The very embodiment of love, Eros, always gave love to others. He couldn't help it; it was the meaning of his existence—a shot from his bow, and now there was one more loving couple in the world. But how ironic—he never received it for himself. Eros didn't even think about it until he realized that the tugging, gnawing sensation in his chest had been there for hundreds of years, and its name was the melancholy of loneliness.

But there's a problem. Every creature has its mate, and every person in the world has a destined mate. And since Eros isn't a human being, he's not supposed to have a mate. How depressing.

But who said he couldn't break the rule and steal just one person for himself? Just one, and the world wouldn't even notice the loss.

And that person will be you.