Book Still Breathing Novels & Stories

Ben’s body was a dead weight across my shoulders, every step sending fire through the muscles in my legs and back. His shallow breaths tickled the side of my neck, a constant reminder that he was still clinging to life, but barely. He wasn’t dead. Not yet. But he was close.

In July. Autumn stood in the library, her breath fogging in front of her. Books along the shelves groaned under a thin sheet of ice. Even the fire in the hearth had guttered into pale embers, too weak to warm the room. She stared down at the Book on the table. Its pages no longer glowed. The once-living ink had turned black. Dead. “She’s here,” Autumn whispered. Tristan stepped beside her. The soulbond flickered between them—erratic, unstable, pulsing like a dying star. He touched her arm, but his eyes were already on the window, sensing what she sensed.

Allard gave an order to one of his men and whispered something to him. We arrived at a large room surrounded by books and papers. We sat down, and after a few moments, there was a knock at the door. My chest tightened… this would be the first time I’d seen her again face to face after so many years. I wonder if she still remembers me. Did she still even know who I was? Alina…

"Come on. We need to find Elias and break the curse on us." Mirabelle dug in her heels. "No, not unless you acknowledge this child!" "What child? Don't you dare ruin my son!" The two of them started fighting. All of a sudden, Marcus thought of something, ran to the side, and threw up. My assistant reminded me that I still had a business gathering to attend that evening. I'd had enough of this farce, so I ordered my bodyguards to kick them all out. … Later on, my best friend told me how Clara aged at lightning speed and ultimately had to rely on expensive medical equipment to stay alive.

Clean. The shelves are empty. Not cleared but ripped bare. Books litter the floor, some open, some crushed, some missing pages entirely. The air smells faintly of wood and something sharper beneath it. Not blood. But close enough that my body reacts anyway. I don’t realize I’ve stopped breathing until my chest starts to burn. And then— I see him. Damon stands with his back to me, near what’s left of the desk. Unmoving in the midst of the carnage.

His hand trembled as he knelt, dipping his fingers into the icy water. A shock traveled up his arm, his heart jolting. The river whispered low, haunting, like a thousand voices speaking at once. He gasped, jerking his hand back, but not before he saw it. A shape beneath the water. A book. Black, pulsing faintly with veins of crimson, as though it breathed. Elowen's breath caught, her eyes wide with awe and fear. "The book…" Jackson stumbled forward, peering over Donato's shoulder. "Is that really it? Just lying there?"

“Then you are still here and you are still alive and you are still breathing and that means that the war has not won and the enemy has not won and you have not lost because you are still standing and you are still fighting and you are still breathing.” Her breath trembled and her voice was small when she asked how long she would have to keep breathing and keep fighting and keep standing when the enemy kept coming and the pack kept losing ground. “As long as it takes,” I said and I let my voice carry the certainty that I had earned through nights of fear and mornings of loss. “As long as we are breathing and as long as our hearts are beating and as long as we have wolves beside us who will no

It is about the realization that has been gnawing at the back of my mind since the fourth burial. I look at the sofa. She is reading a book, but the page never turns. Her chest rises and falls, a rhythmic, mechanical simulation of breathing, but there is no sound. No air moves in or out of her nose. I walk slowly toward her. My boots crunch on the hardwood floor, a sound that seems too loud, too violent in the quiet room. I reach out, my hand shaking, and I hover my fingers near her neck. There is no pulse. There never has been.

Silence filled the Eternal Sanctuary. Every Guardian stood motionless, their eyes fixed on the ancient altar nestled within the heart of the Tree Beyond the Sky. The weathered book rested on a pedestal of living silverwood. Its cover was unlike anything they had ever seen; it wasn't leather or cloth, but looked as though it had been woven from moonlight itself. Silver roots wrapped gently around its edges, pulsing with a heartbeat that felt older than time. Aiden took an unconscious step forward, and the book responded as a faint silver glow spread across its cover.

"Gosh, this car is ancient! Even our maid wouldn't ride in something like this." The moment I opened my eyes, Sadie Thornton's soft voice hit me, edged with open disdain. "And this seat cushion, what is this even made of? My dog's bed is softer than this." Across from me, Lillian Clarke yanked the cushion free, pinched her nose, and tossed it at her feet. "Seriously. I wouldn't even use this as a footrest. It's filthy."