Chapter 9: Signs of Cupidity: Chapter 9

Second and Third kneel on either side of me. Evert slips an arm on one side of my back, while Second slips his arm around my other side. Together, they heft me in the air, each of them taking a side, supporting me under my armpits and thighs.

I cry out when Second jostles my hurt wing, and he grimaces before catching himself. See? He’s the nice one, even if he’s trying to hide it.

Despite me being dubbed Enemy Number One, they carry me carefully, their matching strides long and even and surprisingly smooth for their bulky size.

I realize that the reason the two of them are carrying me instead of just one is because they don’t want to move my wings. That’s…oddly thoughtful of them, considering the vastly different vibes I keep getting.

Still, even with them being careful, the gravity pulling at my heavy wings is painful in more ways than one. I can’t tuck my wings in either, because of the arrow. Damn Not-First for shooting me. If I had my bow and arrow, I’d shoot him right in the ass.

Despite the pain I’m in, I can’t help but be desperately aware of their touch. Where their callused fingers hold under my arms and legs, my skin tingles and jumps, like my nerves are over-excited puppies. I’m pretty sure my thighs would try and melt in their hands if they could. Even my armpits are excited about being touched. Who knew being hoisted up by the pits could feel so good?

When Second moves his hand to get a better grip on my thigh, I nearly shudder. If I weren’t in pain and bleeding, I’d grab that hand and rub myself on it like a cat. Speaking of cats, I look over his shoulder and stare at his wheat-colored tail with the blonde tuft at the end. It’s trailing behind him, flipping back and forth every so often like it’s bored.

Third’s tail is sleek and black, with a tuft of thicker black fur on the end. I really want to grab one and see what they feel like, maybe rub my cheek against it. Hmm, would that be a social faux pas?

I stop myself from doing anything crazy—like reaching back and yanking on one—and decide to study their faces instead. Third—Evert, has black hair and stormy blue eyes.

Like all the others, his jaw is covered in a thick beard that makes him look rugged and sexy. But on his cheeks, pretending to hide under his beard, are the sexiest dimples I have ever seen. Oh, gods, those dimples. I want to reach up and poke my tongue in the indent.

Honestly, I don’t know what I was thinking making him Third. He’s definitely first place material. Plus, you know, he’s the only one who seems to not think I’m some crazed enemy sent here to lead them to their demise.

When he notices me looking at him, he shoots me a smirk, putting one of those dimples on display, and I swear, my whole body flushes. “You keep looking at me like that, and we might not make it back to the cabin after all.”

“Evert,” Second scolds.

Second has blonde hair that glistens in the sun and those nice, brown eyes of his. His skin has a dark, healthy tan, and he’s slightly smaller in build than the others. Everything about him gives off a calm, friendly vibe. “What’s your name, Second?” I ask.

He arches a brow at me before answering, “Sylred.”

“Sylred,” I taste the word on my tongue. “I like it,” I say.

“You gonna tell us why you ranked us yet?” Third asks.

“No. But I have to tell you, things aren’t looking good, what with you deciding to tie me up and all.”

“So basically what you’re saying, is that I’m your new favorite.”

“Definitely,” I say with complete seriousness.

He flashes me that full dimpled smile and I’m ready to bow down before him and declare myself his sex nymph if he’ll just keep looking at me like that.

Also, side note, I’ve seen the real fae nymphs. They really obsessed with sex. It’s all they do and talk about. Even I got sick of them after a couple of days. And they aren’t what you’d call attractive, either. They’re tiny, made up of mostly skin and bones, and have faces like bats. So yeah, pretty disappointing overall.

We’re still walking through the forest, and even though I know they’re being as gentle as possible, the jostling is starting to make all my aches and pains even worse. Then I feel something.

On my arm.

My itch.

I shriek loudly, nearly making Evert and Sylred drop me. Their tails flick around and they crouch into a protective stance, trying to see where the threat lies. But I’m too busy staring at my arm to reassure them.

Without taking my eyes off my arm, I bring my hand to the spot that has plagued me for decades. I curl my fingers and drag my nails across my skin.

“Oh. My. Gods.”

I tilt my head back in complete ecstasy and flutter my eyelids shut. I finally, finally, can scratch this motherfucking itch. And it’s “What the hell?” Evert says. But I don’t answer him. I am in my own little itch-fantasy world.

I keep scratching, and high heavens does it feel good. I scratch and scratch and scratch. I make that itch my bitch.

“Umm, do you have a rash or something?” Sylred asks.

I finally look up at them, still perched in their arms, and both pairs of eyes are watching me with confusion.

I laugh. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to scratch this itch.”

Sylred clears his throat and nods at my arm. “Uh, okay,” he says, drawing out the word. “But you’re making your skin raw.”

I wave a hand at him dismissively. Raw shmaw. Who cares? I’m finally rid of the itch! I keep going.

“Alright, Scratch, I think you got it,” Evert says.

I realize right then that it sort of hurting, so I reluctantly stop scratching. Very reluctantly. My skin is bright red with fingernail tracks and I’ve peeled a layer of the skin away. But the itch is gone. Gone! That’s all that matters.

I shrug and put my hands back in my lap, poised and ready for the guys to continue carrying me. “As you were,” I say as politely as a princess. Evert snorts as they start walking me again.

“Don’t think I’m not watching you, itch. You come back and I’ll be all over you like rain in a puddle,” I say to my arm.

Evert grins. “She’s talking to her itch.”

Sylred’s lips twitch. “So I heard.”

“Maybe she’s daft?”

I laugh, but then I realize that’s probably what a crazy person would do, so I quickly stop. The guys shake their heads at me.

“Are we almost there? My wing hurts,” I tell them, and yes, my voice is a bit whiny but it can’t be helped. I’ve had a very taxing day.

They don’t answer, but a few minutes later we break into a clearing and I see a large cabin before us. It’s made of the same wood as the forest trees, and it looks somewhat crude, with uneven cuts, branches and dried mud for a roof, and a door made of tree branches. The windows are covered with ropes of vines and there’s a chimney jutting from the side made of stacked stones.

“Did you all…build this?”

“Yes.”

“Wow,” I say, impressed.

But then mister Not-First-Anymore-Because-He’s-A-Big-(not fat)-Jerk-Who-Shot-Me steps out from behind a tree with a rope in his hands, and my stomach falls. I guess they weren’t kidding about the whole tying up thing.

Not-First points to a tree nearby and I see Second and Third share a look before they set me down, putting my back to the tree. Ronak wastes no time coming over to start wrapping the rope around me. “Hey!”

He ignores me, continuing to tie me up to the tree, and I’m forced to stop struggling because my wing and shoulder are killing me. “I didn’t do anything!” I tell him. It falls on deaf ears. “Why are you doing this?” I ask, my voice catching.

Second—Sylred, stands behind Not-First with his mouth turned down. “Is this really necessary? She’s a female and she’s injured.”

“Quiet,” Ronak snaps. Apparently, it’s not up for discussion.

“Typical,” Evert mutters under his breath. “I’m out of this.” With that, Third turns around and stalks away, disappearing from sight. Guess I just lost my ally.

Ronak pulls on the rope, ensuring it’s tight enough that I can’t escape. Then he sits back on his heels and stares hard. “What are you?”

He’s tied me so that my hands are caught in my lap, and my back is held against the rough bark of the tree without an inch of give. “You shot me with an arrow and now you’re tying me up like a prisoner. Why would I tell you anything?”

“Because if you don’t, that arrow in your wing will be the least of your problems.”

“You enjoy hurting defenseless women?”

“I’ll bet your wings that you aren’t defenseless,” he replies unconcerned. “But whatever plan you have against us won’t work.”

At this moment, he has no idea how wrong he is about me not being defenseless, although I’d never admit it. I’m completely at his mercy. If he was a bit closer, I might be able to breathe some Lust his way, but even if it could reach him, it wouldn’t work unless he felt at least a sliver of desire for me, and considering the hatred that burns in his black eyes, I highly doubt it.

Besides, I don’t even know if my cupid powers still work with me like this. I don’t want to test it out with an audience. I might need it later, and the element of surprise is good to have on my side.

“Who sent you?”

“Your mother.”

Not-First takes hold of my injured wing and yanks. Hard. I cry out and try to kick him, but he pins my legs under his and pulls me forward until our faces are only inches apart.

From this close, I can see now how black his eyes really are; it’s like looking down into a bottomless pit. I can’t help the tears that trickle out of my eyes from the pain in my wing. Hate burns through me and I swear, if I had something to stab him with, I wouldn’t hesitate.

“Now you listen to me,” he says in a low voice. “You will tell me what you are, who sent you, and what you’re doing here.”

I grit my teeth in both pain and hate. “Let. Go.”

“Ronak…” Sylred says from behind him.

Not-First ignores him. “Tell me now,” he orders me, letting go of my wing with a painful lurch.

I know I’ve lost. I’m in terrible pain all over, my body is way too new to be effective in any sort of escape, and there’s no way I can get out of these bindings. But I hate him so much that even though I know he has all the power over me, I won’t give him what he wants. Why should I?

I turn my head away from him, refusing to answer. Ronak stands up and looms over me, but I don’t look at him. I try to make myself to stop crying, but the throbbing pain in my wing along with the emotional stress won’t let the tears stop falling.

“Fine. You can rot here, tied to this tree until you’re ready to confess.”

I snort derisively. Confess. As if I have anything to confess to. Idiot.

Without warning, I take a deep breath and then scream for help at the top of my lungs. Not-First just laughs cruelly, cutting my shrieks short. He looks down at me with contempt. “Scream all you want, demon. There’s no one on this gods-forsaken island but us.”

Ronak turns on his heels and stomps away into the forest. I turn to glare at Second, no longer caring that tear tracks stain my face. “Better go follow your master like a good little kitty.”

Sylred tenses. “Ronak is not my master.”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me the way you jump when he snaps his fingers. Looks like Evert was right. Will you help him torture me later, too? Or will your kitty paws be too busy kneading his back?”

I know I shouldn’t antagonize him, but I can’t help myself. Third revealed the issues between them, and I’m going to exploit it.

“Let me remove the arrow,” Sylred said, kneeling in front of me.

“Don’t touch me.”

Surprised, he holds his hands up in a placating gesture. “I was just…”

“I don’t care. Don’t try and do the bare minimum to pacify your guilty conscience. Go away.”

Sylred stares at me for a moment, his lips in a thin line, and then nods tersely. He turns and walks to the cabin, tail swishing behind him.

Their cabin is at least a hundred feet away, and the way I’m angled, I can see the side of it and the front door, and I watch as he disappears inside. As soon as he does, I start looking on the ground for anything sharp—a stick, a rock, anything; but there’s nothing but grass and dirt.

My wing hurts and now that the adrenaline is leaving me, I can tell just how banged up I really am. There’s a sharp pain in my shoulder that rivals the arrow in my wing, and I have too many scrapes, bruises, and cuts to count. Plus, my muscles hurt. The strain from suddenly turning corporeal and having a physical body is intense.

“Great. This is just great,” I mutter to myself. “Out of all the islands to crash land on, it has to be the one where people would tie me to a tree.”

I can hear their voices inside the cabin. If Not-First was telling the truth about there being no one else on this island, I wonder what the reason is. Three men on an island all alone, without any of the world’s comforts. There must be a reason for it. I don’t know what type of fae they are. I haven’t seen anyone else with tails like them.

I settle back against the rough bark, wincing when a particularly jagged piece presses into my hip. I carefully curl my good arm behind me to feel for it, and realize that it’s a pretty good size piece of bark.

I quickly start to work it, trying to peel it off. If it’s strong and sharp enough, maybe I can use it to shred through the rope.

It’s slow going. I don’t have a lot of range that I can move, and every time I peel it one way, it inevitably digs into my back. But I keep working it back and forth, trying to pull it free. It’s not like I have anything better to do, anyway.

I seriously regret not letting Sylred take the arrow out now. Call it a lapse of my stupid cupid stubbornness. What was I thinking? I’m not meant for pain and captivity. I’m a cupid. I wasn’t made for this crap.

I don’t have the best sense of time since I’ve never had to go by it, but the light from the sun has grown dim by the time I get the piece of bark free, and my shoulder is no longer just throbbing. It’s killing me.

The pain in my wing has also amped up, but no matter how I try and maneuver my body against the bindings, I can’t reach the arrow to pull it out. Even if one of the men came out right now and gave me the perfect opportunity to stab this piece of bark in their eye, I wouldn’t have the strength to do it.

Somehow, despite the pain, or perhaps because of it, I slump against the tree and fall asleep.