Page 42 of Bloom in Darkness

I laugh. “That is a terrible reason to send me back to work.”

I straighten my shirt and check myself in the mirror. My hair is wrecked, my mouth looks kissed, and I smell like Caelan so strongly that anyone with a working nose will know exactly what happened. Perfect.

I open the door and Caelan follows me out. Halfway down the corridor I spot Bryn leaning against the wall by the service entrance, arms folded.

I glance at Caelan. “I thought he was at the Forge.”

“He was.” Caelan doesn’t bother hiding his smile. “Apparently watching the clock stopped being enough.”

Bryn looks at me, catches Caelan’s scent all over me, and his eyes go dark. His scent rolls into the hallway—pure Valla aggression, thick enough that my knees nearly buckle. My gaze drops before I can stop it, and I grin when I see his pants doing absolutely nothing to hide that he knows exactly what went on in that room.

Bryn’s nostrils flare, and behind me Caelan laughs. He steps forward and claps Bryn once on the shoulder, completely unbothered by the feral look in Bryn’s eyes. Caelan pulls out his phone and shows Bryn a picture of the sketch, smiling when Bryn’s glare shifts from us to the screen.

“Don’t worry, big guy,” Caelan says, his voice entirely too amused. “He’s spending the weekend with us. He’s coming home.”

Bryn looks from the sketch to me. “The whole weekend?”

I grin. “Apparently.”

Bryn

Astra’s late again for the third time this week, strolling in twelve minutes past his start with damp hair curling at his nape and that beat-up duffel slung over one shoulder. He smells like the Forge—like Caelan and me—strongly enough that a couple of Betas by the service bar turn their heads as he passes. I don’t pretend not to watch him cross the floor, catching the almost-smile he tries to hide when he finds me near the back hall. The next four hours immediately feel too fucking long.

“You’re late,” I say when he’s close, but there’s no heat in it.

He rolls his eyes, reaches up like he always does to fuss with my collar even though it’s fine. “Yeah, well. Some giant Valla wouldn’t let me out of bed this morning. Then his boyfriend made pancakes into a whole production.” His fingers stay against my chest a second too long before he drops his hand. “Had to go home for clothes. Unless you want me working naked.”

I let my eyes travel down him, slow. “Wouldn’t complain.”

He blushes right on cue, pink flooding his cheeks, and I want to put my hands on him right here. Instead I grab the back of his neck and pull him in, breathing him in at the temple without getting close enough to ruin his hair.

Astra sighs into my shirt, his shoulders finally loosening. “Four hours.”

I keep my hand at the back of his neck, thumb moving once beneath the damp curl there. I’ve worked longer shifts, fought longer nights, waited through worse, but somehow four hours tonight feels excessive. “Then we’re done.”

He tips his head back enough to look at me. “You looked at the clock twice since I walked in.”

“Three times.” His laugh presses warm against my ribs, and some of the tension I’ve been carrying since I got here eases with it. I bend enough to scent his temple again, slower this time. “Finish your set. Then I’m taking you home.”

His expression changes at that, the teasing fading into something softer. “The whole weekend.”

My hand tightens slightly at his neck. “The whole weekend.”

His smile comes back. “I like when you say that.”

He kisses me quickly under the jaw before heading for the dressing rooms. I watch him until a server almost walks into a pillar staring too. I stare back until he finds somewhere else to be.

The shift starts quiet. Astra vanishes backstage, the first set kicks up, and the place sinks into its usual rhythm—overpriced drinks, low light, people paying too much for whatever they came here to pretend. I do rounds, break up a fight near the side bar, kick out one Alpha before he gets messy, and check the time again even though Astra already gave me shit for it.

I’m halfway down the VIP hall when Sabine steps into my path. She stops directly in front of me, close enough that going around her would mean making a point of it. She doesn’t have to speak. Her scent is cold and sharp, metallic with irritation. She folds her arms and looks up at me like I’m mud on her nice clean floor.

“Bryn,” she says, and the word is pure condescension.

“Sabine.” I keep my voice flat and my hands loose at my sides. Giving her the reaction she wants would only make her stay longer.

Her mouth pinches at the corners when I don’t offer more. Her eyes sweep over me like I’m something she’s thinking about wiping off her shoe. “You’ve gotten awfully comfortable around here.”

“I work here,” I say as the muscles across my shoulders pull tight.