Page 10 of Beneath the Desert Bloom (Of Beasts and Bloom #1)

THE SUN WAS already high when Nora woke again. Later than she’d meant to, later than she ever slept. Her body ached in ways that felt like both aftermath and warning.

Everything hurt in the way a good night out used to hurt, back when she still had one-night stands and brunch plans and some semblance of normal hormones.

That life felt embarrassingly far away now.

Like a costume she used to wear before her body started reacting to men made of bark and glowing eyes.

The sheets were tangled around her ankles, still carrying telltale grains of sand. The room smelled faintly of sweat, sage, and the lingering warmth of someone else’s breath.

Great. Another night of supernatural sex dreams and desert debris. At this rate she’d be coughing up cactus by Wednesday.

She sat up slowly. Her fingers reached for the obsidian stone on the nightstand. It pulsed faintly against her palm. She stared at it for a long moment, then swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Her body protested, but she welcomed the discomfort. It meant she hadn’t imagined it.

He had been there. Or she had gone to him. She wasn’t sure anymore.

She went to the sink, splashed cold water on her face, and caught her reflection in the mirror.

She swore she saw a light glow coming from her skin.

The faint outline of a handprint lingered on her thigh. It was barely visible now, more of a shadow than a mark. But she could still feel it. Like his fingers were imprinted beneath the skin. Like her body remembered even when the evidence tried to fade.

“Ugh, what’s this now?” she muttered. “If this is what hot girl summer feels like, I’m out.”

But her voice was just noise in the room. It didn’t change the truth under her skin, the ache that had taken root in her bones. She wasn’t just rattled or obsessed. She was magnetized. Aligned.

Something inside her pulled toward him with the weight of gravity.

She had to go back. She needed to go back.

There wasn’t another word for it. Her body knew the direction like a tide knew the pull of the moon.

She moved to throw on clothes, already half-planning the path she’d take, how early the sun would fall, whether the air would shift again. She’d find him. Today. Now.

That’s when she spotted her phone on the counter, the screen blinking with three missed texts and one voicemail.

From Lauren.

I’m almost on my way!!

Omg are you ghosting me??

Driving now—be there in 2 hours! You better be there!!

Nora blinked at the screen.

“Shit.”

Two hours.

Her stomach dropped, her adrenaline surging. She was in no shape to host anyone. She didn’t even feel human. She felt like a lightning rod in bare feet, too aware of every sound, every grain of grit against her skin.

She hadn’t showered in… she wasn’t sure how long. The air still smelled like sweat and something ancient and hungry. She stripped her clothes off as she crossed the room, muttering to herself like it would help.

“The one day I get spiritually ravaged by a sand cryptid and it’s also guest day? Cool. Great.”

She scrubbed herself in the shower like she could erase the dream, but the ache between her legs pulsed with every movement.

The water didn’t help. Her thighs still trembled.

Her skin still glowed faintly, like something beneath it wanted out, and she didn’t even bother pretending it was the lighting.

By the time she got dressed, the kitchen looked like a crime scene. A coffee crime scene. Grounds on the counter, a mug overflowing in the sink, toast half-burned and abandoned.

Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking, coffee sloshing in her mug.

She kept glancing at the window like she expected to see him there. Watching. Waiting.

Was this what being haunted felt like? Or was it more like being claimed?

A low hum rolled through her bones, an echo of a dream that hadn’t entirely let go.

“A couple days,” she muttered. “You can pretend you’re normal for a couple days.”

She tried to believe it.

She sprang into motion, still half-dream-drunk, grabbing the laundry basket and hauling the sheets from her bed like they’d personally betrayed her. The handprint was mostly gone, but she could still feel the ghost of it on her thigh.

She tossed the tangled sheets in the washer, started it with a slam, then rushed to the guest pullout couch.

It still smelled faintly of whatever desert funk accumulated in unused corners of a house like this.

She yanked open the windows, letting in a blast of sun-heated air and grit, hoping it would clear the house of…

whatever this was. Whatever she was becoming.

She stripped the old bedding, flipped the cushions, flung a fresh set of clean sheets across the frame.

The fitted one snapped off a corner and she swore, tried again, then caught herself staring out the window, mid-action, eyes glazed, body still humming with leftover need.

She wasn’t thinking about Lauren. Or the couch.

Or the fact that she probably hadn’t vacuumed since she’d gotten there.

She was thinking about heat. His breath. The pressure of his fingers. The ache was still there, coiled low and tight. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily.

“Focus,” she muttered, shaking herself. “Pull it together, Vale. Your friend’s about to walk into a literal sex fog.”

She grabbed the Febreze and sprayed the air like it might exorcise the scent of desire. It didn’t help.

Neither did the fact that the desert felt closer now. Watching. Waiting.

She caught her reflection in the dark windowpane, her hair wild, cheeks flushed, lips bitten red.

Yeah, she looked fine.

Totally fine.

A car door slammed outside.

Nora blinked and turned toward the sound, heart already stuttering. Then came the yip of a tiny dog.

“Shit,” she muttered, scrubbing her hands on a dish towel.

By the time she got to the front door, Lauren was halfway up the steps, suitcase in one hand and a tiny, white Papillon tucked under the other arm like a living accessory.

“There you are!” Lauren called, sunglasses sliding down her nose. “Were you asleep? You look like you just woke up inside a wind tunnel.”

Nora forced a smile. “Welcome to the glamorous high desert.”

The dog barked once at her, high-pitched and suspicious.

“I brought Miso,” Lauren said, bending to set the dog down. “He needed a vacation too.”

Miso gave Nora a dubious sniff and circled her feet twice before sneezing.

Lauren looked up at the house, then at the cracked landscape around them. “Okay, I know I said I wanted to see where you grew up, but I thought there’d at least be a coffee shop within walking distance.”

Nora opened the door. “Come in. I’ll show you where the ghosts are buried.”

Lauren stepped in and stopped short. Her gaze swept over Nora once. Then twice. Then she squinted, like something wasn’t computing.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “What the hell is going on with you?”

Nora blinked. “What?”

Lauren pointed vaguely at her face. “Your eyes are… doing something. You look like one of those models in perfume commercials…like you’re about to whisper a prophecy.”

“I think that’s just sleep deprivation,” Nora said quickly. “Or dehydration.”

Lauren didn’t buy it. She leaned in and squinted closer.

“Uh-uh. No. You’re glowing. Like actually glowing. Did you join a cult? Did you microdose without me?”

“I changed the sheets,” Nora offered, like it might explain something.

Lauren hugged her, and then pulled back sharply. “Jesus, you’re burning up. Are you sick or just feral now?”

Nora snorted and turned away before her expression could give anything else away. “Feral,” she said, walking into the kitchen. “Definitely feral.”

Lauren followed. “God, it’s just like I imagined. Smells the same. Looks the same. Except you. You’re different. Your vibe is…” She narrowed her eyes. “Sex witchy.”

Nora dropped two mugs on the counter. “Great. Can’t wait to put that on my résumé.”

“So this is the murder house,” Lauren said, looking around. “This is where you’ve been hiding.”

“It’s not a murder house.”

“It has murder house energy.”

Nora rolled her eyes. “It has mid-century bones and a ghost lizard that lives in the kitchen. Show some respect.”

Lauren flipped through one of the journals on the counter. “So your grandfather really was out here chasing Bigfoot? No wonder you turned out weird.”

“Not Bigfoot. Too mainstream. He specialized in local monsters.”

“You’re still glowing, by the way,” Lauren said casually, squinting at Nora from across the counter.

“I’m sunburned.”

“No. It’s like, inner glow. Like a woman who found God. Or excellent sex.”

Nora shrugged. “Maybe both.”

Lauren blinked. “What.”

“Nothing.”

Nora stepped into the bedroom to change, peeling off her tank top and replacing it with a loose vintage dress that didn’t try too hard.

She ran a brush through her hair and added mascara.

Not because she needed it, but because Lauren would definitely notice if she didn’t.

It actually felt good, like playing dress-up in her own life.

A reminder that she hadn’t always been this tangled mess of half-sleep and desert cravings.

Outside the door, she heard laughter, cabinets opening, the distinct click-click of Miso’s tiny claws as the dog patrolled the house like he owned it.

When Nora reemerged, Lauren was standing barefoot in the kitchen with a half-full glass of Topo Chico and lime.

Lauren had changed into a sheer white blouse over a bandeau top, a giant floppy hat perched on her blond curls, and bright red sunglasses despite being indoors.

“Okay desert chic ,” Lauren said, giving Nora an approving once-over. “You’re giving heatstroke mystic, but make it fashion.”

Nora stuck her tongue out at Lauren and reached for her bag.

Miso yipped at her feet and spun in a tight circle.

“He’s ready for town,” Lauren said. “And honestly, so am I. I need a drink. And people. And preferably a bathroom without a scorpion in it.”

They laughed, and Nora’s tension began to ease. For a second, it was easy to forget what pulsed beneath Nora’s skin. The ache, the glow, the mark only she could feel.

“Alright,” Nora said, grabbing her keys. “Let’s hit the scenic downtown. Hope you like two antique stores, one BBQ joint, and a bar that plays nothing but Tom Petty and Lucinda Williams.”

Lauren grinned. “So basically a midwestern lesbian dreamscape?”

“Something like that.”

They stepped outside into the sun. Miso trotted ahead like a tiny general, barking at the heat.

The drive into town was short but sun-soaked, and Lauren insisted on rolling down all the windows despite the heat. Miso rode in her lap, panting with his head out the window, ears fluttering in the wind.

Their first stop was a scenic overlook tucked just outside of town, like a mini version of the national park without the tourists.

Twisted trees. Pale boulders. The wind curling in lazy swirls over red earth.

Lauren was already posing in front of the tallest Joshua tree she could find, throwing up peace signs like she was auditioning for an influencer brand deal.

“Miso, stay!” she called out, the little white puffball of a dog already yapping at a cactus.

Nora leaned against the hood of her car, arms crossed, sunglasses shielding her face, watching Lauren twirl for selfies while the desert sun beat down on everything in sight.

“You do know there’s sand in your boots now forever, right?” Nora called.

Lauren blew her a kiss. “Sand is exfoliating. This whole trip is basically a spa retreat.”

Miso barked once in agreement.

They stayed long enough for Lauren to burn through a million poses and most of her phone’s battery. When she finally relented, they piled into Nora’s car and drove the five minutes over to Cactus Jack’s BBQ.

“Okay, this town is adorable,” Lauren said as they cruised past the thrift store, an abandoned movie theater, and a hand-painted sign advertising psychic readings and cactus jelly.

“It’s adorable because it hasn’t changed in fifty years,” Nora said, pulling into the gravel lot behind Cactus Jack’s BBQ. “The food’s decent. Just don’t make eye contact with the kitchen floor.”

“Perfect,” Lauren said. “I like a little danger with my dinner.”

Inside, the restaurant was dim and cool, with old license plates nailed to the walls, a decaying taxidermy moose head, and ceiling fans that barely moved the air.

A waitress brought them cold beers and a plate of fried pickles without asking.

Nora felt herself loosening, inch by inch, as the buzz of conversation and the tang of vinegar and hickory filled the space.

They talked. About nothing. About everything. Nora asked about Lauren’s latest art show, a series of mixed-media sculptures involving broken mirrors and oyster shells.

“It’s not as pretentious as it sounds,” Lauren promised.

“No, it’s exactly as pretentious as it sounds,” Nora said, grinning.

After dinner, they wandered down to The Scarlet Coyote, a bar with faded red wallpaper, too many mirrors, and a jukebox that only played songs older than either of them. Miso was tucked into a makeshift carrier Lauren had slung over her shoulder.

They drank something smoky and overpriced while Lauren flirted with a bearded man who claimed to play lap steel in a cosmic country band.

“You’re thriving here,” Lauren said, flopping back into the booth when he wandered off. “You’ve got that haunted desert nymph vibe.”

Nora rolled her eyes. “Please. I look like a woman who has been sleeping badly and communing with wildlife.”

Lauren tilted her head. “Seriously, though. Something’s different. I don’t know what it is. But it’s not bad.”

Nora didn’t answer for a beat. She sipped her drink and stared at the mirror behind the bar, where her reflection looked like it belonged to someone else.

“It’s the humidity. Or heatstroke.”

They both laughed, and for a moment, it felt normal. Nora let herself lean into the banter, even if the truth of her ache still buzzed under her skin like an electrical wire with the insulation stripped off.

Lauren looked at her for a long moment, then raised her glass. “To finishing what you came here to do. And coming back to civilization when you’re done.”

Nora clinked her glass but didn’t answer.

Because finishing didn’t feel like the plan anymore.

Later, they drove home under a sky thick with stars. Miso curled up in the backseat. Lauren rolled down her window again, letting the wind tangle her hair.

“Maybe I can see it, Vale. There’s something about the air out here. It just feels… alive,” Lauren said, gazing out the window at the stars.

Back at the house, the night waited for them.

The wind had picked up again.

And somewhere, far past the reach of headlights and laughter, something moved through the brush, silent and watching.