Sheer Cupidity: A Standalone Cupidity Romance (Heart Hassle Book 5)
Sheer Cupidity: Chapter 4

BELREN

In the span of a second, or perhaps a century, I don’t exist. I don’t have any sense of where anything is. There’s just the light, the tug, and this feeling of being nowhere and yet everywhere all at once.

It’s fucking weird.

I’m falling past time and air, through light and shadow. I go further and further, just particles of existence haphazardly skimming by worlds and then blowing past them all like a dry, tepid rain.

And then, there’s a wind that somehow rushes all around me and acts like a vacuum to my spirit. I can do nothing as I’m sucked in and spat out like rotten air.

Just like that, my body re-forms in a desolate gust.

Gasping for air I can’t breathe, I blink up at a crystal blue sky and a familiar sun that seems to be slowly inching away.

I’m back.

Sitting up, I look around me at the empty fields of overgrown grass. I trace my gaze across the entirety of the island as it floats in the sky, and a gloom settles over my mood.

It’s not until I stand and look down that I see the scorched patch of earth beneath my feet. The ground is sunken slightly, the sand discolored. I don’t know how I know, but innately, I understand that this is where I died.

“That’s a bit dramatic,” I grumble.

Kneeling down, I try to press my hand against the spot as if I can leach some life back into me, but my palm passes right through the earth, sinking into it like mist.

Great. I’m even hollower and more translucent than I was before.

When I was in line with the other souls, I was see-through, sure, but I’m different now. My skin has always been grayish silver, my hair white, but now I look lackluster and pallid. Like a damn sheet that’s been left out in the sun too long.

I really am a ghost.

They sent me back, just not the way I wanted.

“Fucking archangels.”

Standing up again, it takes me a moment to get my bearings as I hover slightly over the ground. After a few tentative steps, I start to explore the island, and realization quickly settles in.

The fields that King Beluar used to grow his mind-controlling plants are non-existent. Now, there’s nothing but burned earth, as if they eradicated every bit of it. The wooden buildings that the king’s army used are also gone, perhaps burned down alongside the fields.

But the most notable difference is the simple stacked-stone wall, barely as high as my knees, and inside are hundreds of headstones made of rock and worn wood.

How long was I gone?

The graveyard is located just past the only field that isn’t burned. Instead of growing straight up, the overgrown grass lays down, the green pillowy tufts looking more like unmoving waves of water. It’s actually a picturesque place. You know, if it weren’t for all the dead people.

The graveyard is completely inundated with ghosts. They’re meandering around, floating back and forth, some of them clumsily stumbling around and muttering.

My new neighbors, I suppose. They don’t seem like a lively bunch.

I stop just outside the wall, my eyes taking in all the death. So many fae died, all because of a greedy king and a prick of a prince. It could’ve been a lot more, but even still, the amount sickens me.

“You’re new.”

The sudden voice that speaks directly into my left ear would’ve given me a heart attack if my heart could still attack. My hovering form flinches in the air before I whip my head around and spot the ghost standing entirely too close to me.

“What the fuck?” I demand, backing up a few steps until I’m nearly passing through the stone wall behind me.

The ghost is male, with stag antlers popping up from his head. Despite his muted ghostly form, I can see hints of faded blue coloring in his skin and hair. Yet my eyes drop down to the armor he’s wearing, sporting the royal crest. For a moment, my lips curl into a sneer.

He was fighting against me and the other rebels. For all I know, he could’ve been responsible for hurting or killing someone I care about. Although, I have to remember that the king was controlling most of them. This male might not have been acting of his own free will, which makes him more of a victim than an enemy.

“You’re new,” he says, inching forward once again.

“I am,” I reply with a nod. “Have you been here long?”

Instead of answering, he cocks his antlered head. “You’re new.”

My brows pull together in a frown. “Yes, we’ve been over this.”

“You’re new.”

“Erm…”

“You’re new.”

Alright. This is going well. “Is that all you say?”

He just stares at me.

“I suppose you’re one of these ghosts that isn’t all there?”

He frowns and then opens his mouth again. “You’re—”

“New. Yes, let’s move on from that.”

Walking past the wall, I approach another ghost. A female who has her eyes trained to the ground, her form gliding instead of walking. “Hey there, what’s your—”

She keeps gliding. And godsdamn, it’s a fast glide. I actually have to ghost-jog to keep up. “Miss, I was wondering—”

She disappears before I can finish. Just pops right out of existence, as if she’d rather disappear than listen to me.

“That was rude,” I mutter before turning around to check out some other prospects. Surely, one of these other ghosts has to have some of their memory like I do.

One flies right past me, but I’m fairly certain she’s speaking a language that doesn’t exist. It’s a lot of babbling.

I’ll just…try another ghost.

Except every single one I pass by doesn’t answer me. They’re either mute, mumbling incoherently, or there’s even one who just—

“AHHHHHH!”

Screams.

It’s quite loud.

“You’re new.”

I turn to glare at Stag. “And that’s getting old.”

Standing in the middle of the graveyard with all of these incoherent ghosts makes a dire feeling come over me. How could it not? They’re all looking so forlorn or flummoxed. It’s worse than the souls from the processing line. Faded and lost, these ghosts seem unable to form a single response, as if they’ve forgotten how. As if they’ve forgotten everything.

Is that what’s going to happen to me?

As soon as the thought pops in my head, I immediately steel against it.

No. I refuse. I don’t care what Green said or how much pity the other angel wore on her face. They’re wrong. They said I wouldn’t let go? Well, they’re fucking right. I’m going to prove that I can hold onto myself.

For as long as I can.

I think I’ve been here for a few days now, but I can’t be positive because time passes strangely when you’re dead. It feels like every second takes ages, and yet, I think perhaps hours are flying by without me noticing.

I don’t want to think about why that may be.

Like a ritual, I constantly recall my memories, repeating them to myself until they become background noise. I don’t want to think about why I do that either.

“Stag, you think my side won the battle, or yours?” I ask, walking across a patch of blackened soil.

“There was fighting.”

I’ve found that my good friend Stag does indeed say other things other than you’re new. The problem is, he usually latches on to one or two comments at a time and just repeats that for gods know how long. I tried to get him to say funny shit, but for some reason “I can’t feel my balls” just wouldn’t stick.

“I bet our side kicked your side’s ass,” I tell him.

His stag head swivels around. “There was fighting.”

“You want to talk about fighting? I was once hired by a jilted wife to steal a husband’s side lover for herself. Now that was a fight.”

When Stag blinks at me, I nod.

“Yep. She thought the best revenge was not to leave him, but to take his side of sugar for herself and have a little dipping session. It was a nice bit of thievery that paid off well for her.” I tilt my head in thought. “The priceless crystal obelisk probably wasn’t bad either. But gods, the look on his face when he walked in on her with his other lover, the floor covered in shattered remnants of his crystal…spectacular. I used that bit of gossip to be paid for seven other jobs.”

“There was fighting,” Stag says.

“Indeed there was,” I say with a smirk.

We pass by the graveyard, where the other ghosts are milling around, looking as dull as ever. What I wouldn’t give to be able to use my powers or have my wings out, but those parts of me are gone, right along with being able to feel anything at all.

Just because I’m the only one here who can hold a conversation, doesn’t mean I’m superior. I can’t even leave. Every time I try to venture toward the edge of the island, I get this horrible sensation that pins me down. I’m haunting this place right alongside the others.

None of these ghosts are anyone I know, either. That fact is both a relief and a bitter disappointment. I’m enough of an asshole to admit it. Not that I want any of my friends to be dead, but it would’ve been a sort of comfort to see a familiar face. Oh, who am I kidding? I’d definitely prefer one damn acquaintance here with me. Couldn’t at least one of them have died with me? Seems selfish that I’m the only one.

Grimacing at myself, I look up at the sky, noting that it’s midday. You can trace the hour easily by watching the realm’s sun as it slingshots closer or further away in the sky, and right now, it’s as big as my fist.

I meander around, listening to the other ghosts for a moment. Yet when I look up again, the sun is now much smaller, barely the size of an eyeball. Confused, I look around, only to realize I’m no longer hovering around the burnt field, but hovering over my deathplace instead.

Again.

Fuck.

With nervousness bordering on fear, I start muttering to myself, keeping my eyes locked on the sun, as if my attention will stop me from losing time again. “My name is Belren. I’m a Cernu fae. I’m the fucking Horned Hook, the best godsdamned thief in the realm. I can find and steal anything. I will not forget who and where I am. I know about angels and demons and cupids, and I fucking hate that prig of a prince who shot me with his magic.”

When I’m done, I feel minutely better.

It’s not just the fact that I have to clench a proverbial fist around my mind all the time, either. This place is fucking with me.

Right at my deathplace, over that scorched bit of earth, something feels…perplexing.

Every time I find myself right back there near that piece of ground, I get the sense that I’m supposed to do something. Or see something that I’m not seeing. There’s an unending draw I have to it, and yet, it’s so maddening that every time I hover there, I grow more and more agitated.

In fact, it’s happening right now. An incessant urging, like someone tapping you on the shoulder again and again to get your attention, except when you turn around, nobody’s there.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” I growl as I spin in place. There’s nothing here but an empty field and dust, and yet this coaxing, goading insistence won’t go away. I’m spinning around in place, talking to the fucking air for gods’ sakes.

Being a ghost is shitty.

“There was fighting.”

Jerking my head to the left, I see Stag sprawled out next to my deathplace, looking like he’s trying to sunbathe despite wearing full armor and boots. And missing a physical body. Can’t forget that part.

“Well, I’m sure going to be fighting this,” I say, because I’m determined not to end up like him.

Like I’m proving it to myself, I once more start murmuring random memories. More often than not, my mind strays to the day I died. Strays to her.

But she’s not here. None of them are. Not Lex or my sister or Emelle and her gaggle of mates. Wait… What were their names again? Panic curls down my back.

I’m not forgetting. I’m not.

I walk to the end of the floating island, going through the heavy mist that clings to the edges. It makes it look like the land is sitting in a pillow of clouds, obscuring the open sky around us. I stop right at the end, my hollow boots stepping on the earth’s rim between solid ground and air. I stare into the mist as if I can see through it to the other floating islands that speckle the sky.

I’ve been hoping to glean some information while I’ve been here, but not a single ghost is any help in answering my questions. I have no idea how long I’ve been dead. I have no idea who won the battle, if Prince Elphar is still in power. No idea if my friends and sister survived.

To be honest, I’ve been afraid to find out. This place feels like it’s been forgotten and abandoned. Just like the ghosts.

I’m mentally jolted when Stag suddenly floats through my whole damn body. “Stag, how many times do I have to tell you? Don’t float through me.”

The antlered male turns and looks at me, bringing a hand up over the breastplate he’s wearing like he’s trying to feel the metal beneath his palm. “There was fighting.”

“There’s going to be more fighting if you keep fucking flying through me like that.” I shiver. “It gives me the creeps.”

My threat doesn’t do a damn thing, because he’s not even paying attention to me anymore. Instead, he’s slapping his hand around at the curling mist, like he’s trying to beat it back.

With a shake of my head, I turn and float away before he sees and can follow. Having company is great, until it’s fucking annoying.

I was the same way in life. I’d throw parties full of wonderful debauchery, and I’d be the life of it too, basking in the center of it all, but it would get old. I’d kick everyone out and then spend days alone afterward. It left me feeling like I was a liar as well as a thief. Pretentious and pretending. Filling the time and emptying myself in the process.

But left too long with only myself for company made me become agitated and antsy. I’d then need the company of others to drown out the silence. Perhaps it’s because I always surrounded myself with surface acquaintances. I didn’t want anything too deep. I wanted easy, to keep everyone at arm’s length.

Maybe that’s why I was so drawn to Lex. She didn’t feel surface. She felt…important.

“How you doing today, Rocky?” I ask as I pass by a ghost who has a particular interest in a certain boulder. Unlike armor worn by most of the others, she wears a tattered dress made from a patchwork of furs, and a bonnet on her head. I can’t tell what kind of fae she is, but the look in her eyes is hollower than her body. Day after day, all she does is float around this one huge rock just outside of the graveyard.

She startles at my voice before her phantom body dives into the boulder and disappears.

“Nice day, then?” I quip.

The rock shakes.

“That’s good to hear.” I walk around the rock, eyeing it carefully. “Care to tell me how you do this particular trick?”

Some sand that’s gathered on the top of the boulder shakes off and goes through my boots, and I frown down at it. “I suppose that’s a no.”

Rocky’s head pops out, but when she sees I’m still standing here, she disappears again. She’s not much of a talker.

“Alright. See you later, love.”

I turn and walk away, since I don’t want to spook her too much. A ghost trying not to spook another ghost. Go figure. Rocky doesn’t seem to have a lot of wherewithal, but she’s the only ghost here that is able to go into an object and move it. She’s gotten to some superior ghost skill, and quite frankly, I’m jealous.

Looking around, I spot a smaller boulder further away, and I try to mimic her. While I can certainly walk through it, I can’t imbed myself into the damn thing like Rocky does, and I sure as hell can’t move it with my old powers either.

After my three hundredth or so try, I give up, trying to kick the side of it for not cooperating. Kicking things isn’t at all rewarding when your foot just goes through it.

“Stupid fucking rock.”

Of course, Stag chooses that moment to find me and fly through my body again.

“Stag,” I grit out in frustration. “There are boundaries. You’ve got to stop floating through me. I don’t care that we can’t feel it. Stop. Doing. It.” I’ve had it up to my ethereal neck with his incessant flybys.

It probably shouldn’t bother me so much since it doesn’t actually physically affect me, but it’s happened so often now in a short amount of time that my temper gets hotter and hotter every time it happens.

“Oh,” he says, looking around like he forgot he was even here next to me. “There was fighting,” he blurts, his expression dazed and confused as he runs his hand around his armor again.

My irritation blows out with my sigh, because we’ve already had this conversation. “Yes, Stag. There was fighting.”

The other more cognizant ghosts do this too. They keep repeating the tiny snippets. I don’t like to think that in a way, I’m doing the same thing when I mumble my memories. Maybe they were like me at first. They remembered it all, spoke of it all. But day by day, they lost a little bit more, talked a little bit less. Until all they had was one fragment to repeat, until so much time passed that even that became meaningless.

I try to pretend that I’m not like them. That I’m better than these other ghosts who float around aimlessly day after day, too confused to carry on a conversation. But the truth is, I’m more like them than I care to admit.

We are ghosts, haunting this place, but our memories are haunting us.

“I think there was fighting…” Stag trails off, his feet sinking into the ground as he stares listlessly around, like he’s trying to see a battle that isn’t here. But others are far worse. Those ghosts can’t even form sentences anymore. They simply groan or wail, confusion and suffering chilling their vocal chords that now only emit one haunting tone.

That’s my fate.

The thought makes me feel even hollower than I already am.

I’m going to go mad. I’m going to lose the rest of the wits I have left. How long does it take to become one of those groaning and wailing beings? They don’t even know why they moan and cry, and isn’t that fucking cruel? My greatest fear is being here forever, wailing wordlessly for all eternity. If I stay, I’ll become nothing but another mindless apparition.

I can’t let that happen. I would rather cease to exist than slowly lose myself. The archangel wouldn’t help me. He sent me to this fate. But fuck this fate. I’m the Horned Hook, and I don’t give up that easily. Fuck angels, too, because they certainly didn’t save my soul. Instead, they practically banished it.

No, what I need is a cupid.

It’s time to try to get the hell off this island and find Emelle, no matter what it takes.

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