Black Books To Read Novels & Stories

She plucked one book after another, reading the titles aloud with the excitement of a child at an ice - cream shop. "Oh, 'The Chronicles of Aetheria'... ‘seducing Mr Grey’ .... ‘How to drive your Lycan crazy’.... ‘Tales of the Lost Kingdom'... 'Legends and Lore of the Lycan Forest'... "Rise and fall of Lycan-werewolf treaties. “. Sera's voice echoed softly in the quiet library. She carefully selected a few promising books, cradled them in her arms, and found a cozy corner with a plush chair to sit herself comfortably.

“Why do you have access?” He didn’t answer right away. Just walked in, footsteps echoing. “Because I do,” he said quietly, “Let’s just leave it at that.” Damon stopped at a central table. A thick black leather-bound book rested there. “This,” he said, “is the Black Ledger.” I stepped closer. “What’s in? I’d like to,” I asked. He opened it instead. I barely heard Damon’s voice anymore. My eyes scanned the page, devouring words that felt like they were burning themselves into me.

The study was dark, so I opened the blinds and took in the room. It was very... August. Brown. Black. More black. Not a single color brave enough to survive in here. There was a minibar. I wasn't surprised to find it stocked mostly with expensive whiskey. The bookshelf took up almost an entire wall. Business books. Finance books. Leadership books. Books about making money. Books about keeping money. Books about probably becoming even more unbearable than he already was. Not one novel. Not even a guilty pleasure romance. What a sad life.

Inside there are black candles, several scrolls, and a thick pitch-black book. Of course, it is the book that gets my attention. I took it and inspected it if there are dents, torn pages, or mites. Fortunately, although the book looks old, it also looks new, feels new, and smells new. It has gold writings on it, Death of God. "Death of God?! How did this get to here? I am sure if Mama saw you, she's gonna burn you," I said laughing at my own jokes. See, I am not just unlucky, I am also corny and crazy.

The king was focused to Chief Black at once. "We found this in hidden in the belongings of the crown princess, Your Majesty." Chief Black lifted his hand for everyone to see. I gasped and my throat ran dry when I saw what he was holding. It is a black little bottle with black lid. "And we found out that it indeed contains the deadly extract of the poisonous flower Lily of Morte." I felt like my whole world crumbled into ashes. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. It felt like doom was suddenly in front, standing right before me.

She raised her hand and with her index finger she brushed the books, reading their titles. There were some that said "satanic pacts" others like "the call of the devil" "the forest and its hidden side" "small town legends" "werewolves and the full moon" and the last one said "Wisconsin Cases". Camila took out that last one, the book was big, it had a red cover with the image of the town itself. But that image was in black and white, as if it was taken years ago.

Much like he'd looked as he had stood on Carrie's porch watching the clouds slowly travel across the sky while calmly sipping his coffee despite the chaos going on around him. Ben returned carrying a load of books in his arms. He heaved the heavy books onto the table before me. I looked down and was surprised at what I saw there. I didn’t know what I had expected. With all that had happened, I had envisioned fantasies of witchcraft, vampirism, mutants, and numerous other explanations involving mythological figures but this I hadn’t anticipated. At the very top of the considerable pile of books lay the King James Bible. “Just the tip of the iceberg, baby.” Richard said as he looked at me and

“Did he hurt you?” I hated that smooth, almost kind voice, because it was a lie. There was nothing kind about the man staring at me with black eyes. Madness shone out of them. It was like looking into the eyes of a shark. They were empty of anything remotely human. I shook my head, not daring myself to speak.

A familiar book for the ride back. Jeffrey leaned closer. “What are you reading?” I didn’t look up. “Philip’s Room by Raven Black.” He looked stunned. “No fucking way! For real?”

The rest of the world could have burned down, and in here, it would still smell like old paper and ink. Perfect. I’d pulled three entire stacks of books around me, a fortress of leather bindings and worn pages: histories of werewolves, dense texts on Lycans, thin, brittle pamphlets about old bloodlines, even obscure case studies of wolfless wolves and the rare, desperate stories of those who’d somehow triggered their first shift late in life. None of it helped.