Book Fragment Novels & Stories

He sneered. We walked out of his apartment, our heads hung low. I thought things would have turned out differently. "Damn it. And I bet we can't break in again," I sighed as we settled into the car. "Who needs to break in when we have all the info we need," Blake smirked as he revealed the book. "Now this is what I wanted to show you," he gulped. Opening the book we saw different locations and pictures of Aubrey along with them. "This is psychotic," Xavier stated as we flipped through.

Lycan? I scan my eyes over the subtitles of chapters, flipping through it distractedly. Flipping another page my eyes narrow as I see the frayed remains of pages that have clearly been ripped from their rightful place. Flattening my lap, I flatten the ripped fragments of paper left, blinking in confusion as I see fragments of what would seem like ‘Rolf’ names along with other words that I can’t describe. Someone seems doesn’t want people to read what’s written here, I thought and placed a bookmark before grabbing another book.

I replied with confidence but only just to provoke him. "Oooh, you're still as bold as ever even when you're left with only the bones and no flesh." He said, leaning back on his desk. He took a lusty look at me from head to toe, biting his mouth. It was as if he already undressed me but with his eyes. Even when you loose a game, just make sure to dress like the winner, as confident and sexy as ever, only then you can get in the nerves of your opponent, and that was exactly what I did.

Instead, I carefully slid the drive into my coat pocket—like a stolen secret, a fragment of truth I wasn’t ready to share with the world just yet. As I turned to leave, my boot caught on a raised tile—an uneven patch in the debris. I crouched again, curiosity overpowering caution. I tugged at a cracked corner of the floor, revealing a small, burned fragment of paper wedged between the floorboards. It felt brittle, fragile in my gloved fingers. I gently peeled it free.

Walking up and standing next to him, Sebestian just watched as Damon opened the heavy book and started flipping through the pages. "I was looking for something to explain what happened to you, I started back when Fred was trying to lift the spell and" he dragged the last word as he kept on skimming through "I found this instead" he said as he stopped on a page and then tapped his finger against it. The book looked old based on how it was bound, but it looked even older once he saw the inside. The pages weren't paper but instead looked like handwoven fabric or leather that now looked yellow and worn, the writing was clearly some thick mud-like paint that had turned green over time.

Even though they're all Criminals The end TBC Appreciation Thank you everyone that read my story , I'm very grateful for your support. kindly check my other books and be expecting the book two of bound .

We ate in stretches of silence broken by small, ordinary questions. “Pass the salt?” “Is this stale?” “Did you sleep at all last night?” It helped. The normalcy. No glowing light, no humming bond, just three people chewing and making faces at each other when the cheese turned out too sharp. Eventually, Ronan pushed his plate away and pulled a small leather-bound book from his belt. He laid it on the table between us. “What’s that?” I asked. “Anchor,” he said. “You two keep using the word. So I made one.”

A few seconds later, he swirled and chimed, “Ta-da!” Brinda's jaw dropped while she stared at The Black Book in Francesco's hands. “What the hell?” She gasped.

Breyona chuckled dryly as she sat beside me on the couch. I ignored the two of them as they began full-scale bickering. My fingers ran against the jagged pages, faded and stained with age. The book itself smelled old and musty, looking as though it would crumble to dust at any moment. The repairs Breyona’s parents had made to the book were all that kept it from falling apart. A grimace formed on my face as I reread the information. ‘Did you expect it to change?’ Maya chuckled humorlessly, ‘It says the same thing as before.’

The only thing that I could read was this one paragraph on the torn page I’m holding. I snorted, this is stupid. I’m thinking too much about this. It wasn’t like I was meant to read this one paragraph. It could have been a coincidence. This isn’t a storybook after all. I shook my head in disbelief and continued to tear up pages after pages of the book. Popping the lighter open, I lit the now crumpled paper and placed the wood on it slowly so as not to put it out, blowing air on it occasionally to keep the fire pumping.