Book The Son の小説・ストーリー

He was always in his room, isolating himself from everyone. "Kevin, have you had your dinner? It's past 5 pm, and you are still glued to your books. Put the book away and come now," I ordered him, and he frowned. "Dad, I am not hungry," he replied, not taking his face away from his book. "Are you avoiding me? What is that book that you are reading?" I strode into my son's room, and he was reading a novel. It was a book for superheroes, and he was seriously reading it.

A repository of truths the current pack leadership probably wanted to be buried. Auren. My son's name came through my mind as my fingers moved over the title of a thick, navy-bound book that was labeled, "Phenomena in Half-Blood Heirs." I knew that I had found something large. I did not even hesitate as I pulled it off the shelf, sending a cloud of dust that circulated in the air that made me sneeze. I opened the book to have a knowledge of what was inside. The script was ancient, the letters were formed in a way that made them so hard to read at first, but I adjusted my eyes.

It was even tucked away in a protective sleeve, with his handwriting on the back, "Shannon, my youth." “Dan!” I rushed forward, grabbing my son from Shannon’s arms. Dan turned to look at me but quickly pouted and averted his gaze, refusing to meet my eyes. He was just like his father—silent when angry, never expressing his feelings out loud but letting his discontent simmer underneath. Was he upset because I’d been gone for too long on this trip? Softening my tone, I spoke gently, “Dan, I’m back now. Let’s go home, okay?”

Pascha just held me tighter, his chin touching the top of my head as he hummed softly. "He's so cheeky," he said with amusement. I blinked. "You just realized that?" He chuckled, the vibrations of his voice fell on my back. "I knew he was active, but... God, he's relentless. He keeps talking, asking questions, and moving. He barely sat still this entire flight." His fingers moving casually at the sides of my waist. "He is absolutely my son.” I glared even though he couldn't see it. "You don't need to remind me."

When hiding inside, it enabled him to see and hear the situation outside without getting affected in the slightest. Presently, that old man’s voice entered Alex’s ears again. “Nolan Rockefeller, don’t do things the hard way. Your son was found not long ago. Do you really want to give up on him? My ancestor said he’ll let go of your son as long as you hand over the complete Holy Book. Moreover, the Fourcades will never target the Rockefellers again.” Alex’s heart skipped a beat. ‘They’re actually after… the Holy Book?’ Alex remembered that thing well enough.

My son. My oath.

"He's 24. Trade school graduate. He makes 450 bucks a month and spends his days in internet cafes. My mom said they had to make his wedding look impressive so that the bride's family wouldn't look down on him." "Well–" "Edith, I'm not jealous of him. I just want to know if I'm really their son. I fight my way through life just to build a home, and they tell me to rely on myself. But Logan? They throw money at him." "Evan, don't think that way. Your parents only did it for your uncle–"

" Nothing about his words or actions resembled those of a usual five-year-old kid. The shock had made me pass out and collapse onto the floor. I had no idea how long I lay there, but by the time I finally woke up, the sun had set. Light leaked from the master bedroom, where Caleb and Emery were enthusiastically discussing how they would renovate the house after I died. I was unconscious on the floor, yet my biological son didn't bother to check on me. He was too busy scheming to seize my home. … "Enough, Dad," Caleb cut in. "That's all in the past, so why do you have to keep dragging it up, especially in front of such a large crowd? How is Nicky supposed to face his classmates and teachers f

"You need to come home. Your father is dying." He should have said no, and ended the call, or thrown the phone across his pathetic studio apartment, and pretended he had never heard those words. Five years ago, Patriarch Michael Thorne had stood in the grand hall of the family estate and declared his eldest son dead to the Holy Order, dead to God, and dead to the bloodline that stretched back twelve generations of exorcists. Gabriel had been seventeen, broken, and desperate for understanding that never came.

“I don’t have a fucking clue.” A winded breath scraped from Booker, his hand resting weakly on Jon’s firm shoulder. “Well, you had better get a clue, son. You killed his brother. He ain’t gon’ give ya up that easily, and I’d hate to see that girl in the firin’ line. She doesn’t belong with us.”