THE DEATH OF CUPID

“ Here’s to Danny.” Kam winced as he knocked the thick liquid back in one.”For making love feel like it was nothing at all”

“ Ah the shallow Marie! I remember you well,” he mumbled, staring at the second shot glass. “ Beautiful but a gold digger. You even tried to become my other half. That’s not how it works, Sunshine.”

“John. Gorgeous wife and beautiful country house.” Another shot downed.”Serial cheater and with women half your age. That Sir is an insult to my craft!”

“Eliza.” Kam laughed, "Thought she would find love backstage at a rock concert. Trying to steal from me for your own gain? Hope you’re enjoying your notoriety in the VIP area I assigned especially for you”

He coughed, eyes dragging down the endless line of full shot glasses.

Each one a sentence.

Each name a soul he’d sent down.

Kam exhaled. Their names always tasted bitter. Some more than others

He continued down the line, toasting each of the damned—those who’d twisted love until it was unrecognisable and inappropriate

“If I was still Cupid.” He muttered “I would have still torn my feathers out over all those dick picks and pouting in bathroom mirrors. Love used to mean something. Now it’s all filters and fleeting hook ups”

These people were the reason he was here. Propping up another bar in a new city. People and their lack of acceptance of what love is.

Kam stared at the next untouched shot glass.

This one was for Jennifer. The cynic.

He hadn’t poured it yet.

For a moment, in the slick bottom of the glass, he saw a flicker of the old him—

The golden hair.

The laughing eyes.

The wings.

The belief and acceptance he had back then when he was Cupid never failed to surprise him. He got such a thrill when his name made it into the newspapers. He was rated highly for bringing people together. Where did it all go wrong? Was this part of the curse that included reality shows and sex tapes?

Kam’s body ached as it remembered his once proud white wings. Wings that had once lifted him high enough to see love clearly, from above. But that was before.

Before the rejection

Before the blood.

Before the feathers fell and lay scattered across the cold human earth

Before he had to set fire to them

Before he had to watch his old life turn to ashes

The aftermath was brutal as he transformed into Kam, the vigilante who would seek out all those who had failed the city, themselves and love. They would be condemned to the underworld after failing to drink him under the table.

The scars on his back began to tingle.

Right on cue.

The voice returned—cheerful, cruel, and far too familiar:

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the floor Jennifer the barmaid and her partner Luke the roadie as they dance the ‘Will They, Won’t They’ tango!"

Kam barely flinched. He’d been watching them. Measuring.Plotting another glass for Luke.

Luke—roadie, sound engineer, part-time security, and reluctant guardian of the West End Wild Boys. He kept the chaos in check: cables taped down, amps upright, his younger brother Tommy safe from alcohol, cigarettes, drugs and the wrong type of girl. The rest of the boys were sixteen or seventeen—barely house-trained, brilliant in bursts, and constantly teetering on rebellion.

Luke didn’t want attention. He wanted peace. He stood near the back of the room, arms crossed, jaw set, trying not to look at Jennifer.

But he looked. Always. She had an English Rose beauty that was very rare in this botoxed liposuctioned world

Jennifer moved through the bar with careful confidence. Not flashy. Not loud. The kind of woman who’d been overlooked enough to know exactly how to see others. Kam had noticed her quiet fire. Her strength.

And then—

A tap on his shoulder.

“Excuse me,” Jennifer said. “I've made a family-sized lasagna for the West End Wild Boys. I was wondering if you'd like to join us. They’ve been rehearsing all day.”

Her smile was nervous. Warm. Real.

Kam nodded.

The West End Wild Boys—all fringe, eyeliner, and synth swagger—were still figuring out who they were. Right now, their sound was a glittery blend of Pet Shop Boys and Duran Duran, but Kam had overheard them arguing earlier about ditching the covers and writing something real.

One of them had said, “No one takes you seriously until you bleed on the track.”

Jennifer moved between them like a big sister, but her gaze kept drifting to Luke, who sat opposite her

Kam watched.

And then it happened.

Not a scent.

A shift.

Like the room inhaled and forgot to exhale.

Not lust. Not romance.

Longing.

That raw, electric moment before a kiss. Before everything changes.

He felt it before their fingers even touched—the buzz in the air, the pull in their bodies. The spark of something real.

“Hello, Luke. I’ve made this very sexy lasagna—there’s always a bit extra for you,” Al teased, nudging Tommy.

“Oh Jennifer,” Tommy chimed in, affecting a posh voice, “you are so kind and beautiful. Can I nibble on your garlic bread?”

Jennifer laughed. Luke didn’t.

Their eyes met.

And blushed.

Kam’s grip tightened on the table. His scars flared with heat.

This wasn’t manipulation. This wasn't a performance.

This was something else.

Their fingers brushed.

Just a second. But it was enough.

For the first time in decades, he didn’t feel disgust or duty.

He felt wonder.

He had come here to judge another soul. To weigh the heart and tip the scale.

But Jennifer and Luke weren’t users. Weren’t selfish. Weren’t rotted from the inside.

They had been hurt countless times before which meant they were just scared.

Kam stood slowly, his fingers trembling.

Under his skin—where feathers used to bloom—something shifted.

Not wings. Not yet.

But a heartbeat. A memory.

He’d torn them out Feather by feather and watched them wither as blood trickled d

own his back. Through this he had become Kam the vigilante

But maybe now…