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Cupid Gone Weird by Stephanie Burke

Cupid Gone Weird

by Stephanie Burke

Razor’s Edge Press

eBook ISBN: 06196-01990

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.

Note: This title has no chapter breaks. Please enjoy the first scene.

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Scene One

“Fuck Chris and his holiday wassail.” Cupid, otherwise known as Valentine, sneered down into the cup he held.
Usually Guy Fawkes was with him, but the timid Holiday had balked at breaking into Chris’s stash of holiday cheer, nearly fainting at the idea of doing something so rebellious. So now Valentine was left alone with a bottle. There was nothing worse than a depressed deity of love — drunk off his ass.
But he was Valentine — a rebel! Yeah, he was topical and exciting and dangerous. There was nothing stopping him from getting a little revenge on fucking Santa Claus. Even as small as this act of thievery and drunkenness was, it filled him with the energy of defiance.
Who the fuck cared if he was watching? With his little geisha ninja and their pack of pinstriped hyenas, Chris Cringle had become the bane of Valentine’s existence. He would love to see the man deposed and kicked out of North Pole Industries, but no one possessed enough power to do that. The other Holidays’ base of worshipers dwindled more and more every year as Chris’s power base seemed to have exploded.
Even Eve — All Hallows’ Eve — was finding it difficult to keep her power base intact and this year… This year Chris’s friggin’ Norman Rockwell image of the jolly old elf was even being sold during her time. This was the first time this had happened, and it had shaken up the Holidays more than anyone cared to admit. And Chris, that rat-bastard, was lording it over them like he was king of the fucking land.
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.

Buy Now:
Changeling PressARe ‖ CTR ‖ KindleKobo ‖ Nook

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