Page 1 of Bloom in Darkness

Astra

The Bloom cream is already wearing off by the time I hit the floor for my last set. I can tell because the jitters have started creeping back under my skin, a restless little buzz that makes my fingers twitch around the pole and my calf jump whenever I hold too much weight on one leg. The cream usually smooths that out along with the knots in my shoulders and the ache sitting low in my back, turning everything down enough that I can move without feeling every complaint my body has collected over the night.

I know exactly what Bloom can do. Everyone who works around dancers and fighters knows. The tablets hit harder and faster, turning the world soft around the edges until nothing hurts quite as much and then, if someone keeps chasing that feeling long enough, making normal life feel wrong without them. The cream is supposed to be easier, a lower-dose topical option for sore muscles and overstimulated nerves rather than getting high. That distinction matters enough that I repeat it to myself every time I twist open the little jar.

Lio caught me doing it before my second set, one hip against the vanity while he painted silver along his eyelids.

“You’re going through that faster.”

“I’m not.” I rubbed the last bit into my thigh and reached for the lid before he could inspect how much was missing. “You’ve just started monitoring my skincare routine because your own life isn’t entertaining enough.”

“My life is extremely entertaining.” He pointed the eyeliner brush at the tiny blue tablet beside his phone. “It’s yours I’m worried about. The jitters are back before every dose now.”

I looked down before I could stop myself, my fingers already gone still beneath the cream’s familiar warmth. “I work six-hour shifts in heels under lights hot enough to roast meat. Sometimes my muscles twitch.”

“Sure.” Lio popped the tablet into his mouth and swallowed it dry. “And sometimes my Alpha only comes over because he misses my personality.”

“That poor man.” I capped the jar and shoved it into my bag, getting the laugh I wanted out of him before he turned back to his makeup. “At least one of us is living in denial comfortably.”

I wasn’t stupid enough to pretend Bloom couldn’t become a problem, but I wasn’t swallowing tablets every night or doubling doses because I wanted to disappear for a few hours either. I used enough cream to get through work and stopped there. My body noticing sooner when it wore off was something I could deal with later, preferably after I had enough money saved that my entire life wasn’t built around surviving one more shift.

Three sets later, my fingers are twitching again as I push through the last number on muscle memory and stubbornness. The beat pounds through the floor and climbs my legs into my spine while I hit every turn, every drop, and every slow roll of my hips exactly where the music expects it, sweat sticking my blond hair to my temples as the lights start blurring at the edges. I’ve reached the point where my body knows the choreography better than my brain does.

Bryn’s smoked cedar and worn leather sit underneath the club’s stink of alcohol, sweat, expensive perfume, and whatever floral garbage management pumps through the vents after midnight. Black pepper cuts sharper whenever he moves, which means he’s somewhere near the back wall where he usually stations himself when he works security. I don’t have to find him with my eyes. I always know where he is.

Something warmer is tangled through Bryn’s scent tonight, dark amber and oak clinging too deeply to his clothes and skin to have come from someone brushing past him in a hallway. My stomach gives an irritating little twist when I realize an Alpha has been that close to him, but another breath brings cedar and amber together and I like them that way.

The music ends, but I stay near the curtain instead of heading for the dressing room, fingers curled into the velvet while the next dancer slips around me toward the stage. The jitter has climbed into my shoulders now, my pulse jumping along with it, and every laugh and clink of glass sounds closer than it should.

Bryn’s scent reaches me before he does, his voice coming from just behind my shoulder. “Astra.”

I shut my eyes before turning. He stands close enough that his body blocks most of the club behind him, his work shirt stretched over shoulders that take up an unreasonable amount of space. “I’m done. I just need a minute before I check out with Sabine.”

His eyes drop briefly to my hands. “You’re shaking.”

“Observant.” I curl my fingers into my palms. “I’m also sweaty, tired, and wearing glitter in places glitter should never be. It’s been a productive evening.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “Come with me.”

Arguing would require energy I don’t have, so I follow him through the back hallway to the small security office near the rear exit. Bryn closes the door behind us, and the bass drops from something lodged behind my eyes to a distant pulse through the wall. I sag against the desk before I mean to.

I lean against the edge of the desk and rub my palms over my thighs. The jitter shows up there too, my knees refusing to settle no matter how hard I plant my feet. Bryn watches for a few seconds before his gaze shifts toward my bag hanging from my shoulder.

“Whatever you use before your sets wore off.”

I look up at him. “What?”

“The smell disappears, then this starts.” He gestures toward my hands. “Didn’t know what it was. Just noticed.”

Of course he had. Bryn notices when I favor my left ankle after a long week, when Sabine walks into a room and my breathing changes, even when I start avoiding certain customers after a set. He never pushes afterward, and my shoulders loosen when he does the same now.

“It’s just something for the soreness.” Bryn nods once and leaves it there.

“Hold me?” I keep my eyes on his face, braced for even the smallest hesitation. “I know you’re working. I don’t need long. I just need somewhere to land for a minute.”

Bryn crosses the room, his hands settling around my waist as he pulls me against him. I tuck my face into the hollow between his neck and shoulder and give him more of my weight than I meant to, but he doesn’t ask what’s wrong or make me explain why tonight is worse. He simply holds me there, and the relief hits hard enough that my eyes burn.

I let myself lean into him. Beneath Bryn’s cedar and leather, the Alpha’s amber and oak are stronger this close, warmed by his skin and sunk deep into his shirt.