Blooming Tails Novels & Stories

When Connor got home, Suri was by the window, showing Logan her sketches. They were leaned in close as she pointed at the page. "Here, I'm thinking of adding a small garden—with different kinds of roses..." The word 'roses' made something flicker behind her eyes. Logan caught it instantly. He glanced at her profile, softening. "How about sunflowers instead? They're all about facing life with warmth and hope." "Really?" Suri looked up, locking eyes with him.

That night, fireworks for our anniversary lit up the sky above Wildrose Estate. Beneath that starry sky, the place was alive with voices and clinking glasses. But I dragged my suitcase through security and into the boarding gate without looking back. When the plane took off, the seat prepared for me in the Wildrose Estate remained empty.

she pointed at a specific shoot, the tallest one, the first one, "is already Gerald Junior." "Gerald Junior," Ethan repeated. "After Gerald," Lily explained, in case this was unclear. "I understood the reference," Ethan said. "And this one…" she pointed to the second shoot, "is Steven Two, because of Steven the worm. Because they're friends." I looked at Ethan. "And this one," Lily continued, pointing to the third shoot, the smallest, the one that had come up last and was still finding its height, "is Maya." I stopped moving. "Because," Lily said,, "it was the last one to come and it's going to be the tallest. Ms. Park looked it up, late ones are always the tallest."

Gunfire erupted from the trees. Chaos. Inés screamed as Esteban shoved her down. Thiago returned fire. Gabriel pulled Alejandro behind a tree. But Inés saw through the gunfire and the smoke, someone racing toward them with a blade. Esteban. No. Not Esteban. Another man, identical. A third twin? No. That wasn’t possible. But the face… it was the same. She opened her mouth to scream and everything went black….

My vision sharper enough to see the moon that hasn't shown. My spine transited to a sharp pointed one, I grew taller, a long tailed forced itself out. Curvy and hairy. A spark ignited.

Forty thousand years after the Omega’s chains, creation itself had become an endless garden of desire. In the Blooming Sanctum, a vast chamber where living flowers the size of trees opened and closed in rhythm with the orgy, Vespera Voss Kane stood at the center of a bed of glowing petals. Her silver hair spilled across the soft blooms. Emerald constellations across her skin flared brighter than ever, tracing sensual patterns over her breasts, hips, and dripping thighs. Her mates surrounded her, cocks hard and glistening.

wasn't just sprouting; it was exploding into a grotesque, beautiful Bloom of liquid shadow and silver starlight. "It... it has your face, Rhea," Zane whispered, his voice trembling as he backed away from the pulsing center of the Bloom. He didn't have his wolf to steady him; his human heart was thudding against his ribs like a trapped bird. "Why does it have your face?"

More and more they came out, their petals dyed with the color of red, their petals shaded with the beautiful color of blood, each one of them seemingly calling unto the other as more appeared out of thin air within the desire to fertilize themselves with the quality nutrients derived from the tentacles. It was a blood-chilling but beautiful sight, the sight of flowers growing from the now carcass of tortured tentacles, the end of these tentacles becoming the birthing of these lovely organisms, each one of these flowers blushed with the adoring color of scarlet. The dormant sea dyed with the blood it never shed, the flowers matching the color of the sea sang in delight as it fluttered its win

The Night-Blooming Garden was the most beautiful and popular place in the Cloud City. More than a garden, it would be more appropriate to describe it as a forest, but as it was located in the heart of the city and a long road crossed it, many would go there, especially at night, when the most beautiful flowers would open with the beginning of each season.

The accumulated years of the second life and the people who grew in it and the conversations and the bowls and the notebooks and the Tuesday mornings and the jasmine in March and the sea in December and the whole of it, together, producing this: a twelve-year-old who sees the bowl in the twins. One piece, two openings. The bowl made for twins. Rosa knew it was necessary. She always knows.