Book One Drop Novels & Stories

I’m dropped flat on my back, my body crunching against books and shelving. My world blurs as my head bounces against the hard, stone ground. All around me, books are falling from the shelves. Paper dances through the air, drifting like feathers. I can’t tell if the metallic taste in my mouth is magic–or blood. I go still for the first time, the pain too overwhelming to move, let alone think past.

I thought of the world that was currently waking up to a silence it didn’t understand. But as I felt that tiny, second heartbeat pulse against my palm, I didn’t feel like a fugitive. I didn’t feel like a victim of a global conspiracy. I felt like an Architect. The first book was about the blood. It was about the betrayal and the breaking of the old world. It was about the trauma of the glass and the roar of the mountain. But the second book? The one we were starting right now, in this quiet French valley? That book was going to be about the Home.

{ If you are able to read this, then know that only one drop of your blood can open the book of mystery. I shut myself quiet for a while as I was thinking about the book between my hand, before being interrupted by Chris. "What are you thinking about?" " The line on the middle of the cover is annoying me. I mean, What do they mean by one drop of my blood can open the book of mystery?" I wondered. Instead of receiving an answer, I was faced with a sharp look from Chris. "Can I see it?" He asked, his voice was full of doubts. " Yeah ...! of course you can," I say while handing the book to him. The doubtful look in his did not despair at all, it even grows deeper.

My name is Jennie Dawson. I was just an ordinary college girl whose biggest achievement was pulling all-nighters to read smut novels. Then one night I dropped dead at my desk… and woke up inside the very book I was reading, as a pretty background character who happened to share my name. The heroine, Nancy Porter, was a transmigrator with a system. Her mission was to seduce my brother and turn him into her devoted plaything, living a life of indulgence with her day and night until she could finally return to her world.

But when he looked up, hundreds of other books were lifting and floating from the shelves, their pages bleeding and whispering her name. “Camela. Camela. Camela.” Her head spun, and her chest rose and fell heavily. “They want me…” Vincent held her tightly against him, his flame blazing so bright enough it illuminated the shelves like daylight. “Then they’ll have to burn for it,” he said. He swung his arm through the air, sending fire in a blazing arc that struck the shelves. The books shrieked, blood hissed, and their pages curled black, turning ash. But for every book that he burned, ten more emerged from the shadows. They surged forward, bleeding words that crawled across the floor and wra

He saved my life. And that’s when I remember the vial of Bright Waters I have hidden in my tunic. The weight of despair lifts off of me for just the briefest moment. I set Brook down gently on the ground, cradle his head in my lap, and dig into the pouch at my belt. My fingers close around the glass before I fully register what I’m doing. I pull it free. The liquid inside glows softly, a blue so pure it almost hurts to look at it. Without thinking, I bite down on the cork, pulling it off with my teeth.

Her eyes locked on the notebook, horror flooding her. “That’s mine,” she whispered. “No—it can’t—” The masked figure’s voice was smooth, cruel. “No, little flame. This is the original. Yours was only a copy.” Leora’s heart lurched. A copy? The girl staggered, trembling. “That’s not true. That’s not—” The figure stepped closer, flipping the book open. He read aloud, voice dripping with command: “Rule One: You belong to us.” The girl screamed, clutching her head. The flames around her flickered violently, threatening to consume everything.

Watch out for “Striking Blow.” (Strike Zone Book #2) This is Pearl and Antonio’s story. Filled with international intrigue and subterfuge. Striking Blow Colombo. Sri Lanka. Pearl needed directions—a map—a freaking GPS back to herself. Finding her worth again meant starting with a physical transformation. For starters, the blonde princess staring back at her in the mirror wasn’t real, and it was time to pack “socialite barbie” away in a dark drawer; time to step away from the two-hundred-dollar haircut and her designer lifestyle.

It also made sense why they named themselves after the book, it was what brought them into the realisation of a potential threat. Mum went further to say that the book had powers beyond what the mind could understand, and she mentioned that with the book one could skip the necessary balance. “What do you mean by the necessary balance?” I inquired, barely holding my excitement as she told it all to me. “The necessary balance, um, how will I explain this?” She clicked her tongue severally. “It is a simple term that means magic had a price, it always had a price.” Squinting my eyebrows, I said, “Always had a price? What is the price, how much? How do we quantify the….”

“That’s the point of stripping. You know how this works. I want to see everything.” The words landed heavy. I stood there for a second, heart thudding, asking myself what the hell I had expected. That he would bring me to a luxury apartment, feed me, and then politely send me to bed? This was the deal. This was the price of not sitting in a cell while they built a murder case out of one drunk text. *Fuck it.* I reached down, grabbed the bottom of the shirt, and pulled it over my head in one motion. The cool air hit my skin immediately. I dropped the shirt on the floor and stepped closer to the pole, wrapping one hand around the cool metal.