Mori And Honey Novels & Stories

But I had no other choice but to take her word. “So what are you working on with work by the way?” “Well it’s actually for Edith. They have so much honey. More than they can supply to their town. So we just get buyers and try to find a logistics company.” I suddenly felt my chest tighten. Like something was sitting on it. I tried to take a breath but it didn’t go all the way in. “Sweetie are you okay?” I heard my mom say. In between my breaths I was trying to get words out.

he tells me. Hmm, I guess that may work. Though I do detest being called hunni. Honey is something you put on toast or use in cooking, made by bees. Not a name I wish to be called by a man trying his hardest to make me want him. Is that where he feels we are at, pet names? “Ok. I guess we could do that, but I do have other meetings arranged while here, so it will have to fit around me I am afraid.” I said, hoping to restrict the time I have to spend with him.

Queenie Qamra was still laughing in her cynicism and sarcasm blending each other. “Among those four moon cakes, there is one in which I put honey inside… For the three others, I put a kind of deadly arsenic inside… hahaha… Should you be quite lucky, you will end up eating the moon cake with the honey inside, Columba Rajadi. I’ve never thought before you’re very lucky owing to the fact you have such a caring and attentive husband beside you, Columba Rajadi. But, I won’t stop until here! I won’t stop until here! I’ll try another way to send you to hell next time! Just wait for my next surprise, Columba Rajadi!”

"Is your stomach acting up again?" “It’s not my stomach. It’s my mysophobia." Angeline, “...” Jay pointed at her face. "Are you the queen of drag?" It was only then did Angeline realize what was going on. It turned out that the honey oil she had applied on her face was making him sick. However, was it really necessary for this guy to mock her so viciously? How ungentlemanly! Angeline explained to him in a serious tone, “This honey is a skincare product. It’s specially manufactured by Grand Asia and can effectively moisturize my skin while keeping it beautiful.”

He shivered visibly and pulled the blanket higher around his chest. “You want to know the worst part?” he whispered. “I loved you. Even while I was killing you, I loved you. I called you honey because that’s what you were to me. My honey. My everything. And I destroyed it. I destroyed us.” Tears slipped down his wrinkled cheeks. He did not wipe them away. He just let them fall, his eyes fixed on the space where I stood.

“If it’s related to your lycan, yes.” I took another sip of the tea. It was then I noticed that the sweet scent in the air came from the tea. “What kind of sweetener did you use for this?” His eyes brightened. Like someone had turn on a lightbulb hidden behind them. His back straightened and a smile crawled into his face. He looked ecstatic. Weird. Especially over a cup of tea. “It’s royal honey made from wild bees,” he replied. “Do you like it?” I took another sip. “It’s too sweet.”

My standard vanilla honey aroma started to bleed through the cracks, sweet and heavy, filling the small space. But it was not pure honey anymore. Deep within the sweet scent, a radical, primitive shift was happening. A foreign note had entered the air, something rich, milky, and deeply grounded, like fresh earth after a heavy rain. It was an ancient biological signal, a scent that did not belong to a lone Omega athlete. Orion froze.

It wraps around my wrist, a golden bracelet of liquid sugar. I bring my wrist to my mouth. I lick it. The taste explodes in my brain. But it’s not just sweet. It’s data. Glucose. Fructose. Water content: 17%. Floral source: Clover. I see the molecular structure of the sugar dissolving on my tongue. It is a symphony of chemistry. "Taste it," I say to Alex. He leans in. He licks the honey from my skin. His tongue is rough, warm, biological.

She was aided by the revelation that locally grown honey was being touted as an allergen-resistance builder and for its many healing properties—on and on the good luck went, it seemed. When she mourned her own husband’s death (miserable, unreliable S.O.B. that he was), the bees had mourned along with her. She had draped all the wooden hives with black crepe for veils, lifting these only after Good-Time Larry’s burial to share sweets with them, and other foods brought to the funeral feast. Such were the ways of rural folk.

After tossing it on, he walked back to the bed carrying a silver plate piled high with roasted meats, fresh berries, and thick, dark bread slathered in honey. He sat on the edge of the mattress, offering a piece of the honeyed bread to my lips. “Eat.” I wanted to tell him I could feed myself, but the sweet, rich scent of the honey made my stomach violently rumble. I was actually truly famished. Defeated, I leaned forward and took a bite. It was heavenly. The contrast of the sweet honey against the rustic, dense bread was exactly what my exhausted body needed. Varul watched me chew, his thumb reaching out to catch a stray drop of honey from the corner of my mouth. Instead of wiping it on a na