Blooming Desire: An Extraordinary Spring Romance Collection

by S. J. Sanders

  She went from the upscale city apartment to cold, dark wilderness, full of enormous trees as far as she could see. Stuck in the damn woods. Lost.

  She’d expected Tiffany to appear at any moment, but hours seemed to drag by. Even though she couldn’t see the sky, she judged by the growing light that she’d arrived at early dawn and time had progressed into the day.

  The shrill cries of the odd woodland animals made the hairs on her arms stand on end. Was it really safe to announce her presence by screaming for her daughter at the top of her lungs?

  What if something else came out of the shadowy woods?

  Like a predator. Or some unsavory native.

  Veronica glared upward into the branches of the trees accusingly, as though she could shame the forest for being full of so many freakishly huge trees.

  How ridiculous it was for her to be angry at the vegetation. It wasn’t the fault of the foliage that she wasn’t equipped to handle the ruggedness of the untamed world.

  She guessed the season was early spring, given the budding branches and the biting chill to the air. It was a shame she hadn’t brought her wrap with her. Or anything else for that matter. When she touched the damn device-thingie she hadn’t expected it to transport her here in the first place.

  She hadn’t expected it to do anything really.

  When she found her daughter, Tiffany was going to have a hell of a lot of explaining to do. First about why she’d created such a dangerous machine to begin with. Second, for the grim wording of the damn letter. It read like a fucking suicide note.

  I’m off to somewhere better; please don’t be sad for me. Don’t worry; this is what I want .

  If the note had not gone on to explain that she was happy and healthy wherever it was she’d gone Veronica would have really panicked. It was bad enough she had no clue where Tiffany had gone. The note had conveniently not clarified that little detail.

  Don’t come looking for me.

  How could she be serious?

  What mother in her right mind would listen to that crackpot advice?

  How could she go running off the night before her wedding? This was the event of the year for Veronica’s circle of friends, and of course their family. Actually, it was the event of the past five years as far as Veronica was concerned.

  This wasn’t the golden age of debutant balls, but Veronica, already in her forties and a divorcee, found herself complely emersed in the wedding planning as though it were her own.

  Better than her own, because she’d eloped with her ex-husband at sixteen when he’d knocked her up. This event was joyous and she would spare no expense to make it perfect.

  It had come as a huge shock when Tiffany announced that she didn’t actually love her fiancé. They’d been engaged for almost two years and Veronica couldn’t imagine a more perfect man.

  Nick Alpine was the embodiment of male perfection.

  Rich.

  Well connected.

  Great job.

  Young, charming and handsome.

  And it stung when Tiffany suggested that Veronica should marry him since she seemed more infatuated with Nick than Tiffany herself. As though the man, the age of her daughter, would be suitable for Veronica. She’d been furious at the suggestion.

  And a little ashamed.

  Which only made the situation worse.

  Veronica was a dozen years too old to entertain the possibility of a relationship with someone the age of her youngest child. The very suggestion was absurd, particularly after the shame of her husband divorcing her to pursue a girl who could have gone to high school with her children.

  When another flurry of strange cries rang out from the trees to the right of her, she decided it was best to start walking rather than wait for the beasties to come pick her off. Eventually she’d come across a city or town or even a road.

  Right?

  Getting angry at her beloved youngest daughter wasn’t any way to convince the girl to at least give her marriage a chance. Her anger had cooled thanks to spending many hours wandering around an inhospitable forest. She was left with an aching sadness in the pit of her stomach for the way their last words had been exchanged.

  She agreed that if Tiffany wasn’t in love with Nick, she shouldn’t be forced into marriage. But to leave the man with only a flimsy note was heartless.

  Well, she knew the two had heated words before the rehearsal dinner, because everyone had heard the shouting.

  That had been one of the most uncomfortable meals of her life, right up there with the dinner she’d had when she’d broken it to her children that their father was leaving her for a woman just turning eighteen. At least it wasn’t nearly so shameful as the other meal and she tried her best to soothe Nick’s ruffled pride.

  Poor Nick. She was so damn fond of him and really had liked the idea of him being her son-in-law. That’s probably why she had flown to his defense with her daughter.

  In retrospect, not her finest moment.

  She wasn’t paying enough attention to where she was putting her feet and one of her five-inch heels got caught in a snarled vine. Unbalanced, she fell forward. She did her best to catch herself but still went down hard, banging one knee on a rock and her shoulder against one of the trees as she tumbled. Sprawling face first into the dirt, she bit back her groan of pain. She’d twisted her leg but not bad. The thorns in the vine had carved several bloody scratches around her calf. The skin was scraped off her knee and her shoulder was bruised. Nothing was broken, but her ankle and the scratches ached. The heel was ruined, though, five inches of metal broken off clean, and the dress had ripped all the way up her hip.

  That was a few thousand dollars down the toilet.

  Biting back curses, both of pain and frustration, she hobbled onward.

  The dense woodlands opened up suddenly and she found herself in a strange little clearing. Here the trees didn’t grow nearly as thick, but only because an enormous tree growing there overshadowed the others around it, shouldering out all lesser trees and undergrowth.

  Veronica wandered closer to the tree, tipping her head so she could stare up into the network of branches. The red-brown twisting lattice of limbs blotted out the sky. Majestic and ancient, the silent power in the tree took her breath away.

  Veronica wasn’t one to commune with nature, but she’d also never beheld anything quite like that tree.

  She was tired, sore, and cold to her bones. The nook the roots made at the base of the tree made the perfect resting place. It looked rather grand, like a natural throne of wood, earth, and bright green and orange mosses.

  Settling down with her back against the arching roots, she felt instantly reassured that she’d made the right choice. A small break to catch her breath and rest her aching ankle was just what she needed.

  None of the neighboring trees were small but this one was truly a titan. It dwarfed the others.

  She didn’t know a single thing about forestry, but she’d seen the blue alien movie with their epicly big trees. Like that fictional behemoth, this one was large enough to house a whole tribe of seven-foot aliens.

  That possibility made her faintly uncomfortable.

  And a bit intrigued, if she was honest with herself.

  Nothing came out of the foliage, though. She settled herself into the roots, getting comfortable against its smooth trunk and the plush layer of moss acting as a pillow. Even the cold wasn’t quite so bad once she was reclining in the wooden throne.

  Her stomach reminded her that she’d not eaten anything since breakfast.

  Foraging wasn’t going to work for her. Not only was she unable to tell what might be poison or not didn’t know the first thing about this place. Besides, she had a very discriminating palate.

  She’d rather die than eat twigs.

  To think she’d passed on those delectable butter-drizzled lobster cakes mere hours ago.

  A soft chuckling whispered overhead and she cocked her head back to peer at the tree, expecting to f
ind some woodland animal.

  Blue tribesmen maybe?

  Goodness, Veronica, pull yourself together.

  Instead, a handful of acorns pelted the ground around her. Startled, she squinted at the offending branches, swaying high above her.

  The wind must have caused the sound, she reasoned.

  And just as the thought surfaced, the sound came again and a single acorn landed in her lap.

  She regarded the thing skeptically but when she plucked it from her beaded skirt, the chocolate-and-roasted-nut aroma surprised her almost as much as the unexpected gift.

  “What the hell?”

  The forest around her answered with a deepening rustle of mirthful laughter as the wind stirred the upper branches. Another wave of nuts rained on her.

  And only her.

  None of the other trees shed their seedpods.

  In her hand, the acorn-shaped nut was warm and fragrant. She inspected it, finding the edges of the smooth shell. It easily split apart when she pressed a manicured fingernail against the seam. Inside, the thumb-size seed was a bright golden color. The metallic surface shimmered invitingly in the dim light.

  The scent of it made her mouth water.

  It might as well have a tag that read eat me on it.

  She didn’t need any further encouragement.

  Popping the gleaming nugget into her mouth, she savored the single most decadent experience of her life. She’d often scoffed at the description of flavors bursting across ones tongue, but this thing actually did. It was the real deal. The crunchy texture gave way to sweet, black-cherry notes followed by a creamy chocolate finish. There were complexities between that baffled her. Something floral? A little salty? The experience left her tongue tingling.

  If it was poison, she didn’t care. This would be the way to go.

  Instantly she cracked open a second one and took more care nibbling at it, fascinated.

  The flavor was even better when she savored it slowly.

  Veronica wasn’t spiritual, but she swore she sensed a wave of appreciation.

  From the tree?

  For accepting its bounty?

  That was way too woo-woo for her. Thankfully the sensation slipped away after the brief ethereal shiver against her senses. She shook it off and focused on collecting the scattered acorns from the ground around her. They made a modest pile in her lap.

  It was a shame there was no way to harvest more.

  The tree seemed to chuckle at her and an acorn dropped onto her head. A ripple of amusement tickled up her spine to the nape of her neck. She found herself smiling. A wordless, but firm, assurance vibrated through her body where it touched the warm wood. An internal knowing informed her that the tree would always be there for her. The bounty held in its powerful branches would only be for her from now until forever. Veronica could have as many as she wanted.

  Before Veronica could fully process the meaning behind the sensations, a distant sound intruded on the quiet forest, a low pounding like a drum beating in triplicate in quick succession, in a steady repeated pattern.

  Thud-thud-thud.

  Thoughts of blue-skinned warriors flashed through her mind.

  She held her breath, listening as the sound grew louder. It wasn’t drums. They were the impacts of hoof-beats. The echo off the trees prevented her from guessing the distance or the exact direction.

  It sounded like the galloping of a huge beast.

  A tickle began in her spine at her shoulders and climbed up with a sensation like cooling menthol and wintergreen until her whole scalp prickled. The hairs on her arms and neck rose in preternatural awareness.

  The guardian, whispered a quiet, genderless voice at the very back of her mind. With the words came the sensation of mild annoyance at the incoming intrusion.

  Leaping to her feet, she spun around and stumbled away from the tree. What had been so comfortable and even cozy now seemed terrifying as the unearthly senses woke in her. She held the skirts of her dress in both fists, like a beaded apron, the bounty of acorns trapped within the torn fabric.

  Calm.

  Be calm, the voice whispered a heartbeat after the soothing emotion stroked across her mind.

  Calm wasn’t in the cards right now, despite the application of the psychic caress. Her heart was beating out of her chest faster than the hoofbeats echoing out of the forest.

  And then the centaur charged from between the trees.

  2

  New Moon

  A centaur.

  An actual, mythical monster.

  Veronica had seen plenty of images of centaurs from picture books and Disney movies when her children were little, but none of them prepared her for seeing one in the flesh.

  He was a glorious, awe-inspiring man-beast.

  The horse body was piebald; shocking white and black patches of fur covered his powerful build. Like one of those heavy draft horses that pulled beer wagons. Except this one was even bigger. Great clods of earth scattered with each powerful stride. His hooves were the size of platters, with thick fringes of onyx and alabaster hair tumbling in shiny waves at his fetlocks. A long, glossy tail flew behind like a proud banner

  And attached to the horse was a man.

  Oh god, was he a man.

  Veronica’s daughter always accused her of having a type. Though she violently objected, when presented with a being in the flesh, she could no longer deny it to herself. The human half of this beast was exactly what she wanted. What she realized she needed.

  Pretty boy.

  Of courses lots of women liked that particular look. Elven-prince elegance; high cheekbones sharp enough to slice her, chiseled jaw and chin, and wide, pouting lips with a soft, velvety fullness. What wasn’t to like?

  In real life, her usual suspects were not so muscular or anywhere near this enormous. Never so youthful. The size and bulk were definitely aspects she didn’t know she needed until she’d seen the whole package.

  His bronzed skin was bare from his broad shoulders to his navel where the horse body connected to his torso save for a strap of leather that crossed his naked body. Sweat made his flesh gleam. She could probably bounce the acorns off his taut pectorals, abdominals and obliques. Would he smell and taste as good as the bounty of acorns she held clutched in her skirts?

  Shit, shit, shit!

  She was literally categorizing and scoring his muscle groups as if she were a judge at a bodybuilding contest. Worse, she imagined how they’d feel and taste, just to drown out the sound of her internal screaming that none of this was possible.

  She couldn’t be seeing a centaur right now.

  Or any other time really.

  A voice was not invading her thoughts.

  Her torn skirts were not full of magic seeds.

  They certainly tasted magical if not actually enchanted.

  The very authentic-looking centaur was still coming at her, galloping fast.

  Long, pearly white hair with streaks of ebony flowed from his high widow’s peak, blowing around his shoulders. Half Adonis. Half draft stallion. His finely honed features were twisted in rage, and his skin flushed a deep rose. The fury and danger only made him sexier. His nose crinkled as he shouted, “Who dares intrude upon the sacred grove?”

  The newly installed internal voice that she was trying to pretend didn’t exist, whispered, I agree, he is well grown. And a proven warrior. See the feathers in his hair?

  She did her best to continue to block out the voice.

  The madness was clearly taking her.

  The centaur bared his teeth, flashing canines far too sharp and long for her comfort. He slid to a halt, powerful hindquarters tucked under his body, skidding across the evergreen needle-and-leaf-strewn forest floor.

  He was magnificent.

  When he twisted his torso to reach over his shoulder, she saw the cluster of brilliant purple, blue and red feathers laced into the braid tucked behind his long, pointed ear.

  Why did that turn her on even more?


  This was an actual beast of legend.

  A monster.

  Except instead of being afraid or even concerned, she was swamped with longing.

  The sword slipped soundlessly from the scabbard at his back. The movement made many different muscle groups tighten and contract with the effort. He had a sinuous grace, like a dancer or a boxer. Her mind went a little red around the edges as her mouth watered with lust.

  Distantly she wondered why fear didn’t cripple her. She was obviously about to get trampled and then gutted by the two-handed weapon. Light gleamed off the naked steel as the horse-man grasped the weapon in both fists and held it before him at an angle.

  The voice whispered, I’m pleased he’s agreeable to you as well, Te’acina. He will make you a suitable mate.

  Mate?

  Shock made her mouth drop open at the same time she released her death grip on the torn edges of her dress. The bounty of delicious acorns fell free, bouncing around her bare feet.

  Bemusement flickered across her senses as the tree above her swayed. Wood clattered loudly moments before a cold wind swirled around her. The ominous sound of boughs rattling a warning made the centaur cock his eyebrow and he narrowed his eyes at her. He had odd colored eyes; one blue and one green.

  Instead of swinging at her, his big hands flexed on the grip just under the curving horns of the guard. “I ask again; who dares intrude upon the sacred grove?” When she only sputtered helplessly, unable to find her words, he lifted the sword as though to swing it and lifted one hoof to advance. “How dare you…”

  Her body finally caught up with reality. This wasn’t a wet dream. This was a nightmare. He was going to murder her.

  A surge of adrenaline shot through her. She took a jerky step backward, but her foot caught in one of the twisted roots and she fell on her ass. As she flung her arms up to shield herself from the steel about to cut her to pieces, a spear-like limb dropped from above. The broken tip plunged into the earth at the centaur’s feet. The end of the shaft, fringed with tiny green fronds and pink buds, quivered inches from his face.