Black Butler: Book Of Murder Part 2 Novels & Stories

he whispered, looking down at the Butcher's hands that held a huge brown coffin. Then watched as the figure disappeared like it was never there. *AUTHOR'S NOTE: So Bleach has made another appearance (＠_＠;). Duke Constantine's butler isn't human too sooooo…. Get used to it because nobody in this book is human nor can they be trusted lol (ノ｀Д´)ノ彡┻━┻. Anyways, what do you think the butler was doing there? Was he doing it on his own or is there something strange going on here?

she mumbled looking at the knife she held, the thought she had in mind was not a Good one at all. Later that day, while she was in Alex's study rooming, planning to wipe out all the dust, she appeared to be so preoccupied with her thoughts that she failed to notice the sinful eyes that were closely observing her. Cleaning the top of the shelf, she came across a book that had a black cover and was intrigued by it. She slowly took it out and as she did, she noticed Alex staring at her. She looked away, feeling uncomfortable in his presence and under his gaze.

“And how is Magnus?” “He is as well as can be expected. Looking forward to seeing you. We will have dinner with him this evening.” I nodded as he led me inside to the great room. The interior did not disappoint. Everything was an open layout. The decor and lighting were moody with black and gold accents. Black was my best color, so naturally I was a fan. I looked around the kitchen that led into what seemed to be a common area. Walking down the halls, I noticed a library with a huge selection of books, and I imagined myself enjoying some quiet time there. As we continued to walk down the long halls, I noticed aside from the vampires that had accompanied us on our trip, I had yet to see anyon

I narrowed my eyes slightly. "Black Butler," I admitted. "We're seeing the Book of Atlantic," I told him firmly as I took him up to the counter, got our tickets, popcorn, and drinks. I purred happily as I practically abandoned him then, racing off to go find the theater room without holding his hand to drag him this time. BASSY! I'm coming! I laughed excitedly. He followed after me, already eating his popcorn. I glanced back at him as I reached the door then held back from going in, waiting on him. I opened the door for him when he reached me and then smiled. "Wanna pick our seats?" I purred. He walked in and took us to the very back wall, sitting down dead in the middle and started to sip o

Brinda slowly climbed out of bed, her pulse hammering against her ribs as a thousand thoughts raced through her mind. If Francesco had truly pranked Marshall and Alessia with The Black Book, then they were walking a razor-thin edge of disaster. She could already picture the storm brewing on the horizon, a tempest of blood and vengeance waiting to swallow them whole. She turned sharply toward him, her voice low, uncertain. “Is this really The Black Book?” Francesco, lounging against the headboard, stretched his arm out lazily, dangling the infamous book between his fingers. A knowing smirk played on his lips. “Why don’t you check for yourself?”

The smugness alone made my fists curl at my sides. “I know it’s no longer news to any of you that Blackwood didn’t die at Axel’s hands, but he murdered London.” His smile widened when he said it. “Still… I thought you all deserved to see him and his wife for what they really are.” He snapped his fingers. Like they’d rehearsed it a dozen times, Esmeraya gestured, and a man rolled in a projector. The lights dimmed. The screen lit up. A familiar basement. Chains. Screams. Blood. And then—Avery. Weapon in hand. Cutting out his tongue with the coldness of a butcher.

He gestured at me. "You can't kill me, Silas. I own this fucking city... and I will get back everything you shitheads took from me." His smile dropped. "I will end The Black Rose..." he seethed. "One petal at a time." He laughed. "Isn't that exciting?" He put his hands in his pockets and turned around, not caring about the gun being aimed at his back. Lorenzo and Noir were behind Silas, along with several men that hadn't been there before, pointing their guns at the opposing men.

Then I saw a faint glow, seeping through the crack of an old wooden shelf. My pulse quickened. I reached out, fingers trembling, and pulled the door open slowly. The creak was deafening. “Please don’t let him hear that,” I murmured. Inside it was the Living Book. Relief flooded me. I reached out, fingers grazing its worn leather cover, when I froze. I heard heavy footsteps, drawing closer. No. No, no, not now… I cursed silently and slipped the book back into its place, and closed the shelf careful not to let it slam. Then I moved quickly, darting behind the large black curtain at the edge of the room, pressing myself into the stone wall behind it.

“Doubt keeps you alive.” He reached for a book from the nearest shelf and flipped it open. The pages were blank. “Do you know why my library has no dust?” I shook my head. “Because the books breathe,” he said. “They exhale what others forget.” He offered the book to me. The pages shifted—faint outlines forming, fading, forming again. Names, dates, a line of ink that moved like a pulse: Evelyn Blackthorne arrived under a waning moon. I slammed it shut. “You’re writing my story.”

In the next instant, the heavy door to the cell was blown off its hinges. Through the swirling haze of cordite and smoke, a figure emerged from the fire. Sebastian stood there, his long black trench coat soaked in blood that wasn't his own. His silver-gray eyes burned like twin blades forged in the fires of hell. The makeshift bandage on his left hand was saturated with scarlet, drops of blood hitting the floor with a rhythmic thud, mixing with the stains Ava had left behind. He took a step toward her, his voice a broken rasp. "...Ava."