I sit at the breakfast bar in Cupid's kitchen, a steaming mug of black coffee resting between my hands. The rays of sunset shine through the glass front of Cupid's house; they give him a warm glow as he leans against the counter by the fridge – a bag of frozen peas held against his face to stop the swelling. He doesn't seem as warm as usual though.

His muscles are taut, and his jaw clenched. Instead of the vibrant, arrogant, fun loving Cupid I have been acquainted with, someone else much more dangerous stands in his place. Our plans for dinner have been pushed violently aside by Valentine – now we just wait for Cal, Crystal, and Charlie to arrive so we can tell them what happened and decide what to do next.

My mind is buzzing with questions. About Valentine, about the weird, zombie cupids, and about Morta. Who was she?

We didn't talk much on the way here. After checking I was OK, Cupid was mostly quiet – his jaw set, his body tense. And when I tried to press him for information about the girl with the shears - he just shook his head as if to say not now. After everything that has just happened - him meeting his serial killing brother, being beaten in a fight, and me nearly being kidnapped – I'd respected his wishes and stopped talking.

But now I need answers. I need to know what is going on.

What had Morta said? She needed to talk to us about the match?

What does that mean?!

And as I replay the scene from before...

Hadn't Valentine said something about the match too?

My mind had been pretty pre-occupied at the time - but didn't he say he'd found me in the Matchmaking Service system? What did he mean by that?

It fills me with a nervous energy, a feeling of dread, though I can't put my finger on why.

"Cupid?" I say suddenly. He flinches, as though he'd forgotten I was here, then jerks his head toward me. "What are you thinking?" I ask.

I look up at him. My eyes trace his knuckles, whitened as they clench onto the counter, then move up to his chest, which is moving up and down heavily – his breathing hard and fast. I fix my gaze on his face.

What are you thinking, Cupid? It's the question that is pretty much always on my mind. A question that I never quite know the answer to.

He moves the bag of frozen peas, revealing the skin on his cheek that is already starting to turn a little purple. He looks down, shakes his head, then looks back up again. His eyes flash when they meet mine – a storm behind them.

"What were you doing in the gym, Lila? Why didn't you meet me in the parking lot like you were supposed to?"

His tone is harsh, raw – his voice cracks slightly as thought the words hurt his throat coming out. I feel a pang of hurt at the way he is speaking to me, but guilt twists around it. It's my fault, I know that. He got beaten up because of me.

"He texted me," I say quietly. "He said he was you."

Cupid pulls his phone out of his pocket and in a couple of strides clears the white tiled floor and stands in front of me, on the other side of the breakfast bar. He thrusts it out.

"That's funny, because the last message I sent you from this phone was to tell you I'd see you tonight. In the parking lot," his lips harden into a thin line before he speaks again. "And if it wasn't a message from this phone, why on earth would you have thought it was from me?!"

I fall silent, my hands fiddling with the coffee mug.

"I'm serious, Lila," he says. "Why the hell did you think it was from me?!"

I look back up at him. There's something in his eyes that throws me aback – it's wild and open, unrestrained, like his soul is staring right back out at me. And his soul is mad.

"I...he..."

"Well?!" he snaps.

"He called me lovebug," I murmur, looking down at the black liquid in my cup and feeling heat in my cheeks as I say it. I feel stupid. Embarrassed.

I dare to look back up at him, and see his eyes soften slightly. But then they harden once more.

"There's a serial killing, lunatic on the loose, Lila," he raises his voice. "Jesus Christ! You can't just go wandering around, without a care in the world..."

"I made a mistake, Cupid," I raise my voice a little now too, feeling a defensive anger begin to bubble in my veins. "It's not like you've never made a mistake before. You...you brought a Goddess back for Christ's sake."

He narrows his eyes.

"Yeah, well you helped..."

I jump to my feet, planting the palms of my hands against the countertop. The rage is surging through my body now, and I don't think it's about what he's saying to me – not really. It's like a dam has just broken, and suppressed words are suddenly free to burst out.

"That's not fair! I had no idea what was going on. Like always."

He ignores my dig at him.

"How am I supposed to protect you if you just wander off into the arms of the enemy?!"

"Maybe I don't want to be protected!"

"Well you can't protect yourself!"

He slams his hands down on the countertop too, leaning forward so our faces are close.

"I wouldn't even need to protect myself if you hadn't got such a...such a screwed up family," I retort, "Or if I had a better idea of what the hell was going on!"

"A better idea of what's going on?! Do I need to spell it out for you? How about you don't go meet up with people who are trying to kill you! What more do you need to know?"

I've never seen Cupid so worked up before – except maybe that time on the terrace, the moment that we brought Venus back. But that was a different type of worked up – pent up frustration, and longing, and fear, and lust; not anger. Not anger directed at me.

And as we glare at each other I feel worked up too. My skin feels like it's burning. The air crackles between us.

I know I should stop this. I know I should just say sorry. But it's like I'm watching the fight from above, powerless to stop the words spilling from my mouth. And I can feel myself steering the argument to the thing I'm really angry about.

"I need to know the things that you know. Because they affect me, too, Cupid. How am I supposed to make good choices when I don't know all the details? How can I trust you?! You hide things. You pretend everything is fine even when it's not! You...you hid from me that together we'd bring Venus back, you hid from me you had a psycho brother, you never tell me what you're thinking!"

"Well I'm thinking that it was pretty stupid to go meet Valentine..." he says quietly. His eyes flash as they hold mine.

"Stop being such an...an ass!"

"YOU COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED," he suddenly roars. "YOU'RE A HUMAN. YOU'RE NOT IMMORTAL, YOU'RE NOT...YOU'RE NOT LIKE ME. YOU CAN...YOU CAN DIE, LILA. ONE DAY YOU'LL DIE."

I practically stumble back at the force of his words, at the rawness of emotion behind them. We're still leaning over the counter, our eyes baring into one another. His angry heat floods over me. And it suddenly occurs to me that this fight may be about something bigger for Cupid as well.

He swallows hard – his breathing heavy. He opens his mouth as if to say something else. Tension hangs heavy in the air – and heat crackles from his body. We glare at each other – his ocean eyes bearing into mine. He opens his mouth to speak. And...

"Are we interrupting something?" Crystal's concerned voice causes us both to jerk our heads to the side. "Cal said we should just let ourselves in." She enters the kitchen, wearing jeans and a stylish floral top. She catches sight of Cupid's bashed face, "Good God, you look..."

I see something change in Cupid's face; the blinkers coming down over his eyes to hold back the raw emotions that were freely flowing moments before.

"...amazing, I know," says Cupid, a grin spreading across his face. He pushes himself off from the counter.

Though he looks bright again, his eyes catch mine momentarily and I see a flicker of darkness. He's still upset, still angry. I know this fight isn't over. And oddly a part of me is glad – because clearly we're both angry with each other. And maybe we need to be - maybe we need to get all this anger out in the open so we can actually deal with it. Maybe he'll actually tell me what he's thinking for once.

"I've been told I can really pull off a shiner," adds Cupid, breaking me out of my thoughts. "Adds to my bad boy image."

Crystal looks at him with exasperated disbelief and shakes her head. I take a breath, calming my pent-up frustration. I catch Cupid looking at me, then avert my gaze and lean back in my stool.

"Hi, Crystal," I say – forcing a smile.

She smiles and nods at me. I notice she looks tired.

Moments later Charlie and Cal walk in behind her.

When Cal catches sight of Cupid – bloody and bruised - he stops suddenly in his tracks. An uncharacteristic concern flickers across the angles of his face. His slender shoulders seem to stiffen beneath the dark grey turtleneck sweater he's wearing, and his silvery eyes flash with emotion.

Something seems to pass between the two.

"So, I was recently re-acquainted with our brother..." says Cupid, "...or more precisely his fist..."

He's trying to keep his tone light, but I can hear the anger behind it.

Cal gives a rigid nod – anger flashing from his eyes, too - as Charlie comes to sit beside me at the breakfast bar, giving my arm a concerned squeeze. The air in the kitchen still feels thick – a mixture of me and Cupid's argument, and Valentine's impending doom weighing it down.

"So, I guess you know why I asked you all here...?" says Cupid.

Crystal sighs and holds up a finger - telling us to wait a moment.

We all watch in a heavy silence as she makes her way over to the coffee machine. She sticks a mug underneath, waits as it noisily fills the room with a whirring sound, takes a big gulp, then turns to look at us.

"OK – I'm caffeinated," she looks at me, then Cupid. Plucking her phone from her pocket she holds it up to us - presumably at the text message Cupid sent her earlier. "Zombie cupids, Valentine's back, and Morta and her two sisters are getting involved?!" her lips harden into a thin line, "Is someone going to tell me what the hell is going on?"