Blooming Desire: An Extraordinary Spring Romance Collection

by S. J. Sanders

  “Excrement of Zaba, you just won’t quit!”

  “Never,” I growl in agreement. A calculated smile curls my lip. “What if I make a bargain with you…”

  Dazi cocks his head, regarding me through narrowed eyes. “This better not be a waste of my time. Go on—I’m listening.”

  “If you give me one more mating flight, I will never mention it again,” I offer with a smug smile. “Moreover, I will leave you to your peace after we have acquired our mate. You can lock yourself in here for the entire interim of our lives without complaint from me.”

  The delicate antenna protruding out from two plates high on his brow tip my way and my smile widens. He is suspicious and trying to read me, but he will get nothing but sincerity. My offer is genuine. Dazi’s glare shifts into a puzzled frown when he realizes this.

  “What makes you so confident?”

  My wings lift as I shrug, belying my grin. “Why shouldn’t I be… when the seer confirmed it?”

  Dazi purses his lips thoughtfully. I can see that he is intrigued.

  “If I agree to this, you will not only cease hounding me and will leave me alone when I am working but will also volunteer to assist when asked.”

  I bite back a groan. I absolutely loathe being trapped in my brother’s office. Still, if it got our queen, it was a small sacrifice. “Agreed,” I grumble.

  The corner of Dazi’s lips quirk. “Very well, Shavish. One more.”

  “You will not regret it,” I say, not attempting to keep the pleasure out of my voice.

  “But one more thing,” he says, halting me when I turn to walk away.

  I glance back at him in inquiry.

  “If we do mate, you will not hog her to yourself. You will allow her to keep me company too if she wishes. This is not all about you, after all.”

  I am offended that my hive brother would even suggest that I would try to keep our queen to myself, although I dislike the idea of my female lingering for hours on end shut away from me with him. Still, the terms are fair.

  “Agreed,” I say stiffly and return his nod just before he steps back into the room and the door slams between us once more. I stare at the door, a grin on my facde.

  Everything is going according to plan to reunite our hive once more.

  2

  Orenda

  Looking down at the phone in my hand, I ignore yet another call from my mother. The fact that she’s even bothering to call puts a damper on what had been, up until now, a pleasant day of browsing antique shops while I’m on vacation. Going away to exotic new locations, rest and relaxation, and plenty of shopping with my favorite iced coffee in hand—nothing could have been better. Not until I got the call.

  I’m not even sure why she’s calling. Our contact has been sporadic since I moved out of my parents’ house, and nonexistent over the last two years since my baby sister showed signs of potent magical gifts at a young age. Since the portal failed to even so much as provide me with a glimmer of magic among my family of witches, they were relieved. As were the rest of my relatives. For me, it’s been a relief to no longer feel pressured into going to one family event or another only to be treated like the black sheep among the fold. The fact that she would call me when I’m on vacation, of all times, makes pretty cross. I put announcements all over social media so that everyone would know I’m unavailable.

  Trust my mother to pick the most inconvenient time to contact me.

  Probably calling to talk me out of the amulet I recently added to my collection.

  About the size of a silver dollar, the intricately-worked ruby is a masterpiece. It’s also enchanted with a powerful glamour to make its wearer indescribably attractive to those around them. Although the stone doubtlessly has a long history, it was most recently believed to have belonged to Mata Hari, the exotic dancer who used her allure to acquire secrets from the enemy during World War I. It changed hands among private collectors after her execution before coming into my possession. Though I lack magic, I have a gift for sniffing out powerful magical objects.

  Unfortunately, I have relatives equally as talented at knowing when I have something of value. It usually doesn’t take long before one of them calls. If word got back to my mother that I have the jewel, I have no doubt she’d want it for her private collection. Her passion for items of persuasion has always made me a little nervous. I know it infuriates her, as it does many of my other relatives, that despite my lack of magic I can find such treasures.

  I pat my pocket where it’s hidden away, rendered inactive by the shroud wrapped tightly around it. I trust no one with the gem, especially with its power increased following the opening of the portal… least of all my mother, who values power above all other things.

  Glaring at the heavy wooden door in front of me, I roll my shoulders, determined to not let her ruin my day. The door jingles cheerfully as it swings open, and the smell of history—old paper and lavender more than anything else, with a hint of mothballs—swamps me as I step inside the air-conditioned interior. It does much to improve my mood as I inhale deeply. I love the smell of books.

  An elderly gentleman with a pair of wire-framed spectacles perched at the end of his nose smiles up at me warmly before returning to whatever he’s reading, giving me free rein of the shop. I just barely resist cackling and rubbing my hands together with anticipation for all the goodies I expect to find. Despite my dyed green hair and numerous piercings, he doesn’t seem to give me a lot of attention, like some deviant let loose on his place of business. That’s a relief. I have enough busybodies following me around back home.

  Hmm… Maybe I should consider relocating.

  Escaping the reach of my family would be a blessing. As a costumer with a lucrative business, I can take it with me pretty much anywhere. My clients are always just an email and one PayPal account away. Besides, Miami would be a huge improvement over Vermont winters. Nobody cares who I am here. I’m the hopeless non-magical child of the high priest and priestess in one of the biggest and most well-known covens in the state.

  Here, I’m just Orenda.

  I snort in amusement. I bet my parents wished that they saved that name for my baby sister. Being given a name that meant magic was ironic. I firmly believe that there is power in names and words, like the antiques, they are part of our past and connect us to concepts that have been bestowed power through the ages. That’s one reason I love antiques. They typically have no more power than I do and yet there’s something just so magical about them.

  My eyes fall on such an assortment of treasures that a grin stretches across my face. Yes, I think this place will suit me nicely. The idea of moving is so appealing that I’m practically humming as I browse further through the shop, my eyes skimming the shelves.

  As I amble through, I stop occasionally to pick things up and set them back down again. I won’t buy just anything. It has to call to me for me to bring it home. I tap a finger on the shelves as I pass them, making a woman with a decidedly pinched expression narrow her eyes at me from where she stands beside a collection of old perfume bottles. I grin widely and wiggle my fingers at her.

  “Sorry,” I say softly with a sheepish smile. “Nervous habit.”

  I swear I see her lips twitch, but she huffs and turns back to her bottles. I shrug and peer over her shoulder at the collection. There’s an elegant blue glass bottle muted beneath layers of grime with a long narrow neck. It possesses a subtle glow that reaches out for her as she moves back and forth in front of it, just outside of its grasp.

  What a pity she doesn’t see it.

  I clear my throat. “That’s a lovely perfume bottle right there. I bet the glass would be gorgeous once it’s cleaned up,” I murmur close to her ear as I point to it.

  Her nose wrinkles at it. I can’t say I blame her; it really is filthy. I can just barely make out the blue when squinting. However, a reluctant smile tugs at her lips and she nods, her hands reaching for it. The moment I see her touch it, the way the energy twines
around her, I think I get an idea how witches feel when they see their spells manifest. It’s beautiful. I’m barely aware of her heading to the front register, a blissful smile on her face, when I turn away.

  I blink back the tears that had sprung to my eyes when I feel it.

  My breath hitches as something buzzes through my senses and my skin tingles. My eyes skim a dusty shelf, trying to locate the source of… whatever it is. The shelf is coated with dust in a far corner of the shop with random items crammed on it. I push aside a floppy rag doll and my pulse leaps with excitement. It’s there! I skim my fingers along the shelf, tucking into the dark corner. A spider scurries on to my hand but I transfer it to another nearby shelf and continue feeling around until my fingers brush across something hard and round. It sends a zap to my senses and I instantly curl my fingers around it to draw it forward.

  I cough as a cloud of dust comes out of the deep recesses of the shelf with my hand. Waving one hand in front of my face, I wrinkle my nose though my eyes stare down at my other hand with a familiar thrill. Whatever it is, it’s something good. Slowly, I uncurl my fingers and my eyebrows wing up. It’s a small medallion of some kind with etchings of the like I’ve never seen.

  With the index finger of my opposite hand, I push it around a little. It is a bit plain. There are no jewels or recognizable symbols carved into it. There’s a sort of scrawl that teases the corner of my eye but whenever I turn my attention to it, it disappears. How odd.

  I bite back a groan. I am going to have to enlist the services of my cousin. I may be able to track down amulets, but I lacked the ability to discern the nature of the magic. That’s where my cousin comes in… who happens to be the bane of my existence because I also know he’s a blabbermouth. He doesn’t mean to, but somehow he just can’t seem to help himself.

  Silently cursing myself, my frown deepens as I see a dark smudge on one side of the medallion. I try and buff it out with one finger. There’s a golden shimmer and I let a little breath in excitement. I must be working down to the metal beneath the smear. Shimmering again, it suddenly begins to spark and the world around me turns on its axis, lights zipping through the fabric of reality as dark bands of black light roll through my vision.

  With a shriek, I use the fingers of my opposite hand to pry it out of my grip. The shout that springs from my lips hangs hollow in the air around me as I manage to drop it. To my horror, it doesn’t fall more than an inch or two. Suspended in air, it glows with a bright golden light and begins to rotate. I step back, my eyes widening as it spins faster and faster, creating an expanding shimmer of energy.

  I have no interest in waiting around to see what happens. Letting out a hot stream of curses, I spin around and begin to beat a hasty retreat. I can see the light seeping through the corners of my vision and hear a shout muffled by the loud shimmering sound of a hundred silvery wind chimes striking. I think the voice is calling out to me, but I can’t be sure. All I’m aware of is the scream that rises out of me only to unleash into an ocean of nothingness before the light crashes all around me, swallowing me into its void.

  I don’t know how long I scream into the nothingness around me. It might have only lasted for seconds, but I panic as it renders me sightless and deaf by its rush of energy. It seems to last forever until the world snaps into a stable, physical presence around me. I drop to the ground, crashing through some sort of enormous vegetation. I can feel a thick, leathery, veined leaf catch me before dipping to drop me on another leaf with a different shape and texture.

  When I finally make contact with the ground, my breath expels in one unpleasant burst. I lie there for several minutes, drawing in one painful breath after another as the greenery above me comes into focus. My mouth gapes open at it. Those are some big leaves. I don’t even think I’ve ever seen leaves of anything anywhere near that size before. I turn my head gingerly, hoping that I didn’t hurt anything as I get a wider view of where I am now.

  I don’t recognize anything around me. At all. Everything seems oversized to the point of being nightmarish in proportion, hadowed by the plants that block out what appears to be a warm afternoon sun where it breaks through the growth.

  Shakily, I climb to my feet, my eyes scanning for any sign of danger. Large rocks litter the landscape between the plants and every step on the dirt feels odd, the dirt crumbling easily around me, trying to suck me down. With a squeak, I hop onto a rock and stare down at the ground in dismay.

  I’m not exactly sure how it can get much worse… although it is only a matter of time.

  I squeak as a crash overhead makes my heart nearly leap out of my chest, and I come close to falling off the rock on which I am standing. Within seconds, large pellets of water are all around me. I’m only able to stay dry because of the leaves stretching beyond me. I sigh and watch the ground become increasingly muddier, streams of water breaking through it moving mud around me. I wrinkle my nose as I stare down at the mud.

  Yeah… and there it is.

  3

  Orel

  My body tilts effortlessly in the air as I direct my course through the trees. The rain has ceased, leaving every leaf glittering with sunlight refracting off the drops of water. Spring rains are common in our forest almost daily for at least an hour or two in the early midday, but this is my favorite time of the day. The birdsong is just beginning, but the forest is otherwise quiet. The best part? Not many pixies zip yet among the trees, leaving me to my solitude. I need it.

  A quiet dread has been settling over me since I woke this morning. I don’t know how Gwin talked me into another mating flight. It is foolish that I long for it knowing that there is a chance for my heart to be broken again.

  Last year, following yet another failed mating flight, Dazi and I conferred on the situation facing our hive. Though it pained us, we are both practical enough to know what we are facing, regardless of Shavish’s stubborn refusal to see it. We waited, clinging to the males we have loved since we were younglings together, but with increasing demands from the elders it had been getting harder to ignore for some time. We agreed then to begin the process of splitting from our hive to make the separation easier when the time came.

  Since then, it has been difficult, even more so when we allow ourselves to take comfort in the embrace of our hive brothers. But even that, neither of us have indulged in for months. I know it hurts Gwin and Shavish that we turn them away. I just can’t bear to get attached knowing that our time together is coming to a close. Instead, I’ve sought the silence of the deep forests frequently for what solace I can find.

  We are all dealing with impending separation the best we can in our own ways. Gwin’s luster is almost gone as he spends more and more time in the company of the unmated females, his green wings dulling more with each passing week. He cannot serve them truly until he is accepted among the castri but he follows them as their guard, even though anyone can see his heart is not in it. Even the females have begun watching him in concern.

  Among males who become castri, some take to it, grateful for the opportunity to lavish affection on the females before they leave their company, but there is always a handful who don’t survive long before their light dims and is finally extinguished.

  Though Gwin resigns himself to being a castri, I am afraid that will be his fate.

  I am not altogether convinced it won’t eventually be mine as well.

  I am not sure how many more years any of us will continue on. Perhaps one hundred, maybe two. Gwin knows it. Dazi as well. My brother locks himself in his study more and more frequently to distract himself with the medicines and elixirs he concocts. I think even Shavish is aware of it, though he rails stubbornly against it with the hardened spirit of a male born to fight and lead. Though he drives me mad at times, I admire that about him. It seems, though, that Shavish is not dealing with the inevitable at all as he produces this latest scheme.

  I settle on a branch and flick the drop of water off my wings and sigh. I really don’t know how I
get talked into these things. Another mating flight will bring us together again. Leaving after a mating flight will cause unbearable pain. The corner of my lip quirks up in a crooked smile despite my grim mood because some part of me wonders if just maybe this time will be the time. Every year, I feel the excitement in my blood as the mating heat comes again. The hope is hard to surrender on such a magical day. I spread my wings wide and inhale deeply, my eyes raking over the trees wondering if somehow the seer is right, and our female is waiting for us somewhere out there. It is ridiculous, but I catch myself straining to see even a glimpse of her. I do not, however. Instead, a purple glimmer catches my attention as a familiar female zips through the sky, and I swallow a groan of dismay.

  Fini, newly mated just the year before, turns wide through the air and heads directly toward me, her exuberant smile visible even from where I stand as her large, colorful wings carry her through the air. Unlike males, her body doesn’t have the armored chitin anywhere on it. She is completely smooth like many other fae, her skin tinged with the purple light burning at her core. I am at least grateful since she is now mated, her presence will no longer plague me with an overwhelming dose of pheromones. Hers have long since adjusted to her mates, no longer detectable by other males.

  “Orel!” She laughs as she comes close to overshooting the branch before I catch her arm and yank her to safety with an exasperated sigh.

  “You are a reckless flyer, as always. Where are your males?”

  She snorts as she fixes the silken material fastened around her body. As a mated female, she now wears the full dress rather than the silken skirt and bare breast of an available female of age. She practically radiates joy, and I can’t help feeling happy for her.

  “Don’t be silly,” she retorts gaily. “My flying is no worse than anyone else’s. I just get a little excited sometimes and miscalculate. As for my mates, they will be along shortly. I got tired of them hovering. I gave them the slip while I pretended to gather nectar. Do not be concerned, Orel. I know Aster will track me down any minute now.” Though her tone is plaintive, a fond smile plays about her lips at the mention of her mates coming to fetch her.