Page 16 of Inked in Bloom
Those must be the marks my roommates were talking about. It’s captivating how unique each person’s are. The dean’s even have rose gold shimmering from a few.
“I’m going to turn this over to your professors, but I look forward to seeing you afterward at our welcome mixer. All of your teachers have earned the prestigious title of Radix. That may not mean much to you yet, but for a Bloom, it is the highest achievement.”
She steps back, and one of the men who came in behind us walks into the center of the room. His bare feet scuff the floor from under his dark jeans.
“Hello. I’m Kitt, your professor of Botany.” His bald head glows where the light from the projector beams on it. Photos pop up in a collage of him working with students in the giant greenhouse.
My inner plant reaper cringes. I couldn’t keep any plants alive in life… I highly doubt I’ll be better at it in death.
“I’ve been a Bloom for seventy-three mortal years. My mate, Tess, and I have been together for fourteen.”
“Hi, I’m Tess.” The mossy-haired woman with creamy skin comes beside him, staring up at him with so much adoration I’m sickened by the sweetness of it. She finally tears her gaze away and smiles at us. “I’ll be your professor of Bloomology.”
Her pink stare slips from one student to the next. She’s the warmest of all the professors so far. “I’ll be teaching about what it is like to be a Bloom in the mortal world as well as preparing you to use your magic in your daily life.”
“That leaves your Transformative Studies professor,” the dean announces.
The final instructor steps to the center of the room. My gaze drops a touch when his lavender stare sweeps past.
“I’m Professor Briar, and as the dean mentioned, I’ll be teaching you about earthside transformation and how to stay safe in the mortal realm.” His voice is deep and rich. I can’t help but drag my attention back up to him. Who knew sage skin and lavender locks would do it for me?
Get it together, Monroe. It’s not like you’ve never seen a hot guy before.
“Don’t be fooled, this will be your hardest class. But if you can’t master this, you won’t be able to go to the mortal world. No mortal world, no marks.” He lifts his chin, showing off the intricate leaves and blossoms lining the base of his jaw and throat. They are stunning and I want to stepcloser, study every sweeping stroke of the inked masterpiece that skims along his neck and disappears beneath the collar of his fitted V-neck T-shirt where slabs of firm muscle ripple.
I nibble my bottom lip.
Cherri’s whisper pulls me from my distraction. “Someone’s hot for teacher.”
“Am not,” I snap under my breath, shooting her my best glare. “But you are.”
“At least I don’t deny it.” She chuckles. “Anyway, stop distracting me.”
She nods toward the illuminated screen where a series of topics slip across the roses. “The dean asked us to focus, and I’d hate to disappoint her on day one.”
“Uh-huh. I’m sure that’s the reason.” I don’t miss her lingering attention on Kitt and Tess. Meanwhile, Professor Briar stands with his arms crossed over his chest, every inch of his body tense, as if on alert, attuned to some unseen threat.
And though he keeps his gaze averted, I’m hit with a sneaking certainty he’s watching me too.
7
BRIAR
It’s her.
8
BRIAR
The moment orientation dismisses, I sprint out the door for my floracycle and ride for The Nest. Petals spray from the exhaust pipe, leaving a trail of floral confetti in my wake. I can’t get to the Radix Headquarters fast enough.
My boots clomp across the lobby, past the hall of offices and our meeting room, turning left and striding the corridor until I finally stop at the end where a small gilded door is nestled at the bottom of a wall of lilacs, freesias, and pansies.
With a twitch of my nose, my clothes disappear and my body rearranges itself into a nimble pile of whiskers and fluff. Lifting my ears, I press them against the camouflaged sensors until there’s the distinctclickof the lock and the door creaks softly. I bound across its threshold and toward the only thing in the hidden room: a miniature well with a basket hanging from its rope pulley.
Hopping onto the ledge, I ignore the never-ending dark encircling the basket as I bound into it. The pulley screeches with its descent, and I don’t know whether it’s the swinging of my feeble transport or the confusion over Dr. Tanner’s appearance that has my stomach dropping out.
Just yesterday I was loping around her apartment,watching her dance to teenybopper music in an oversized button-up shirt that smelled awful no matter how many times she threw it into the loud cleaning contraption. I shiver at the memory of cowering when it roared to life, worried I’d been found by summer’s Storms and that they were thundering into her home to deal with me.
