What Blooms From Death (What Blooms From Death, #1)

by S.M. Gaither

“Some things bloom brighter in the dark,” I countered, holding up the blossom still clinging so stubbornly to my palm, “so that’s when I tend to them.”

but he tended to become grumpy when he didn’t get his time alone—so

Me

“Yes, right, no—don’t drink that. It might lead to a mild case of…erm…death, I’m afraid.

…And if death should take you I will meet you there; look for me where the light gives way to shadow Seek me where pain and sorrow yield where time no longer flows; I’ll find you in the stillness before any heartache grows…

When I inquired as to what he could possibly be storing in the dirt here, I received only a haughty reply that it was his business, not mine. Very serious dog business, apparently.

(It’s cheese,) he informed me. (It’s worth the risk of poisoning.)

I stared at it. At her. I still didn’t know what this foolish woman was doing. This chaotic, infuriating, fucking beautiful, foolish woman.

“You’d be surprised how quickly knowledge can erode when the wrong people manage to put themselves in charge.”

“I’m tired of fighting with you, Nova. I want you. More than I should, more than makes sense, more than any godsdamn sword or kingdom or anything else.”

“I don’t care about winning.” His lips crashed against mine, pressing so completely they sealed away any chance of properly breathing. I was dizzy when he finally pulled away and whispered, “I concede defeat.”

“Do you even know how to beg, Light King?” I murmured against him. He laughed softly. “For you, I would manage it.”

“I don’t like touching people. Or being touched.”

Me

“There is nothing tragic about the fact that I met you here in this world,” he said, taking my face in his hands. “Or about the way I feel when I kiss you, or when your body curves next to mine when we sleep. Nothing I could possibly regret about the way I find calm in your chaos and solace in your shadows, and if we end up ripped apart and ruined, it will still have been worth it all.” He gripped me tighter and bowed his head against mine, as if in prayer. “And so no—no, I don’t consider us a tragedy. At all.”

I would have given my last breath to keep her warm.

He didn’t simply accept my shadows. He found…comfort in them.

I didn’t regret any of it. Not for a second. We were not a tragedy. And as darkness slid over my vision, a thought struck—that even if we were, I would have lived that tragedy over and over and over, in a thousand different lifetimes, if it meant I had a chance to meet her again.

Some things bloom brighter in the dark. Some things were not given a choice.