Chapter 1 #2
Brianne was her normal self. But her husband Nate wasn’t.
He’d gone from hot to not in zero point two seconds.
So much so that she’d been banging her head against a wall trying to get him to notice her since her birthday, which was when she’d decided to make the transition and become a vampire.
The plans were in place. She and I had spells prepared to keep her from, you know, eating humans.
She was raring to go. In more ways than one.
Unfortunately, vampirism was akin to foreplay.
And with Nate’s seductive side stuck to the off switch, Brianne was left in limbo.
Heck, he barely kissed her hello these days.
And given that she was his whole freaking world not that long ago, it was leading to a lot of tension, inside and outside the bedroom.
Who knew getting laid meant that much? Probably people who were already getting laid.
It wasn’t just Nate whose dials needed turning. Every supernatural being was acting wonky.
Lauren started meeting with Ethan outside the Magnolia because he and Ray couldn’t get within two feet of one another without a shift and a growl. It was like their pheromones were on overload. They couldn’t stand the sight of each other.
But when they looked at me? Nothing. Zip.
Zero. Nada. Bupkis. I was just Simone. Ethan had reverted to friendly guy from high school.
As for Ray? There hadn’t been so much as a longing glance in months.
He barely spoke to me other than to offer a few platitudes, and when he did it was like someone had plucked his nose hairs until he agreed to say anything to me. I was getting antsy.
Cupid’s effect on me wasn’t the same. Maybe because my momma was human.
While the wolves were thrown up against a big ole chastity wall, I’d become the yin and yang of sexy time.
And the two men I had my eye on no longer saw me as a viable option.
They weren’t even looking for options. Or at me.
But they were each quite obviously frustrated in their own ways. They just didn’t know why.
It wasn’t like I could share with the world that Psyche had up and left Cupid when he’d become a lazy, fat old man who’d stopped paying attention to her. And the only way he knew how to get her back was to lift weights. As if having abs would magically make him a better partner.
Men, it turns out, could be dense no matter what their species.
So here I was, just one month shy of Valentine’s Day, and the mischievous little fucker who ruled the holiday was twiddling his digits in my chair, giving me a completely bullshit look of innocence while simultaneously swearing that forgetting his wife’s birthday sixty years in a row was not a big deal.
“I don’t get why it upset her.” He pointed at the empty chair next to him as if she were sitting there.
“Every time she reminded me, I materialized a dozen roses and a perfectly delicious cake. Now I can’t even eat the cake and maintain this physique.
But she’s still not satisfied.” He burst into crocodile tears, unnecessarily flexing his biceps on his way to grab the tissues before honking his nose.
Did I mention he didn’t wear a shirt? Every one of those fat fake drops landed on his swollen pecs so they glistened like he was bathed in oil. “I don’t know what she wants from me.”
He’d wailed that last sentence, pushing each word out on a heave of sobs, like a toddler being punished with no television. So, yeah. I snapped. I rolled my eyes.
“I think you do know what she wants, Cupid. She’s told you, and you’ve told me. She doesn’t want false romance and magic flowers.” I was trying like hell, and failing, to keep the snap of impatience from my voice. “She told you this when she left to stay with her mother-in-law.”
I paused, hoping the weight of what I’d said would sink in. He just blinked at me. “Your mom, Cupid. The same goddess who, according to your words, treats her like dogshit. Surely you understand the impact of how bad things must have been for Psyche to choose a woman who hates her over you?”
“That’ll pass. She’s just being over emotional.” I raised my eyebrows in disbelief. “Psyche knows I love her. I worship her! She’s as lovely as the day I first laid eyes on her. Moreso, since she was mundane then.”
“We don’t use that word in this house,” I reminded him. Again. His casual dismissal of humans set my teeth on edge.
I knew all too well how it felt to have a neglectful husband.
And I’d been dismissed as too emotional a time or two thousand myself.
Sure, I had magic now. I’d still pick a “mundane” human against Cupid’s ego any day of the week.
I wasn’t trying to side with Psyche, that wasn’t my job, but it was darn hard not to.
“Are you mad at me too, Simone?” He gnawed on his lip, looking up at me from underneath his long lashes. The fucker.
“I’m not mad, Cupid.” I pushed my box of tissues toward him.
“I admit I’m frustrated. It’s been almost three months since you begged me for treatment, and we’ve rehashed this same discussion in varying forms. Yet you’ve made no effort to talk to your wife about the root of your issues or to understand her perspective.
” I leaned back in my chair, setting my pen on the desk so that I didn’t stab him in the eyeball with it.
“She’s not here to defend herself or explain her perspective. Remember the goal of our therapy sessions?”
“To win my wife back.” That lip he’d been munching on dipped into a pout. An annoyingly sexy pout.
“Actually, no. Therapy to repair a couple cannot happen without both parties present.”
“She won’t come. She said there’s no use trying. She won’t talk to me.” He popped his guns and kissed one bicep. “Even after all this.”
Okay, Cupid. My body might betray me, but mentally the longer he spent in that chair, the less hot he became.
I wanted, desperately, to help him understand that she didn’t care as much about his butt as the part he had shoved up it.
But how was I supposed to explain that to him when the only exercises he wouldn’t perform were the ones that would strengthen his emotional intelligence?
“Cupid, I’m truly sorry that you and Psyche have separated.
I understand how difficult that is.” I bit back my fifteenth sigh of the session.
“But if she’s not willing to attend therapy, there is nothing we can do about that.
We’re not on a road to reunion, remember?
You came here to find the Cupid you were when you met her. To repair your … broken arrows.”
“But she’s my everything. She’s my arrow.” His baby blues welled. It was the first genuine show of emotion, and dammit if I didn’t feel sorry for him. I’m such a sap. “I can’t function like this. How am I supposed to be the God of Passion when my soulmate won’t even take my phone calls?”
I gave him a minute, or eight, with his tears. Sometimes, you had to wait until a patient hit bottom to show them how to reach back up. Maybe he’d hear me better after he’d drained the blocking emotions. And, because talking about Psyche was a lost cause, I switched tactics once he’d settled a bit.
“Let’s shift focus to your work, Cupid, and how you might see a way past your performance issues in time for Valentine’s Day.
” I leaned forward and took his hand, ignoring the way he tightened his forearms at my touch.
“Are you aware that your current dilemma has had an impact on the entire supernatural community? That it’s not just potential new romances that have been affected, but existing ones as well? ”
“I am. It’s an unfortunate side effect of my prowess as a god.” Even with red-rimmed eyes, proof positive that only moments ago he’d been on a crying binge, Cupid managed a surly grin. “It’s not going to be a very fun day, is it?”
I bit down on the inside of my mouth, struggling for calm. He knew. And he thought it was funny.
“It’s more than just a day, though. Right? This situation is altering relationships. Some of that damage could become irreparable.” He gazed past me, fixing his eyes on the window overlooking the bay.
“It’s a made-up holiday anyway.” He mumbled the words, almost too low for me to hear them.
It was petulant, sure, but I could hear the tremor.
Something was brewing beneath his arrogant demeanor, some core fear that was driving him to flare up like a peacock rather than face inner demons. “Nobody needs it.”
“People need a way to express themselves, Cupid. They need the safety to show someone how much they love them. For many, Valentine’s Day is that opportunity.
It might be a made-up holiday, but that doesn’t lessen its impact to those who recognize it.
” Cupid still wasn’t looking at me, which was making me nervous. What was he avoiding?
“Cupid, I think you know, based on your own experience, what happens to a relationship when the ones in it lose their sense of intimacy.” He swallowed.
Hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his corded neck.
“What happens over time, Cupid, when someone expects love from their partner but does not receive it?”
He didn’t answer, but a muscle along his jawline ticked. Foreboding pooled in my gut, sending a shock of adrenaline through me. The beginnings of a headache crawled up the back of my neck and every ounce of saliva disappeared from my mouth.
“Cupid, are we on a more serious deadline than I realized?”
“Perhaps we are.” He glanced at his watch and feigned a yawn. “I can’t really say.”
All this time, I’d assumed these seduction sidelines were little more than annoying side effects of Cupid and Psyche’s separation. Mere ripples in the love pond that would fade over time as Cupid began to heal.