Dante's POV
The golden marks on my arms were burning.
I dropped the box I was carrying and pressed my palms against the truck's cold metal, trying to breathe through the pain. Under my skin, the ancient symbols that marked me as a Cupid flared hot, then cooled, then flared again.
It was happening. After two thousand eight hundred and forty-seven years of shooting arrows and matching souls, I was finally becoming human.
And it hurt like hell.
"You look terrible."
I didn't need to turn around to know Elena had appeared. My supervisor had a talent for showing up at the worst possible moments. For three thousand years, she'd been that way.
"I'm fine," I lied, straightening up. The burning faded to a dull ache. "Just adjusting."
Elena stood on my new front lawn, looking as elegant and timeless as always. To any human, she'd look like a wealthy woman in her sixties. But I knew the truth—she was older than most gods, more powerful than she ever let on.
"You're not fine. You're transitioning faster than any Cupid I've ever supervised." Her white eyes—completely white, no iris, no pupil—fixed on me with concern. Humans couldn't see her eyes' true form. They saw warm brown instead. "That's dangerous, Dante."
"I've earned this." I grabbed another box, needing to do something with my hands. "I've served longer than required. I've matched more souls than any Cupid in the last millennium. I deserve to be human."
"Deserving it and being ready for it are different things."
I carried the box up my porch steps. Elena followed, which meant she wasn't done lecturing me. Great.
"The transition takes time for a reason," she continued. "You need to slowly adjust to human emotions. Real ones. Not the borrowed feelings you experienced through others."
"I understand."
"Do you?" She caught my arm, and I felt the buzz of her ancient power. "Because the moment you fall in love—truly fall in love—you'll lose everything. Your immortality, your powers, your memories of being a Cupid. All of it. Gone. You'll just be human, with no idea what you sacrificed."
"I know the rules, Elena."
"Knowing and following are different." She released my arm. "I've seen Cupids fall before they were ready. It destroyed them. The transition ripped them apart. One day they were immortal, the next they were dying humans with no understanding why."
A chill ran down my spine despite the February cold not affecting me yet. "How long do I have?"
"Until you're fully human? Based on how fast your marks are fading, maybe two weeks. Maybe less." She moved closer, her voice dropping. "You cannot fall in love before Valentine's Day, Dante. If you do, the town's magic will activate the soul bond, and it will kill you. You're not human enough to survive it yet."
"I won't fall in love," I promised. "I've spent almost three thousand years watching love from the outside. I know how to keep my distance."
"Do you?" Elena's laugh was bitter. "You've never experienced it yourself. You don't know how it feels when it hits. How consuming it is. How it makes fools of even the wisest beings."
"I'll be careful."
"See that you are." She started to fade, the way she did when she was done with a conversation. "And Dante? The woman next door—the one with the daughter and the broken heart—stay away from her."
My head snapped up. "What? How do you—"
"I'm the curator of the Valentine Museum. I know everyone in this town. That woman is Maya Chen. She's been hurt badly. She's vulnerable. And her daughter just made a wish on one of the most powerful Valentine relics in existence." Elena's eyes flashed with warning. "If you get involved with her, the magic will pull you in. It will accelerate your transition. You'll fall in love before you're ready, and it will destroy you both."
"I'm just her neighbor. I'm not going to—"
"You're already looking at her house." Elena's voice was soft now, sad. "I can see it in your marks. They're reacting to something. Or someone."
Before I could respond, she vanished completely.
I stood on my porch, Elena's warning echoing in my head. Stay away from Maya Chen. Don't fall in love. Two weeks until I'm safe.
Simple enough.
Then I felt it—that pull Cupids get when there's a soul nearby that's crying out for love. I'd felt it thousands of times, always directing me toward people who needed matches. But this time, it was stronger. More insistent.
I turned toward the house next door.
A woman stood at the kitchen window. Dark hair falling around her face. Even from this distance, I could see she'd been crying. Her hand pressed against the glass like she was trying to escape something.
Our eyes met.
The world stopped.
My chest—which had been silent and empty for three thousand years—suddenly seized with an emotion I'd never felt before. It wasn't borrowed. Wasn't secondhand. It was mine.
Want. Need. Recognition.
The golden marks on my arms exploded with heat so intense I gasped. They glowed bright enough to show through my shirt, burning with warning.
No. Not her. Anyone but her.
The woman—Maya—pulled back from the window, startled. Her phone was pressed to her ear, her face pale with shock.
I should go inside. Should unpack. Should forget I ever saw her.
Instead, I watched as she dropped her phone. Watched as fear and determination warred on her face. Watched as a little girl with dark hair danced into view behind her, completely unaware that her mother was falling apart.
Every Cupid instinct I had screamed at me: This woman needs help. This soul is breaking. This heart is crying out.
But Elena's warning rang louder: Stay away or die.
I forced myself to turn toward my front door. Forced my feet to move. I'd unpack. Settle in. Maybe take a drive to clear my head.
Then I heard it.
A scream.
High-pitched. Terrified. A child's scream.
The little girl.
I was moving before I thought, running across my lawn toward Maya's house. The front door was locked. The scream came again from somewhere inside.
I didn't think. Didn't hesitate.
I kicked the door open—easy when you still have Cupid strength—and rushed inside.
The kitchen was full of smoke. Not thick enough to be dangerous, but enough to trigger alarms. The little girl stood frozen by the table, staring at something on the floor.
Her mother—Maya—lay crumpled on the kitchen tiles, unconscious, her phone still clutched in her hand.
The child's terrified eyes found mine.
"Help," she whispered. "Please help my mommy."
My marks burned hot enough to scar.
And I knew, with absolute certainty, that Elena's warning had come too late.
I was already involved.
And there was no going back.