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BDSM: Slave 24/7 Plus more bonus chapters of all the characters you've come to love. Brody and Kylie's Story is Book 3 right after Daniel and Natalia.

Chloe opened the book and her eyes widened. This book... She scanned the pages and then let out a huff of disbelief. Why are there empty pages?

Then I noticed the cover of the book, it has a hole round shape in it and an anchor then ship wheel in it. I look at the three objects in my hand and the book. I put two and two together and realized something. I connected the dots and placed the three objects into the holes in the cover of the book. I was almost blinded when it shined so bright. I let out a surprise gasp when the book floated and automatically flipped the pages. It stopped at one page. The book slowly landed back down on the bed. I let out a deep breath and decided to read what the book was showing me.

Rows of towering bookshelves stretched into the gloom, filled with books bound in leather that looked suspiciously like skin. "Where do we start?" I whispered, overwhelmed. "Section X," Killian said, walking straight to the back. " The Anomalies." We spent hours pulling books. The Red Moon of 1402. The Feral Plague. The Betrayal of the South. Dust coated my fingers. My back ached. But I kept reading. "Here," Killian said suddenly. His voice was tight. I rushed over to the table where he was standing. He had a massive, crumbling book open.

My father thinks I spend my nights reading. That’s not entirely a lie. Just not books. This room is mine in a way no other room in this house is mine. The rest of the townhouse is my mother's taste — warm and beautiful and expensive, every surface chosen to project exactly the image the Conti family wants projected. My room looks like the inside of my head. Whiteboards on two walls, half of them network maps, the other half cipher keys I've already cracked. A punching bag in the corner worn to gray leather at center mass. Gun cabinet beside the closet — three weapons, combination lock. My father knows about two of them. I find the thread at 3:12 a.m. A routing number. Buried six layers deep,

Hand on the knob. The house burned behind her, slowly, elegantly. The kind of fire that didn’t destroy, only reminded you what had already been lost. She didn’t look back. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t cry. She turned the handle. The door creaked open. And behind it, There was no sky. No ground, Just a single chair. Facing away from her. Someone sat in it. Reading, A book made of bone. Their voice hummed. And the page they read out loud was Chapter 101.

Their explanation of tantra was truthful, if a little oversimplified. I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my temples. I need coffee, and by now the kids might have something for me, so I head back down to Chinatown, taking a detour into The Magickal Childe bookshop on West 33rd on the way. Of the stack of books I’ve spent my morning with at the library, the one title I’m fascinated by is the infamous Tibetan Book of the Dead, and now I wanta copy I can mark up. The shop is a cramped little hole in the wall that reeks of voodoo oils and herbs. Ceremonial swords and shelves of dusty glass jars cover the walls. A leather-bound copy of the Necronomicon takes pride of place in the display window and a

“This was supposed to be your Valentine’s gift, but everything went to shit and I completely forgot.” Draven glanced at it, still grinding against her. “What the hell am I supposed to do with a book? Don’t bore me, Selene. I’m so goddamn horny.” He kissed her neck harder, squeezing her breasts. “Calm down,” she laughed, “The gift is what’s inside.” He took the book from her hands. “Her Price, His Obsession,” he read aloud. “What’s in it?” Selene opened to chapters 15 and 16, then passed it back to him.

I mumbled with a full mouth. "There's extra in there. Let's keep moving." We turned the corner into another street lined with low brick buildings. One had a dusty window and a sun-faded sign that read Dog-Eared Pages. "This place is a little gem," Robbie said. "If you ever want to read up on modern stuff written for wolves from the old packs—this is where to do it. They even have books on magic you won't find in human shops." That piqued my interest immediately, but—

He bowed and was gone as quickly as he arrived, leaving the heavy satchel behind. I lunged for the bag the moment the tent flap sealed. I untied the cord with shaking fingers and pulled out the book. It wasn't ancient and brittle. It was a modern reprint, but the cover read: Healers' Lore: The Legacy of the Wounded Crown. It was a medical text, disguised as a historical relic.