Page 21 of Bloom in Darkness

His thumbs hover over the screen while he works out a response, and I lean against his shoulder. “Send him an actual sentence, not one of your little pictures.”

Bryn glances up. “I don’t use emojis.”

“Babe, that is a ridiculous lie. You sent me three yesterday.”

"That was a different context." He looks back down at his phone. "I'm just trying to figure out what to say that won't make him feel crowded."

I grab my tablet from the bench and step closer, pressing a kiss to the damp hair at his temple. "You'll figure it out. You always do."

He catches my wrist before I can pull away, turning his head to press a slow, warm kiss to the corner of my mouth.

“And Bryn,” I start, waiting until his gaze meets mine. “I wouldn’t call it crowding. You care. You just have to see how that looks for you and Astra. And if it means going over there to hold him, do it. If it means texting him those god-awful emojis, do that too. And if it means something else, do that.”

Astra

The Bloom isn’t working the way it usually does tonight. I rubbed the cream into my thighs before my first set and added another thin layer along my lower back afterward, expecting the warmth to settle into that familiar float that makes the club easier to tolerate. My muscles loosen, but the jitter underneath my skin keeps coming back, and every time I stand still too long my calves feel like they want to jump.

Everything else is too sensitive. The fabric between my legs has been damp since I got dressed, and when I finish my second set, slick is already working its way down the insides of my thighs. Normally the cream puts a little distance between me and my body, letting me enjoy the warmth without caring what causes it, but tonight there is no distance. Every brush of the thong against my hole registers, every shift of my hips sends another pulse of heat through me, and my scent has gone sweet enough that I can smell it without trying.

I tell myself I need a little more cream. The first dose was light, and the second mostly went into the ache along my back, so another pass over my thighs doesn’t feel unreasonable when I’m already working a long shift. I’m opening the jar at my vanity when one of the Betas across the room glances over while fastening the cuff around his wrist.

“You okay?” he asks, watching my hand shake slightly around the lid. His concern is casual enough that I can answer without feeling cornered.

“I’m fine. Just tired.” I rub the cream into my skin and put the jar away before I can decide I need another layer, then reach for the powder brush beside my mirror. “Long week.”

He accepts that with a small nod and goes back to getting ready. I’m halfway through fixing the glitter at the corner of one eye when the auction board lights up over the dressing-room door. My hand stops mid-stroke.

Around me, the room immediately gets louder. One of the Omegas near the far mirror claps and starts checking the pins in his hair, while the Beta beside him laughs about finally having enough money to pay his mechanic if his regular shows tonight. Someone asks whether the auction bonus is still seventy-thirty after house fees, and another dancer calls back that Sabine had better not have changed the split again.

I stare at the board. It’s auction night, and I completely forgot.

My stomach drops so hard that nausea climbs into my throat. Somewhere in the blur of extra shifts, bad sleep, too much Bloom, and the last few days with Bryn and Caelan, the date disappeared completely. I knew it was coming because Sabine posted it weeks ago, but I still managed to walk into work without realizing what night it was.

The Omega beside me is smiling while he pins his number onto his costume. “I hope Calhoun comes back. He got stupid last month when somebody bid against him, and I paid off half my credit card with the bonus.”

Another dancer snorts. “Mine likes pretending he’s going to make me do something scandalous, then spends three hours making me watch terrible action movies while he orders room service. I’ll take his money every month if he wants to keep doing it.”

Their laughter washes over me without landing. Auction night works for them because the contracts still mean something when they leave the stage, and the person who wins their time is usually someone they chose to cultivate. My problem is sitting somewhere beyond the dressing-room curtain in a suit that probably costs more than my entire wardrobe. Silas never misses auction night.

My palms go cold, and I make myself walk toward the curtain to look through the gap. He is already there. Silas sits close to the front with one ankle crossed over his knee, his posture relaxed while the Valla beside him says something near his ear. His attention stays fixed on the stage, and he has the same polished expression he always wears when he knows the room is going to give him what he wants.

My breathing goes shallow before I can stop it. I back away from the curtain and nearly collide with someone carrying a rack of costumes. They swear, I apologize, and I keep moving into the hallway. The hallway outside feels too narrow, the lights too bright, and the Bloom warmth underneath my skin turns ugly as my pulse starts climbing. My first thought is that I need more cream, something to soften everything enough that I can stand onstage while Silas bids on me and pretend I don’t care.

I make it halfway toward the dressing room before I see Bryn. He is standing beside the service bar in club blacks, talking to another security guard with his arms folded over his chest. I didn’t know he was working tonight, having already resigned myself to not seeing him until tomorrow after he mentioned he might be at the Forge. The second I see him, the panic gets worse, and I cross the floor too quickly.

Bryn turns when I’m only a few feet away, and whatever he sees on my face wipes the conversation out of his expression. I hit his chest before I can slow myself down, and his arms come around me automatically.

“Astra?” His hand settles at the back of my neck while the other catches firmly around my waist. “What happened?”

I try to answer, but nothing comes out. My chest locks halfway through the next breath, and suddenly I’m dragging in air that never seems to make it far enough. He turns us away from the floor, gets me through the nearest staff door, and walks me into the quieter hallway beyond it with one hand spread across my back.

My knees threaten to fold before we reach the end of the corridor, and Bryn catches me immediately, pulling me fully against his chest to give me somewhere solid to put my weight while his palm moves slowly between my shoulder blades.

“Stay with me, pretty boy.” His mouth brushes my hair while I press my face into his shirt, breathing in his scent instead of the club's perfume and smoke. “Slow it down.”

“I can’t.” The words barely make it out around another fractured breath, and my fingers twist into the front of his shirt. “Bryn, I can’t.”

“You can. Take your time.” He doesn’t change his hold or try to make me look at him, and eventually the pressure in my chest loosens enough that one full breath finally gets through. I stay there until the hallway stops moving around me. Bryn’s hand keeps running over my back, never hurrying. When I finally lift my head, his expression is steady, but his jaw is locked hard enough that the muscle jumps beneath his skin.