Book Blurred Lines Novels & Stories

“You’re wearing it to the beach party. No excuses.” ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ At the crowded beach party later, music thumped and people danced under the sun. Lila wore a tiny bikini, her tattoos and toned body on full display. The vibrator suddenly buzzed to life on a low setting. “Damon,” she whispered urgently, grabbing his arm. “It’s… fuck… it’s buzzing right against my spot, please turn it off.”

The Ritual That Should Not Exist Lyra’s POV The blade came down, pain tore through my arm, it was sharp and hot and then screamed. The sound broke out of me before I could stop it, blood spilled fast and it ran down my skin. Drips from my fingers fell to the ground, right into the marks. I watched it and I could not look away. The lines drank it and they darkened first and then they glowed faintly and then brighter. “No… no…”

The edges were still warm from the camera, the image glossy, sharp, sharp too real. And scrawled across the bottom in black ink words that hadn’t been there before Check the mirror.

The condensed light was not very bright, but she had seen this glimmer far more times than she could even count. Lyra was looking at a holographic screen with several figures associated with detailed illustrations on it. This seemed like some sort of digital document with several pages. Her vision was extremely blurry with all the weakness, however, as she gazed at it more closely, the color on her face drained out more with each passing second.

Turning back to face the man, Rex did what he was told, watching the man carefully, he had the same body language like he was speaking to someone, his hand extended as if to shake another and turned back toward where his corpse was a moment ago, and within a few steps of his final resting place, his face turned into pure fear as a blur blew past him and large gashes on his torso appeared staggering the man, after looking down at the bleeding wounds he looked up painfully as the blur from earlier blew past once more and the gashes appeared, horribly disfiguring his face and he lay on his back, in the same position as his corpse. “Strange indeed, but it seems my earlier suggestions bear fruit,

Right there, impossible to miss in the flickering glow of the firelight, was the prominent, rigid outline of his semi-hard length. He was aroused. A warm, electric shockwave shot straight from Avery's chest down to her toes. Her face burned with a heat so intense she thought she might actually combust. Her gaze darted back up to his face in sheer panic, her hands frozen mid-air. He’s blind. He doesn't know I can see... that, she thought frantically, her mind spinning out of control. Or does he? Damien stood perfectly still, his expression a mask of cool composure, but the slight tightening of his jaw and the rapid pulse in his neck betrayed him.

I'm on the third page of a particularly interesting passage about ancient bloodline suppression methods when the floor cracks. Not crumbles. Not settles. Cracks — a sharp, deliberate sound, the way ice splits when something heavy drops onto it from a height. I look down. A thin black line has appeared between two floorboards, running about thirty centimeters before stopping. It isn't a structural issue. The line is too clean. Too deliberate. And it's glowing faintly at the edges. Dark violet, like a bruise made of light. I set the book down. "Huh," I say.

Forms blurred dance—draw, cut, sheath—bodies colliding controlled violence, each brush electric foreplay. Shoji rattled suddenly, splintering shadow-intrusion. Five figures burst ink-black—board rebels, faces twisted vendetta, tanto knives glinting malice under dojo lanterns. Leader snarled Japanese filth, blade arcing Kenji's throat. Time fractured slow-mo: his bokken snapped block, but flanking wolves lunged my blindside.

Blair cocked her eyebrow at me, seeing straight through my facade, past my fractured ego at giving up, and right to the fear. Fear was something I was very good at ignoring, but not this time. Blair snagged the book that held my prophecy, flipped through it, and turned it toward me when she found the page she wanted. “This guy?” I looked down, studying the black and white picture of Bram. He looked ever so slightly younger, but that could have just been because of his fashion sense at the time. “Yep.”

Blinding. Something collides with the back of my skull and my world tips. I collapse forward, hands scraping against the floor, vision flickering. The voice changes. Now female. Cold. Detached. “He talks too much.” My blood sings in my ear. My body is failing me, limbs heavy as lead. The man speaks again, voice lower. “He’s remembering, that’s the problem.” I try to lift my head and everything spins. Then I feel it–something brushing my face. Fabric. Tight. Restricting.