X Marks The O’s (Season’s Readings #2)

Chapter 1

VALENTINE’S DAY, PRESENT

V alentin had been shot before. It was during his tour in the Special Forces before he’d been tapped to succeed the aging Cupid, and the bullet had ripped through his flesh, shattered his ribs, and punctured his lungs. He almost hadn’t survived, but the pain of that bullet tearing through him was nothing compared to the agony in his chest when he saw her. He would rather aim a gold-tipped arrow at his own heart than endure the sight before him. People often assumed Cupid’s arrows were sweet metaphors delivered by infantile cherubs, but the bow strapped across his back was anything but innocent. Valentin was six feet and five inches of pure muscle, and the wicked bow curved brutally to hang down half of his body. There was nothing charming about its threatening appearance, nothing worthy of drawn hugs and kisses in its harsh angles. No, Cupid’s bow wasn’t magic that gifted romance. It was the defender of love, a weapon designed to protect the sanctity of that beautiful emotion, and if shot point-blank with one of his arrows, his Fae heart would explode into bloody tears.

And still, that pain would be a welcomed relief compared to staring at her. Nausea coiled in Valentin’s gut, and darkness blurred his vision. He didn’t know he could feel this viscerally, yet anguish riddled his chest all the same. It was too much to bear, too great to avoid, and ignoring everything he knew, everything he believed in, Valentin crossed the street and threw open the café door so violently the glass cracked.

The brunette recoiled as he strode toward her, terror bleeding into her eyes. He didn’t want to frighten her. Hurting her was the last thing he wanted. She was so fragilely human, so small and soft and sacred compared to his Fae size, but he couldn’t control the anger raging through him, the unbridled fear poisoning his blood. He had seen war, violence, death. None of them affected him like this sight, and he stormed for her, unable to stop. The beautiful brunette loosed a terrified grunt as she scrambled for the back of the café, but Valentin was upon her in two long strides. He caught her elbow in a gentle but firm hold and whirled her around to face him.

Her big brown eyes stared up at him with fear, tears blurring the chocolate color that matched the sweets she sold, and while some of her nerves were aimed at him, the horror he read in her features came from something else. Rage boiled in his chest to the point of pain. She was so delicate and perfect, and standing above her revealed in high definition what had made him so angry. His sight was better than a human’s, and he had noticed it across the street. He knew if he’d noticed the marks from that distance, she would look worse up close, but nothing prepared him for the reality. His rage doubled. He didn’t know he was capable of anger this severe, but as he stood above her, his wrath coiled around his heart so tight, he longed to draw his bow and use it for death, not love.

The brunette held his gaze, watching his fury multiply, but she didn’t pull away. She lingered against his hold, and Valentin realized she was waiting for him to help her, for him to prove he wasn’t like whoever she was fleeing, and a possessive tenderness wove through his anger, softening its jagged edges. Rules be damned. He didn’t care anymore. Not when she looked at him with such desperate hope.

With reverent fingers, Valentin brushed his thumb over her bloodied bottom lip. Crimson stained his finger, and never had the color of love been so vile. His eyes flashed, and he saw the minute she realized his righteous anger was for her. A terrified yet relieved sob escaped her lips, and he cupped her face gently, careful to avoid the bruises. He could smell her blood mixing with the chocolate and coffee that always scented her skin, and slowly he lowered his forehead to hers. He had to stoop to reach, but the moment their skin pressed together, he spoke low and clear and deadly.

“Who did this to you?”