Lupines Bloom Where Blood Falls

Chapter One—Aurora

Shit, shit, shit!

I overslept again.

I knew I should have put the damn book down after dinner, but when the boroughs of New York City teamed up to save the world?

Yeah, I was fucked.

I read through the night like a dumbass and didn’t even twitch when my alarm clock went off twenty minutes ago. Now, the digital traitor glares at me, beaming my failure in neon red.

Can alarm clocks feel?

Because mine is definitely mocking me.

I can’t be late again. Sure, my best friend, Eve, is my boss, but that somehow makes it worse. I can’t even get my shit together for her, my sister from another mister, my emotional support human, the one person who’d help me bury a body. No questions asked. Just extra shovels, a tarp, and a smile.

Dammit!

Where the fuck are my fucking jeans?

I rush to the overflowing laundry basket and dump it, scattering clothes across the floor.

Kicking aside stuff I wore weeks ago, I finally unearth my favorite ripped skinny jeans. I glance at the disaster zone I’ve just created, then shrug.

The laundry pile’s been here this long. What’s another few days?

With speed that would put Quicksilver to shame, I yank on my clean-enough jeans, a faded band T-shirt, and a thick zip-up hoodie.

Does it match? Not even a little.

Now, where the hell are my shoes?

I swipe an arm under the bed, only to find them shoved so far back I can barely reach them. They must’ve caught the scent of bullshit on the wind. Probably their ex, back to fight for shared custody of a dog they never walked.

Once I lace up my high-top Vans, I grab a granola bar—because nothing screams “I have my life together” like processed oats—then toss my German shepherd/husky mix, Louie, a treat for putting up with me.

Eve keeps saying I can bring her to the shop, but mornings are always a mess.

I launch my bag into my ancient SUV and collapse into the driver’s seat, silently offering a fresh goat to the car gods.

Maybe two.

When it finally splutters to life, “Milk Lizard” by The Dillinger Escape Plan screams through my speakers as I head to Lilith’s Garden—pun totally intended.

Eve’s got a complex. When you’re named after the woman blamed for dooming humanity, you end up carrying a lot of shit that isn’t yours.

Her father, who was hardcore religious even before her mom walked out, hammered one thing into her from the start: A woman isn’t worth shit unless a man says so.

Eve rejected that bullshit with both middle fingers.

She has the backbone of a war general, the mouth of a Marine, and the sheer force of will to convince a man to get a tramp stamp just for fun.

Eve is rooted crownvetch and wild English ivy, still climbing even after her father tried to cut her back to nothing.

And when her dad crossed an unforgivable line, my parents took her in without question and made goddamn sure he never touched her again.

Once she was with us, nothing really changed. It only made clear what we already knew—Eve was family. She was a Hagan the moment she called my dad’s tattoos “scribbles” and told him they’d probably poison him.

No hesitation. No fear. Just Eve being a loudmouth kid who already felt safe with my family.

She still uses that same sharp humor, but now, it’s not always that simple.

When Eve makes jokes about her name, I know she’s using humor to cover the bruises.

Which is probably why she named her shop after Lilith, Adam’s first wife and the woman who invented telling a man to go fuck himself.

As I tear through the quiet streets of Lorewood, my engine protests with a cough but keeps grinding forward. I could get a new car, but why bother? This one works just fine—except when it doesn’t.

Thankfully, my morning drive is quick and pleasant, aside from the anxiety caused by the dashboard clock. The trees along the mountain blaze red, yellow, and orange, flickering like someone set the whole forest on fire just for the aesthetic.

The town is still as I drive down Main Street, careful to go the speed limit so I don’t piss anyone off. A few shop owners are outside already, and one or two give me a friendly wave as they ready themselves for the day ahead.

Everything hums with sleepy, small-town charm.

And then there’s Lilith’s Garden—wedged between a candle shop and a yarn store like a gothic fever dream that refuses to tone it down.

Eve, naturally, took one look at the town’s softer color palette and said, fuck that—which explains the dark pink exterior and bold black trim. It doesn’t exactly blend in, but I’ve learned in my three weeks here that as long as you don’t bother anyone, you can get away with just about anything.

I swerve down a side street and pull into the narrow lot tucked behind the converted townhomes.

Shit. Eve’s already here, and that obnoxious orange “Open” sign is flickering even though we’re not open yet.

Overachiever.

I stumble out of the car, shoes sliding on loose gravel as I slam the door open with way more force than necessary.

Eve’s behind the counter, casually checking her watch, while I’m doubled over, hands on my knees, gasping for air.

“Girl. Fifteen minutes late again. I’d ask what’s going on with you, but let’s be real, you’ve always been like this. Now, if you told me you got lost in a man last night instead of a book, I might consider letting it slide.”

She waggles her eyebrows at me, and I roll my eyes so hard I’m pretty sure I just saw the back of my skull.

“E, please. If I so much as breathe in a man’s direction, you’d be the first to know,” I mutter as I walk behind the counter to put my bag away.

I’ve tried dating. I really have.

But my last attempt—a few years back—was a goddamn train wreck.

The guy showed up ten minutes late, reeked of cheap body spray, and spent the entire meal explaining cryptocurrency to me like I was a toddler. When I finally got a word in, he interrupted to tell me he “prefers girls who don’t talk so much.”

So, yeah, I noped out of that bullshit ever since.

Romance is dead, and magic only exists in books.

Excuse me if I’m not rushing to let some mediocre dude fumble his way through disappointing me in bed. If I’m dumb enough to believe there’s more, that’s on me.

I want something that scorches. Something that hurts.

But somehow, I keep ending up with someone who couldn’t light a fire with dry wood and an entire fucking can of kerosene.

I’m already burning. Modern men—the Chads, the Jakes, the ones who think vulnerability is a venereal disease? They flinch at the flame.

Let them.

I’m not shrinking myself for some limp-dicked loser who gets intimidated when a woman breathes too loud.

I don’t guard my virginity like it’s some sacred relic. The whole purity myth is just patriarchal bullshit laced with misogyny and topped with virtue-signaling. Hard pass. And I’m sure as hell not handing over my first time to some beige-ass man who thinks foreplay starts and ends with his ego.

Thank Lilith’s left tit for the adult store down the road. I’m not getting laid anytime soon, but at least my vibrator knows where my clit is.

“Aury, all I’m saying is you need to get laid. There’s no shortage of burly, big-dicked mountain men around here, and I’m sure a few of them would gladly offer their services. Hell, I’ve got a couple on standby myself. I’m not opposed to sharing.”

Eve grabs her phone, muttering to herself as she scrolls through her contacts.

“No, no, no. I love that you know exactly what you want, but I’ve never been good at casual. I want something that leaves a mark. Something that sees me, touches me, and doesn’t flinch. Which has obviously gone great for me so far. I just … I want the romance and obsession of Elle Thorpe and the carnal magic of Opal Reyne. Is that too much to ask?”

With a sigh, I tug on my apron and glance around the shop, scanning desperately for any excuse to dodge Eve’s questions.

“You gotta get your head out of those books and spend some time in reality. I get the appeal of fiction, but real life isn’t like those romantic novels. I know someday you’ll find the magic you’re looking for—you’re that pigheaded and stubborn—but it’s okay to indulge a Mr. Good-for-Right-Now. It doesn’t ruin you for Mr. Forever.”

Eve looks at me with large, icy blue eyes, and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.

I fucking love this woman.

And since I lost my mom, it’s been nice having her look out for me.

“E, you’re the best. Let me think about maybe allowing you to set me up on a date with one of your mountain men. I guess you’re right. Maybe some dick would do me good. The sex toys are fun, but I’m going to need a warm body soon, or I might go crazy.”

Eve’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and we both stare at each other for a beat before bursting into uncontrollable giggles.

“Okay, let me know when you’re ready. I’ll set you up with some dude who makes your toes curl and your soul briefly leave your body.”

She pauses, then adds with a sly grin, “Or, if you’re feeling adventurous, we can get you a dragon dick. Bad Dragon has a whole collection. Suction cups, color combos, one even glows in the dark.”

I choke on my laugh. “Jesus, Eve.”

“I’m just sayin’. I know people,” she smirks.

I raise a brow, my voice dripping with mock innocence. “Who says I haven’t already … explored my options?”

Eve stares. “Wait … Did you—?”

I shrug and start walking toward the front windows. “Never underestimate a desperate woman with Wi-Fi and a discount code.”

Eve gasps and drops to one knee. “Hail to the Queen of Monsterfuckers. I’m not worthy.”

I cackle and toss her a wink, grabbing the keys off the hook.

“C’mon, perv. Time to open the shop.”

We’re still giggling as we prep the counter, flipping signs and adjusting displays like we didn’t just have an in-depth discussion about tentacle dildos and soul-shattering orgasms.

At exactly 9 a.m., we throw open the doors and welcome the usual wave of Lorewood weird. Hikers come and go all day. Some have been on the trail for weeks or months, while others are just beginning their journey.

If you’d have told me a few months ago I’d be selling gizmos that turn urine into drinkable water, I would’ve told you to fuck off.

And yet, here I am.

I used to code and design websites. I built pretty digital spaces for people who didn’t know what they wanted until they saw it and decided they hated it.

Now, I sell piss filters.

I love coding, and I’m fucking good at it. But between the burnout and the toxic tech bros, I was a mess.

These days? I pour all that into Lilith’s Garden instead.

I built out the entire online shop—designed the layout, uploaded the inventory, even wrote the product descriptions. Hell, I started working on it before I ever set foot in Lorewood.

It’s ready. Has been. I’m just waiting on Eve to give me the green light.

In the meantime, it keeps my brain from going stale without dragging me back into a cubicle, forcing me to use a Keurig no one’s bothered to clean since Obama’s first term, and a slow death via Teams notifications and calendar invites titled “quick sync.”

Between nerding out over the website and chatting with hikers about which lightweight bidet attachment would complete their Appalachian experience, the day flies by.

It seems like more and more people want to disconnect and explore the Trail.

“Where did all these people come from?” Eve sighs as she throws herself into a pile of sleeping bags.

“Don’t even think about making me clean that up.”

I rest my hands on my hips and glare at the grinning blue-haired pixie.

“It’s been a day, that’s for sure,” murmurs Eve from the floor. “Do you want to grab a drink once we close up?”

“Sure! And while we’re at it, we can talk about adding the online store to your website. It could be really great for your business. I have everything set up and ready to go. You just need to look through and approve the design before we go live.”

I bring my hands together in a plea while I give her my patented puppy-dog eyes.

Eve smiles but looks away.

“I don’t know, Aury. I like my business the way it is. I like the size and the scope. I’m afraid doing this will make it too big and I’ll lose control.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, I get it,” I say, aiming for casual and overshooting straight into chirpy.

Truth is, I don’t get it.

Not really.

Eve is the most adventurous person I know.

She named her shop after Lilith, preaches sex positivity before the sun’s finished rising, and keeps a spreadsheet of which local mountain men are good in bed. But when it comes to selling tents online? Suddenly, she’s worried about losing control.

I know it’s not about the tech. It’s about the weight of it all. She’s been doing this solo for years, and I just wish she’d let me carry some of it.

Eve pulls herself out of the cloud of sleeping bags and brushes her hands on her pants.

“Okay!” Eve shouts, clapping her hands. “Let’s go. I need vodka, stat!”

She shoots me a shy grin and quietly starts cleaning up the mess she made.

I take that as my cue and look around for anything else that needs tidying.

Once the store is clean and the register is locked, Eve and I leave through the front door, arm in arm.

Lorewood’s location deep within the Appalachian Mountains means Main Street slopes, and Eve’s store sits right in the middle of this incline. Strings of bright white light bulbs crisscross above us, casting a warm glow as we walk downhill toward the only bar in the area.

The air is cool, carrying the scent of pine and frost from the woods just beyond town. The soft rustle of leaves skitters across the pavement, blending with the quiet hum of conversation spilling from our destination.

When we reach the bottom of the hill, a shop I hadn’t noticed before catches my eye.

I’ve only been here a few weeks, so that’s not surprising.

But the name—Nodens’s Used & Rare Books—makes something deep within me hum with happiness.

I come to a full stop and give Eve the kind of stern look that says: bitch, explain.

“E, why have you been keeping this from me? I can’t believe you’re my best friend and you didn’t tell me about this!”

“Um … oh, right! Because books. Duh!” Eve replies, dramatically slapping her palm on her forehead. “Geez, Aurora, maybe because we’ve been busy at the store, and I thought knowing where to get groceries is more important than encouraging your addiction to paper and bindings. Remind me, how big is your TBR pile at home?”

I love Eve, but I hate it when she’s right.

“Okay, I guess food is more important than books, but look at this place! It’s basically porn for book people. And … AND! Do you know who Nodens is?”

I know I’m a grown-ass woman clapping her hands and bouncing excitedly in front of a bookstore, but seriously—places like this are few and far between.

Eve laughs, then humors me. “Actually, I just assumed it had something to do with literature. The guy who owns this place is a total Lorewood legend. People talk about him all the time. Some of it’s weird, some of it’s funny … and some of it? Downright terrifying. Like, serial killer shit.”

“Okay, okay, put the creepy book-man aside for a second.”

Who gives a good goddamn about the stuffy old owner?

“Nodens is a Celtic god,” I say, plowing ahead like the nerd I am. “Points to bookish Ted Bundy for not choosing a Greek god—so overdone. Anyway, Nodens is the god of hunting, dogs, and healing. Isn’t that fascinating?”

My vision slowly blurs as my thoughts scatter in too many directions.

“I wonder if he loves dogs, too,” I whisper, staring off into space.

Sometimes my brain glitches when I get excited. I go into full spinning wheel of death mode—just thinking and thinking, fully stuck in my background task.

When Eve grasps my shoulder and gently shakes me, I realize I’ve gotten lost in the mirror maze of my mind again.

“Earth to Aury! Are you ready for that drink, or are you just gonna stand here on the sidewalk fantasizing about gorgeous, bearded Celtic gods?”

My eyes snap back into focus, and a soft, self-conscious laugh follows.

“Sorry, E, got lost for a minute there. I mean, can’t we do both? Get a drink and dream about those Celtic gods? I think the god of dogs would be a perfect match for me.”

“Girl, you need another outlet for that anxious energy. You look like you’re vibrating,” Eve says, her voice tinged with concern.

“C’mon. I want to be tipsy and talk about your nonexistent love life.”

“Just give me one second. I want to peek in the window really quick.”

“Okay, creeper,” Eve mumbles, already pulling out her phone and firing off texts—probably to those mountain men she was talking about earlier.

I step up to the glass door, cup my hands around my eyes, and peer inside the shop.

Christ, Aziraphale would have a raging hard-on if he caught a glimpse of this place. Rows upon rows of books sit on shelves so close together that I just know my ample behind would have trouble navigating the space between them.

A glowing display case catches my attention, its shelves filled with brittle, beautiful books that look like they haven’t been touched in centuries.

I’m a little surprised a bookshop like this exists in a small, blue-collar town. But what do I know?

I can’t wait to browse the stacks and get lost among the piles of books. Fingers crossed there’s a decent sci-fi section.

“Hey, Eve, you were saying the owner was a little strange. What did you mean by that?”

Okay, so maybe I give a shit about the owner.

Between the name of the shop and what I can glimpse through the window, I imagine a sweet older gentleman with a cane and sweater vest.

“I’m not sure I should say anything. It’s just small-town gossip, and I’m not here for that bullshit. I’ve only seen the owner a few times, and shit, girl … he’s sexy as fuck. I’m talking tailored suits and some mysterious, dark daddy vibe. But he’s standoffish, and the locals love to spread rumors about him always hanging around places where hikers go missing. I honestly can’t imagine a man that perfect hanging out in the woods, on dirt trails, in those three-piece suits,” Eve gushes, her face melting into a cheesy, dream-like expression that sends me into a fit of laughter. “Anyway, from what I can tell, he almost never comes into the shop.”

Eve’s description of the owner surprises the hell out of me.

Shit, I was way off.

The inside gives off grand-daddy vibes, not daddy vibes.

“Well, it sounds like my chances of running into dark-book-daddy are pretty slim. Who works at the shop if he’s not around much?”

“Oh! I forgot to tell you about Thane. Mr. Aster? He’s untouchable. Unapproachable. He seems … above it all, maybe a little snobby. But Thane? He’s tall, built like a lumbersnack, with these vibrant green eyes that pin you in place and practically peel you open. And that chain tattoo that wraps around his neck makes me want to drop to my knees and—ugh, I don’t know—lick him like a damn lollipop.”

“Holy shit! You have a crush! Why am I just hearing about this now? That’s so sweet!” I flutter my eyelashes in the most cartoonish way possible and clasp my hands over my heart.

“Yeah, yeah. He’s almost as untouchable as Mr. Aster. I’ve spoken with him a few times, but he’s another one who keeps to himself. You’ll find that a lot around here. Some people just want privacy—or they moved here to disappear.”

I can’t freaking believe Eve has a crush.

She doesn’t do crushes.

She’s more of a “hit it and quit it” kind of girl.

Just as I step back from the shop door, ready to join Eve, a scent hits me—hard.

Cinnamon and pine slam into my senses, earthy and intoxicating, knocking the air from my lungs. The scent clings, then sinks deeper, curling beneath my skin as heat rushes down my spine in a tight, burning crawl.

I don’t even know what it is … but I want to sink my teeth into it.

It’s sweet and spiced but laced with something smoky. Almost charred. Like dry wood crackling in a dying campfire, the scent seems to whisper, “Come closer …”

My eyes flutter shut as the warmth swells—consuming me, sending my pulse into a riot and igniting a sharp, twisting ache low in my stomach.

I don’t know how I know, but something, or someone, is watching me.

It should creep me out, but … it doesn’t.

Not when it feels like that hidden gaze could drag me to my knees.

There’s a soft moan brewing deep in my throat, and as the scent lingers, I swear I feel an invisible hand guiding me toward an unseen, unfathomable void. One that promises to consume me whole.

I force my eyes open and spin around. But there’s nothing there. Just my reflection in the glass door.

Something darker lurks on the edge of the cinnamon and pine. Something that makes my stomach flip and my pulse spike.

My reflection tilts her head just before the scent thickens.

It’s heavier now, almost physical.

My brain insists it’s just me and Eve.

But my body—every goddamn inch of me—screams that my eyes are full of shit.

The air becomes dense.

Electric.

Humming with a weight that feels … possessive.

And I swear—fucking swear—I feel someone’s warm, taunting breath pressing hot against my ear.

The scent nestles deeper, no longer gentle, and certain of its place against my skin.

Jesus Christ.

I need to get a grip.

This is exactly why Eve wants to set me up with someone.

I almost came from air.

Fucking air.

With a soft shake of my head, I rip myself away from the shop and rejoin Eve.

She’s happily texting, totally unaware that I slipped into some sort of wild, scent-triggered orgasmic trance.

That euphoric aroma lingers like the echo of a dream I don’t want to wake from.

But, fuck, for a second?

Time just … stopped. Like the whole world forgot how to breathe.

“Are you done drooling? Can we please go to the bar now? I’m not opposed to leaving you here on the sidewalk all night,” Eve says with a snort.

“If you leave me here, whose love life are you going to obsess over all night?” I counter with a laugh, hooking my arm through hers.

“Good point! No one’s love life is quite as sad as yours. And I mean that with love, Aury.”

I stick my tongue out at her as we keep walking.

I don’t know what the hell just happened.

Everyone in this town loves to tell stories about strange and uncanny things, so maybe this was my first true Lorewood experience.

Except something inside me—woven into the marrow of who I am—says it’s so much more than that.

It felt … right.

Like I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life.

Maybe longer.

But it also felt dangerous.

The urge to run is just as strong as the certainty that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. It’s ripping me in half, each part of me dragged toward something I can’t name.

And as we near the bar, icy fingers of awareness curl around the back of my neck.

I can’t shake the feeling.

The eyes in the shadows are still watching.

And honestly?

If the scent wants to rail me against the glass door, I’m not saying no.

At this point, I’d fuck a cinnamon-and-pine-soaked haunting as long as it didn’t say the words, “Joe Rogan’s podcast changed my life.”

Just give me a firm grip, solid aftercare, and maybe a snack.

So, keep watching, cinnamon broom. But next time?

Use your hands, you coward.

If you'd like to spend more time in Lorewood, the story continues in Lupines Bloom Where Blood Falls.

📖 Find the book here