Blooming Desire
Octavia Kore
Lula Monk
Dani Morrison
S.J. Sanders
Charity Wells
Diana Rose Wilson
Julie L. Vance
Contents
Foreword
Lula Monk
The Verdant Lands
Dani Morrison
A Fortnight to Bloom
Octavia Kore
Breaths of Desire
Charity Wells
The Mate Hunt
S.J. Sanders
Love Blooms for the Pixie Queen
Julie L. Vance
His Forbidden Mate
Diana Rose Wilson
Spring Moon
Blooming Desire
An Extraordinary Spring Romance Collection
Compiled by
They Come from Beyond Anthologies
Contributions from
Octavia Kore, Lula Monk, Dani Morrison, S.J. Sanders, Charity Wells, Diana Rose Wilson, Julie L. Vance
Copyright © 2020 by They Come from Beyond Anthologies; S.J. Sanders, owner
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without explicit permission granted in writing from the author.
BREATHS OF DESIRE: A Seyton Mate Novela; Copyright Octavia Kore. All Rights Reserved. Used with Permission of the Author
A FORTNIGHT TO BLOOM; Copyright Dani Morrison. All Rights Reserved. Used with Permission of the Author
THE VERDANT LANDS; Copyright Lula Monk. All Rights Reserved. Used with Permission of the Author
LOVE BLOOMS FOR THE PIXIE QUEEN: A Monsterly Yours Romance; Copyright S.J. Sanders. All Rights Reserved. Used with Permission of the Author
THE MATE HUNT: A Star Touched Hearts Novella; Copyright Charity Wells. All Rights Reserved. Used with Permission of the Author
SPRING MOON; Copyright Diana Rose Wilson. All Rights Reserved. Used with Permission of the Author
HIS FORBIDDEN MATE; Copyright Julie L. Vance. All Rights Reserved. Used with Permission of the Author
The stories contained are works of fiction intended for mature audiences.
Spring is the time of rejuvenation, first loves and the celebration of returning life. Celebrate spring with us with these tales of spring love.
The Verdant Lands
Lula Monk
The Verdant Lands
Lula Monk
Shortly after the doors of Marcie’s dream restaurant open, the United States Space Force drafts her to its ranks. Head Chef of the SF Jupiter, Marcie’s culinary talents are waste rehydrating eggs and heating preserved meats. It’s been four years since the SF Jupiter left Earth, destination unknown, and when the crew finally finds a planet that looks promising for establishing a new colony, Marcie is the only surviving crew member capable of exploring the unknown world.
After losing so much, Marcie has no idea what awaits her on the surface. Will her exploration field mission be more than she bargained for? And when a native saves her from peril, will Marcie be able to complete her mission at the expense of her heart?
1
Marcie
The cabin was so crisp that Marcie almost felt as if she were back home on Earth. It would be about wintertime in the northern hemisphere, with the last dry, brown leaves of the trees snapping off in the sharp winds, and the air would feel much as it did now: cold and biting.
A wave of homesickness washed over Marcie, but it didn’t last long. Such feelings rarely did anymore. She’d been the chief galley chef for the SF Jupiter for going on four years now, and something as silly as the frigid chill of morning in the galley kitchens wasn’t enough to reduce her to tears.
She called it “morning” in her mind even though there was no sun by which to judge the passing of time. Not in this dark, pitiful corner of the universe, at least. She only knew the relative time by the digital chrono piece on the wall, the blocky red lettering informing her that it was 0600 hours. Six A.M.
She grumbled as she flipped on the light switch in the kitchen, an action which was followed promptly by the rapidly punching on of the manual heating panels beneath the floor. There was no way to adjust the temperature of the vats; on or off were pretty much the only options. And despite the many times she’d attempted to stealthily retire to her own small cabin whilst leaving the panels on, someone always inevitably came around to turn them off again. “To save our power reserves,” the Captain always liked to throw in her face when he had a mind to wander down this far and give her a good lecture for wasting resources.
But there’s no one to go to his cabin and demand he turn off that infernal bubbling tub, is there? thought Marcie blackly. It was well known around the SF Jupiter that her captain had in his chambers a jet spa tub situated directly before a wide sheet of transparent flex tech that allowed him to survey their surroundings from the luxury of his bath. Captain Giles claimed to have joint problems, but Marcie highly suspected that the only complex the man suffered from was one of superiority.
Her own joints were likely to develop some malady if she had to keep creeping down to the space-chill tainted kitchens so early each morning. The job used to belong to Big Sally, the old chief chef. But that was before the Balerion Sector, when everything had gone to shit.
Marcie made coffee her first task of the morning, setting a large pot on the black coils of the stovetop. The kitchen was all electric, as all the fuel the SF Jupiter carried was for propulsion and maneuvering. Everything else ran on solar energy, something she imagined they were now running pretty tight on.
She punched a button over the stove, and a narrow spigot lowered from the vent hood, releasing a fine stream of tepid water into the pot. Three heaping scoops of powdered chicory root later, and the rich, earthy smell of coffee filled the kitchens. Rolling up her sleeves, Marcie really set to work then preparing the first meal of the day. The scent of freshly brewed coffee was enough to bring anyone with a nose and half a brain towards the kitchen, and they’d be expecting a meal with their morning cup.
“Powdered eggs, powdered milk, canned sausages…” Marcie ran her fingers over the varied contents of the pantry, missing the freshness of planetary food. Of real, proper food.
She’d been a trained chef in New York with her newly opened restaurant barely in business when the president announced the interstellar draft. It hadn’t been enough for the new United States Space Force to clamor for ownership over the moon and then, later, for the planets and other moons in the Milky Way. Oh, no. The president wanted to establish American powers across the universe as well. Marcie thought it was because China had claimed all the “good” planets, but no one asked for her thoughts on the matter. Nope, all they’d done was pull her name from a database of registered voters and stick her on SF Jupiter, destination unknown.
A chill crept up her spine as she pulled bags of powder and cans of meat from the pantry. Destination Unknown. She hadn’t liked the thought then, and she definitely didn’t like the thought now.
It had been four years since her feet were on Earth soil, and half as much time since she’d been on the United States planetary outpost on one of Uranus’s moons. It was the farthest bit of the solar system that the US owned, with France having laid claim to Pluto, the “maybe/maybe not” planet at the edge of things.
Two years, thought Marcie hollowly as she broke open a pouch of dry eggs and dumped them into a mixing bowl. Two years since she’d seen anyone other than the crew of the Jupiter. Two years since their supplies and storages had been replenished.
Two years since they’d heard direct
orders from Space Force Headquarters in Washington, D.C.
Destination Unknown, indeed. The captain of the SF Jupiter had been commanded to strike out for coordinates generated by a Space Force computer, some far section of the universe that had yet to be explored. Their job was to find a habitable planet, claim it for the United States, and begin a colony. Marcie thought the goal a lofty one. And a foolish one, considering the sparse supplies they had remaining.
Three more months of provisions, by her estimations. And that figure only held firm if the number of crew members subjected to cryosleep was increased. Not that Captain Giles would have the good sense to employ such a precaution, thought Marcie bitterly.
What went down in Balerion was all the captain’s doing, and everyone on the crew knew it. Unlike everyone remaining on the crew, Marcie was not—strictly speaking—a soldier, and she felt no compunction to maintain a sense of dedication and obedience to Captain Giles. Mark had been one of the crew lost when searching the strange, twisted glob of metal floating through space. That was a wound that was still wide-open and festering in Marcie’s heart, and it was a failing of Captain Giles’s that she wasn’t likely to forget any time soon.
Her irritation with the captain of the SF Jupiter was rising; she’d furiously whisked the eggs into such a state as to be more of a froth than a scramble. Frowning at the mixture, she dumped the contents of the bowl into a wide, shallow skillet, knowing full well that the eggs would taste stale and somewhat rubbery regardless of what she did to them.
She watched air bubbles pop as the rehydrated eggs began to cook. With a little sugar and a splash of vanilla, she could have made a damn fine meringue out of the frothy yellow mess. But what little stock they’d had of such frivolous supplies was long gone, and Marcie was no longer at leisure to make cuisine. Hadn’t been, since the military officers showed up at her apartment four years ago with her name on a Space Force draft notice.
“What’s cookin’, Good Lookin’?” asked a rich, deep male voice behind her.
Marcie peeled back the lid of a can of sausages and smiled over her shoulder at the newcomer. If his voice hadn’t given him away, his appearance certainly would have. There was only one half-Vietnamese, good ole Mississippi man in all the universe, Marcie imagined, and that was Tyler Deveraux.
She tossed a wrinkled, finger-length sausage at Tyler with a conspiratorial wink. “Same old same.”
He caught the length with a small frown, eyeing the shriveled, preserved meat suspiciously. “Rations allow for extras today?”
Marcie’s heart slammed against her ribs at the mischievous look in his eyes. She swallowed, willing the fluttering in her stomach to go the hell away. Turning back to the stovetop, she shrugged her shoulders and said nonchalantly, “Nah. But I’m half sick of shitty food. You can have my share of You Chew Pork for today.”
That was the name Mark had come up with for the nasty canned links, adamant that the only way to make the stuff edible was for someone else to pre-chew the meat for you, like a mother bird for her chicks.
His memory hung in the air between them then, a ghost that tore their easy camaraderie to shreds.
“Well, I . . . Uh . . .”
Tyler’s voice trailed away, but Marcie knew what he probably looked like—hand rubbing his neck awkwardly, brown eyes cast down at his feet. He always assumed that stance when he felt out of place, and Marcie regretted her off-hand resurrection of Mark.
“Sorry,” she said softly, her eyes blurring. Tyler had been trying to get close to her for months, little jokes and kindnesses meant to soften her. To melt the ice around her heart. Her soul.
But nothing could grow in dead soil, no matter how much you wanted it to. And Marcie’s heart had died the day Mark did.
“No need,” said Tyler brightly, his tone strained. “I’d hate to have doubles of this delicacy anyway.”
He said the words jovially, and Marcie’s throat grew tighter. This was another small kindness from Tyler. Another effort to put her at ease. But it only made her feel worse.
She gave a weak, half-hearted laugh. “I know what you mean. At least you get a break from it every now and then.”
Tyler—and the rest of the crew—had the privilege of going unconscious for days or even weeks at a time in the cryotubes. You know who didn’t get to avoid reality for a while? Who had to be aware every single fucking day the Jupiter drifted to who-knew-where?
Marcie.
“Ha ha. I hear ya.”
Marcie nodded her head, not daring to look back at him. She heard him shuffle on his feet for a moment, and then he quietly walked out of the kitchen.
A gust of air Marcie hadn’t realized she’d been holding in went whooshing out of her chest. She never realized the hold Tyler had over her until she was no longer in his presence, and the realization always came as an unpleasant surprise. Mark had been . . . Well, he’d never actually proposed, but Mark had been the closest thing Marcie had ever had to a fiancé. He’d even brought up the topic a time or two on the long voyage aboard the Jupiter, and Marcie knew he’d had a proposal on his mind. Before the Balerion Sector.
It had been Tyler who had told her about Mark’s intentions.
Another chill passed over her, and she began to shiver. She’d never gotten to experience the sweet release of hearing the words come from Mark’s own lips. They’d shared her cot in the bunk row more times than she could count, and he had whispered loving words to her then. Made promises that all but came short of solid intentions. And Marcie knew what held him back. It had held her past boyfriends back too, on Earth. When they’d gotten close enough for the topic of marriage and babies to come up.
Sounds drifted down the hall and into the kitchen door. Marcie shook her head, dispelling all thoughts of Mark from her mind. Thinking about him was hard enough to bear; she couldn’t emotionally afford to carry his memory at the forefront of her thoughts when the rest of the crew came in to grab chow.
They all clattered into the kitchens in a soft rumble of idle, pleasant chatter and the stomping of SF regulated boots. There were only about a dozen of them, as the rest of the crew was engaged in cryosleep, save the six or so who were on the flight deck, manning the ship.
Marcie took a deep breath to steel herself and then forced a smile on her face, dishing out yellow scoops of eggs and the now plump links of sausage. Rehydration worked wonders on the depleted food stores.
When the line shifted and it was Tyler’s turn to collect rations, he judiciously avoided Marcie’s gaze. She knew he felt it too . . . whatever this was between them. At least he has the decency to keep his eyes to himself, Marcie chastised herself mentally.
Bringing up the rear of the line was Gwen, a snub-nosed redhead with grey eyes that always seemed to look at Marcie mockingly.
Gwen thrust her tray towards Marcie, her nose wrinkled with distaste. “I thought you were a chef back in New York,” she said, eyeing the rehydrated eggs and sausage distastefully. “Must not have had a lot of business, though, huh?”
Marcie gritted her teeth and plastered a fake-as-hell smile on her face. “For the billionth time, Gwen: I work with what I have.” Same as you do, still smearing makeup on that hideous face of yours.
It was an uncharitable thought, and Marcie regretted it instantly. For all the bitchiness Gwen oozed, Marcie knew it was a front. Smart as a whip but poorer than your average holder of three doctorates, Gwen had grown up in poverty and had a wicked inferiority complex that she tried desperately to hide by elevated airs and condescension to her peers.
Yeah, Marcie had gotten her hands on Gwen’s personnel file. No, snooping through the data bank with stolen clearance credentials wasn’t allowed. Obviously. But Marcie knew as much about tech as she did about food, and she had a habit of utilizing that knowledge when the need suited her. Which was, coincidentally, how she’d also come to know about Gwen’s illicit trysts with the captain.
Cryosleep, my ass.
Captain Giles, apparently,
liked to sneak select women away to his quarters occasionally, coding them as being in cryosleep when they were really holed up in his room, doing God knew what. And Marcie would bet the last bag of chocolate chips she’d stashed away in the back of the pantry that Gwen had zero idea she wasn’t the only favorite of the captain’s.
As if sensing her thoughts, the redhead frowned, giving Marcie a once-over. “Oh. Yeah. Captain Giles said he wanted to see you in his office, right after you finish dispensing morning rations.” Gwen smiled like a cat with a mouse in its teeth. Like everyone on board, she knew how much Marcie hated the captain, and she was reveling in seeing Marcie’s discomfort at the news. She feigned a wide-eyed look over her shoulder. “Would you look at that? Guess I’m your last customer for the morning.”
Marcie blinked at her, pretending to be confused. “How have you seen the captain already this morning? I thought your term at Cryo just ended?”
Crimson flashed through Gwen’s pale cheeks. “I stopped by the flight deck on the way over.”
Marcie let out a soft whistle. “Pretty out of the way.”
“Just a messenger,” said Gwen, her eyes cast down awkwardly. She picked up her tray. “Best shake a leg, at any rate. Captain doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
I bet he doesn’t, Marcie thought hotly as she closed the kitchen up. The heels of her boots clicked against the tiled floor as she marched down the hallway towards the captain’s office.
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