three months on the average human, you should burn through it in a fraction of that time. Not to worry. I shall care for you until you are yourself again.”

  “I have never been more myself!” He attempted to stand and failed. “Let me out of these!”

  She tsked. “Once your self-inflicted wound has healed and you see clearly again, you will complete the task I gave you.” Venus stood, peering down at her son’s frantic eyes, as blue as arctic waters. “Princess Psyche will marry a monster as planned.”

  “Mother, no!” He struggled, every muscle tensed, bulging with useless power. “I will never do it! Do you hear me? Never!”

  Venus walked away from her son, taking her time, never looking back as his pleas of agony filled her chambers, rattling himself to the bones.

  OMISSION

  It had been nearly a year since Cupid had laid eyes on Psyche. Eleven human months. The arrow’s elixir had long since worn off, leaving behind a haze of memory of the weeks afterward. If he had not been so dazed by the strong tincture, he would have known better than to challenge his mother. Handling Venus was a delicate act, one at which Cupid was a master, but he had failed miserably the day he had struck himself like an amateur, ending up chained. He would never lose his head like that again.

  Now, he did as his mother asked, keeping Psyche from finding love or a good marital match, though now he did it for his own reasons unbeknownst to his mother. He could never tell her that long after the effects of the love potion had worn off, his feelings of intrigue for the human, his fascination with her soul, his need to watch her nurturing animals and appreciating the beauty of nature only grew. And grew. Blooming into something far stronger, richer, and more magnificent.

  His love for Psyche mirrored his mother’s hatred for her, in reverse. Their sentiments were both filled with passion, though Venus made hers known while Cupid kept his hidden. In his pocket, he often rubbed the wooden mountain cub bauble. He had gone back for it when his mind righted and had been surprised to find it still for sale. Now the trinket never left him, a constant reminder of her sweet soul.