Page 103 of Inked in Bloom
On the next page is an illustrated rendering of a pastclaiming ceremony. My cheeks heat and I gnaw at the inside of one, not lingering long before I flip the page. The illustrations continue for another twenty pages, growing more graphic with each turn. Some ceremonies have had minimal set ups, others with ornate pottery and planters, and a few with more BDSM-looking contraptions strewn throughout. My throat dries as I stare at an especially realistic piece of two harbingers pressed together, presumably locked, with the Bloom that’s behind biting into the other’s shoulder.
My jaw tingles and I shift in my seat. Visceral images of Briar during solstice fall into my mind, at first a few slow drops, then pelting like steady rain. I aim my face at my book and stare at the first unillustrated page I find, counting my breaths until the heat pooling in my lap becomes manageable.
Though Briar’s focus remains directed at the text, his irises flit for half a second in my direction, then return to his book. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’ve been caught.
“Something to think about in terms of set up is where to put everything and how many participants in the actual ceremony there will be,” Briar says. I shut the book in front of me, giving him my full attention, both to be respectful and to alleviate the rush of very disrespectful thoughts I’m having about him. “There should also be easy access to water, food, fresh soil, and sunlight.”
“Soil?” I grimace. “So they’re going to have to do this in the dirt?”
I may be a full-fledged Bloom now, but I’m still adjusting to walking barefoot to ground my magic. That’s where I draw the line.
“They don’t have to doeverythingin the soil. While most things occur publicly, it’s not a requirement.” He has the audacity to huff out a laugh at my horror. “But thepresentation and the formal declarations should take place where they can ground themselves in the earth.”
Knees scraping dirt, head bowed, ass up… Briar behind me, thrusting those powerful hips?—
I choke on a whimper.
Trying to distract myself, I flick my thigh with my fingernail. “Dirt is gross.”
Calling itsoilmakes it sound less grimy. It’s the only reason my imagination is currently entertaining being railed in the dirt. The air sweetens between us, and I glance up at Briar. His pupils are blown.
My earlier suspicions are confirmed. The sugary scent is a physical cue of arousal. My cheeks flare with heat.
“Sorry.” He blinks a few times, rubs his nose, and clears his throat. “I’m sure the urges are a bit unsettling. But it’s all completely natural. Our bond encourages this.”
Wish it would encouragehima little more.
Deep down, I know he wants this too. He’s never conveyed anything other than absolute honesty that he would do anything for his mate. For me.
You told him this wasn’t a date.
Truth is, there’s nothing casual about having your destiny entwined with someone else’s. I never gave much stock to soulmates or Fate. In this world, I’m confronted by their reality.
Maybe soulmates weren’t that instant storybook connection. Maybe having a soulmate was more like being young and gifted a sweater three sizes too big. It’s so huge and clumsy that it’s hard to imagine it’ll ever fit. But one day, you stare at yourself in the mirror, tugging your arms through the sleeves, and realize it wasn’t too big. Not really. You just had more growing to do.
Maybe that’s where we were. Swallowed up by the fabricof something bigger than us both. And for the first time, I wanted to grow with someone and reach that perfect fit.
I allow myself to watch Briar jot down a few notes from his book. His lavender irises comb through the information, strands of dark hair hanging in front of his glasses. Behind him, the storekeepers drag furniture and chairs around, the wooden legs scraping against the floor. Briar cranes his neck over his shoulder. “Open mic night must be getting started.”
“What is it?” I ask, lifting up from my seat to get a better view.
“Usually it includes live readings from various texts along with volunteer participation. Acting out scenes.” His brows furrow as the owner comes out from the back and begins twitching his nose, circling his arms alongside his employees. The stacks shake around us, and I straighten, alarmed.
Books fly off the shelves, stacking up and creating a small staircase and stage in the middle of the room. Briar grabs our books off the table and nudges me to walk with him. “Come on, I’ll get the rest of these and get you home.”
There’s a gruffness layered in his tone. It brushes along my spine as I follow him over to the register. The white-and-lilac haired shopkeeper scans the books with the palm of his hand, one after another. “So good to see you, Briar. Didn’t realize you’d be back for open mic. It’s been way too long.”
“I’m not.” He steps aside and makes room for me to reach the counter. “Derek, this is Monroe. She’s organizing the next claiming ceremony and I’m helping her with research.”
“Amazing. We’ll have to make a point to attend this one,” the owner says, looping his arms around the shopkeeper. They share a mirthful look.
“This is my mate, Ray.” He presses a kissto the shopkeeper’s cheek. Derek turns to Briar and gives an exaggerated frown, steepling his hands together. “Our first reader is a no show tonight.”
A devious smirk spreads across Ray’s face and he waggles his white-and-lilac brows.
“Can’t tonight,” Briar replies, his jaw taut beneath his beard. “Promised I’d get her home.”
“I’m not in a rush,” I say, enjoying the pinkish tinge streaking his cheeks.
