Page 44 of Inked in Bloom
I’m a full foot taller, but you wouldn’t know it from the glare I get in our reflection. I might as well still be in my earthside form with the dressing-down her expression conveys.
Guess lighthearted chitchat is not in the cards.
Unlocking the door with a twitch of my nose, I hold it open and gesture toward the seats. “I spoke with Fate aboutyour request.”
Monroe’s lips purse and she stares at the table, two chairs, and otherwise empty office. It’s cold, impersonal, and I regret telling her to meet me here. Since I usually go to Radix Headquarters after getting the girls from school, I keep most of my things there.
“And?” She rests her hands on the chair but doesn’t sit. Her knuckles are pale, the tips of her nails digging into the wood.
Hope takes root in her stare, and I hate that I’m the one clipping it away. My insides curdle, soured by the fact that this is yet another reason for her to hate me. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing she can do.”
Monroe’s brows knit, nails digging into the upholstery. “Nothing shecando? Or nothing she’swillingto do?”
“Knowing her, maybe a bit of both.” I groan, frustrated by Fate as much as Monroe, though I know she wouldn’t believe it.
“Well, I guess that leaves Fate and I at an impasse.” Those once-emerald eyes sharpen with disdain, and guilt twists its readied switchblade deep into my chest.
She turns toward the door like she can’t get out of here fast enough, and I’m loath to deny her that, but I also need her to understand there’s still a choice.
“Fate may not be able to help you, but you still have options. No one will force you into a bond you don’t want.” I try to keep my tone neutral, waving casually at the chair across from me like my insides aren’t being tossed through an incinerator. With a frustrated sigh, she takes a seat. “If you choose to accept the bond, there are still formalities to make it official. Customs we Blooms follow, like courting and nesting, are usually done prior to claiming the bond.”
“Claiming the bond…” Her mint brows draw together a moment before something akin to curiosity kindles in her stare. “As in the claiming ceremony?”
“It’s a sacred Bloom tradition. Takes place over in The Nestling Fields before rejuvenation, usually during solstice, when all theweird sex stuffcomes into play.” The corner of my lip kicks up as I mimic her tone from when she came to my office a few weeks back.
She keeps her chin lifted, resisting my attempt to ease the tension in the room. “And if I never choose to claim this person? What happens then?”
Neverstings, a dart landing between my ribs. I swallow, trying to ignore how long thatis for an immortal, and shove my hands into my pockets, sitting back in my chair. “Then the mark will remain, along with the abandoned seedling of a bond. As time passes, there will be discomfort, depending on how much distance is put between you and your mate.”
“That’s the Bloom’s definition of being given a choice in the matter?” Every word out of her mouth carries a bite. She doesn’t even attempt to conceal her bitterness.
I clamp my mouth shut before I say something we’ll both regret. She has every right to be upset. She was alive and human not long ago. This is all new to her.
Focus on the reason you asked her to stay after class in the first place, idiot.
I reach into my top drawer and hand her a pamphlet. “This is information from the Solstice Center.”
Her eyes drop to it and her brows bunch together, but she opens it, eyes flaring before she folds it back up. Fortunately, my volunteer work during the off season means I’ve given this talk many times to newly matured and newly mated Blooms. I repeat it verbatim. “Read it over to learn more about what physical and psychological changes to expect. There is a questionnaire for you to fill out on theback. Make sure to return it before going out for your first spring.” I shift in my seat. “They are always open and have knowledgeable staff who are trained to answer any questions you have.”
Before we know it, the course will be over and spring will be here. When she goes, having a firm plan will be essential. I know she’s worried about graduating the Conservatory, but there’s no doubt in my mind that she’ll find a way through. Of course, she wouldn’t believe me if I said that.
“Great.” She stands up and taps the pamphlet, cheeks painted a deeper shade of pink. “Thanks for the homework, Professor.”
She exits my office before I can say another word. I slump in my seat, hoping she takes my advice and goes there soon. They are discreet, can answer things I can’t, things better not addressed by her…professor.
It’s one of the few ways I can actually help her. Fate knows I’d do anything.
I’ve longed for a mate since the time I understood what they were, after watching my immortal parents’ devotion to each other. I wanted that for myself. A family to call my own. I didn’t flinch when the piercing pain began. I welcomed it.
I bring a hand to my sternum, to the foxglove and peony inked in bloom. This mark is everything I’ve ever wanted, a lost fragment of my family found—finally, someone to share my afterlife with.
Excited to come face-to-face with my mate, I’d clutched it and zipped off, unable to get to them fast enough.
There she was, staring at her reflection, the very same foxgloves and peony drawn across her supple skin, curving with the line of her breasts.
Monroe.
She had no other marks, only the one that made her mine. And fuck, the sight of it did something feral to me. In that moment—that foolishly stupid moment—I thoughtthis is my chance.
