Cupid only wants a little revenge on Chris Cringle, master of North Pole Industries and the bane of the Holidays' existence.
But when he cracks open a bottle of stolen wassail, will one spilled drop give him everything he ever desired or will it be a tool for Chris to gain more control over the wayward Cupid? No one can really tell what will happen when Cupid Goes Weird.
Praise for Cupid Gone Weird
"The unique set up Ms. Burke presented was enchanting, and fresh. I enjoyed my brief glimpse into her world, and I'm longing for more."
-- Shyla, Romancing the Book Reviews
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Cupid Gone Weird
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2013 Stephanie Burke
Valentine took another swig of his stolen holiday wine and contemplated his bedroom. He was surrounded by the images that in the past had garnered him some powerful followers.
There was the baby-faced image of him in a cloth diaper that he'd created to counter the Jolly Saint Nicholas crap, and for a time it had worked. He was cute, and school-aged children had made paper cutouts of him to give to their crushes. As time passed and society grew more desensitized, his image had gone from a chubby toddler to the more mature look that had romance writers making up stories about his prowess in bed and men lifting weights after the holidays to gain the ideal look Valentine had created.
Yeah, for a time, being big, blond, and buff was a major thing. It had dominated the eighties totally, and it still lingered in the minds of fashion-conscious folks to this day. But not now, for today he had seen something that had driven him into the bottle so fast that if Dionysus had still been hanging around he would have been embarrassed by his slowness to get to the good stuff. It was after New Year's, and already Valentine was ready for the year to be over because he had seen a poster of Santa, dressed as Cupid, declaring it was Christmas in February.
Oh -- fuck -- no!
There was no hope for it. Chris was taking over the holidays, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
Valentine looked down into his glass of red wassail and gave his goblet a swirl. It was empty, and life sucked. He reached for the bottle, tipped it to fill his glass once more, and cursed as some of the rich, red liquid splashed to the floor. "Fuck."
He stared at the small pool of liquid, as bright as freshly spilled blood, then blinked as it began to ripple.
Could a few drops ripple? Maybe he was drunker than he'd thought. Chris sure had some potent shit --
But the drops began to swirl as an unseen wind whipped through the room. The red puddle began to expand and take on a solid form. Cupid leaned forward, getting closer to the now three-foot-tall pillar, because he could not believe what his eyes were telling him.
He lurched back, nearly falling from his chair as a perfectly formed set of red lips emerged and pressed against his mouth to steal a quick kiss. A light giggle, sounding of tinkling bells, filled the air, and he slipped from his chair to fall flat on his ass as the pillar took the shape of a beautifully formed, buxom female.
As he watched, the red began to fade into a rose-tinted gold. The creature threw back her hair, and the flung drops of spiced wine grew into a long mane of flowing hair.
"Are you my master?"