Rin Bee Novels & Stories

I'd like to get out of here sooner than later. "What are you doing here? I didn't know you were coming." Shane grinned giddily. I could tell he had quite a bit to drink. I could smell it on his breath—see it on his face as he swayed his head side to side. I sighed, meeting his eyes again. "I'm looking for Bea—have you seen her?" Shane laughed—due to the alcohol in his system that made something I said seem funnier than it was. "Oh, yeah. John's driving her home—she looked like she'd pass out any second. He's going to pick me up later."

Sweet Pea Guun opened her eyes wide, took out her cell phone, unlocked the We Chat key, and indeed had unread news from Brene Brian. Brene Brian: Sweet Pea Guun, drink some wine. Brene Brian:...... Still drinking? Brene Brian: Home already? He cooks a glass of honey to drink, it will be a little more comfortable. Brene Brian: Sweet Pea Guun, Sweet Pea Guun, Sweet Pea Guun...... answer, answer me. Because of the dizziness, a few messages of news, Sweet Pea Guun only half a day to see clearly, lazy to play but slow, directly video call.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. ROSALIE'S POV. I was beside Briana and watched her pounding the leaves we got from the woods, and her weird smile was plastered all over her face. She dropped the pestle in the mortar, and faced me, "What next?" "Add the pure honey to it, and that's all," I instructed her with a bow at her. She smiled ruthlessly at me. "What does this herbs do again? What does it cure?"

So as he fell to his bed, opening Facebook on the laptop in his hands, he garnered enough strength to type in the name- Irene Fields. And what he was about to find out, would change his life, forever. To be continued...

"I told you I‌ would g​ive it back." I⁠ dug de⁠eper into the box. My fi‌ngers hit somethi‌ng hard and cold at the v​ery botto‍m. I pulled it⁠ o⁠ut. ‍It wasn't a paper.‌ It was a he⁠avy, silver⁠ ri‍ng. It ha‍d a unique crest, a sna​ke biting i‍ts‍ own tail. My b‌rea​th ca‌u⁠g​ht in my throat. I knew this ring. It was the same crest I h‍a‍d s​een on a wax seal in the​ Archi⁠ves... on the documen‍t⁠s re‍garding the death of Floral.

Flower beds bordered the paths, their soil freshly turned in preparation for spring. It couldn't have contrasted more sharply with the labyrinth beyond. Here, the maze's disorienting magic had been stripped away. Only quiet protective wards remained, humming through the air above and the earth below. Corbin took another slow look around before glancing at Brammon. "A playpen for the pest?" Brammon answered with nothing more than a flat stare. Corbin's gaze shifted to Fenric. "Where is she, anyway?" "She's resting," Fenric replied without hesitation.

Spring announced its true arrival not with a whisper, but with a riotous, perfumed shout. The bluff erupted in lupine and poppy, and the air on the Tidewater Trail thrummed with the collective industry of ten thousand bees. The "Bee & Bee" signs were now a beloved landmark, their occupancy rate a running town joke. Miranda had started a "Pollinator's Progress" column in the Clarion, which was read with surprising fervor at the Salty Dog.

That had to win me some brownie points. I was in the midst of looking up the nearest chinese restaurant that would deliver to her neighborhood when a buzzing sound halted my research. My eyes went straight to her face, wondering if she heard it, or if she was so far gone that she wouldn’t move an inch. Her peaceful breathing and lack of stirring gave me my answer. BZZZZ. There it is again. What the hell is that?

Though her tone was calm, the distaste was clear as water from a spring. I chewed on my inner lip to prevent myself from lashing out. She was my mother, and she deserved respect. Brianna Romero was no different from her husband. Though nearly clocking fifty, her stature was no different from a woman in her mid thirties. Her hair always worn in a prim and prime styles, her dressing and grace was no different. It would be nearly impossible to detect she was half Asian. Her urge to always have everything about her perfect was something I always wondered if was inherited from the retired General, in their thirty-nine years of marriage.