Page 49 of Blossoms and Bloodlines
Despite everything she loved about her life here, not admitting that Gael held her heart—safely, completely—would be unforgivable. She wanted to build something with him, a life where they tended to their love like she did her garden.
She loved Mystic Hollow and everything in it. She loved Gael more.
Of course, she wouldn’t ask or push. She had no plans to spring dramatic ultimatums or romantic speeches. Things would evolve. They’d talk. Maybe he had other plans or visions. It wasn’t a one-sided decision.
But it felt good to know where she stood.
Satisfied with that clarity, she closed the jar, curled back into the cushions, and finally tried to pay attention to... whatever it was she’d been watching. The main character had just blown something up, so she figured things were going well for him. She’d catch up.
Then—knock knock knock.
Beth startled, but didn’t move immediately. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and tried to convince her heart not to leap into her throat.
It’s fine. Bryn’s in custody. No one wants you dead. Probably.
And besides, someone looking to harm her wouldn’t knock first.
She exhaled, rose from the couch, and crossed the room.
She opened the door.
And stared at a tall, willowy elf with cheekbones sharp enough to cut stone and an expression of practiced disdain.
The female was dressed in some ethereal, impervious-looking ensemble that probably cost more than Beth’s house, and she was currently studying Beth the way Beth studied aphids on her roses–closely, critically, and with ill veiled disgust.
“Can I help you?” Beth asked, standing up straighter out of pure reflex.
“I am Sereliane Velthira Caladwel,” the woman said, voice clear and resonant. Her accent was High Elven, precise and melodious, but with enough frost layered into each syllable to give Beth a slight shiver.
Beth blinked, waiting for the name to mean something.
It didn’t.
Which clearly only aggravated the female more.
“Gaelithian’s mother,” the elf added.
Oh.
Oh!!!
Oh, shit.
Okay, then.
“Good evening, Mrs. Caladwel. Please come in.”
Gael’s mother stepped over the threshold with the kind of grace that made Beth hyper-aware of her mismatched socks and the faint scent of whatever candle she’d last lit, probably something deeply offensive to elven noses.
The female swept into the house like she owned both it and the air inside. Sheglanced around slowly, her eyes dragging over every surface like a silky knife. Nothing escaped her inspection. Not the little stack of unread mail by the door. Not the thin veil of dust on the shelves she kept promising to clean. Not the chipped mug on the coffee table that saidWorld’s Okayest Human–Elara’s gift. Gael’s mother didn’t comment on any of it.
Beth shut the door behind her and cleared her throat. “Can I, um, get you something to drink?”
The elf’s gaze settled on her like a winter storm pausing at the edge of fury. “No. Thank you.”
Thatthank youwas purely performative, and thenosounded more like an indictment of Beth’s very existence.
Beth offered a brittle smile and motioned toward the living room. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”
