Page 75 of Inked in Bloom
No matter how much I want to cling to it, the anger I’ve held toward him, keeping him at arm’s length dissipates. I don’t like it one bit. It is far simpler to be angry with a purpose versus sad and adrift.
The ache of loss—of longing—washes into me through the pair of inky blooms twisted between my ribs. “Briar?—”
He shakes his head, stopping me there.
“I didn’t bring you here to feel sorry for me.” Coming up beside me, he gestures toward the house. “Once I was old enough to understand what had happened, why I didn’t have memories of the mortal realm like my classmates, I became extremely curious about where I’d come from. Who my earthside parents would have been.” His eyes drop to his boot. He brushes it against the dirt, sweeping back and forth until there’s a small dip in the soil. “After asking about a dozen times, my parents finally escorted me through the veil.”
“It’s only natural you would have been curious.” Wasn’t it the same with children who were adopted or had lost a parent before they were old enough to remember? Why wouldn’t a child born into their afterlife want to understand where they came from, especially when their life would be devoted to bringing seasons into the world they’d hailed from?
“That’s what my mother said.” He turns toward me. “Claire, the dean at the Conservatory.”
The dean? I rewound the memories of my days in class, searching for any sign she’s his mother. I could have easily been too distracted by getting my magic to work and finding a way back here to notice.
“She and my dad, Davis, raised me, Dani, and Corrigan.”
My mind snags on the last name and my stomach drops. “Isn’t that a bit…wrong?”
“What?” Briar’s dark-lavender brows draw together, taut as bowstrings.
“Being mated to your sister. I get you’re not technically related but?—”
Briar grimaces. “You can’t be serious.”
“The way she was all territorial over you at The Velveteen Rose that night and when you checked in.” I wince, disturbed by all the times I envisioned them together. That had been gross enough. Knowing this?—
“I’m gonna be sick.” He draws back, and I’m not sure who’s more disgusted, him or me. “Of course she’s territorial over me. She’s watching out for her little brother.”
“Nothing about you is little,” I mutter, and he arches a brow.
The tightness in my chest loosens and a smirk kicks up the corner of my lips. He’s her brother, not her mate.
Mine.
Ignoring the smug satisfaction circling the bond, I clear my throat and return to Briar’s story that brought us here. “So wait—what happened when you came and saw your earthside parents?
“Outside, toddling around the porch, was a girl with two sharp little pigtails jutting out of her head.” He finally meets my gaze again. “Then the strangest thing happened, she grinned and waved at me.” His hand lifts, then returns to his pocket. “At least I thought she did.”
“What?” My brow arches. “Did she really see you?”
Maybe there was a way we could be seen. If so, it would be so much easier to reach out…
“I’ll probably never know, but I doubt it.” He sighs. “The point is, I thought they’d be distraught, but they’d moved on. But they were okay. It was a bittersweet realization that life continued without me.”
His voice cracks a bit on those last words.
“When I was old enough to begin my spring duties, I begged my parents to let me come back. They agreed, though I’m certain they kept a close watch over me.” He walks toward the house, and I speed up to stay in step with his long strides.
“What did you hope coming back would do?”
“Satisfy my idiotic curiosity, I suppose.” There’s a shrug and silence that stretches as if he wants me to fill it and let him off the hook. But I spent my career patiently waiting for my clients to verbalize the thoughts they hoarded in those quiet moments during our sessions. “Maybe part of me always hoped she’d wave again. That maybe, as illogical as it was, they’d all somehow notice. But every spring I served here and tried to reach them, nothing worked.”
I frown. “Maybe they will. We could try?—”
“There’s no use.” Briar shakes his head. “Both my parents died a handful of seasons ago.”
“Oh.” I search his face for any hint at how he’s holding up, because inside, I’m jumbled, unsure where his feelings end and my own begin. I’ve always been able to recognize my emotions, processing them before they took over. But then I got the mate mark, and Briar’s intensity is enough to make my knees buckle. “Have you— Did you get to meet them?”
“No. And I never will.” His voice is sharp, but it’s theslice of searing pain in my ribs that stings the most. “They aren’t harbingers.”
