Bookpaper Adalah Novels & Stories

I called again, moving toward the door but I got no answer. This guy is not only a nerd, he is also weird and somehow crazy. I wonder how I was going to cope with him when I joined his book club. I grabbed my phone off the table and unlocked it. As the screen popped on, messages flooded in. Group chats messages , especially the ones I've muted for a while now. ‘Arian Smith, Orleans College Book Club President, Accused of Misusing Club Funds.’ I blinked, trying to wake myself from the dream. I scrolled down, read it again and it was still the same.

Mine was frantic and shallow; Killian’s was deep and dangerously steady. The air in the library smelled of old parchment and expensive leather, a sharp contrast to the perfume and champagne outside. It was a cold room, but the heat radiating from Killian was enough to burn. He did not turn on the lights. He did not have to. The moonlight filtered through the tall windows, casting long, jagged shadows across the floor. He did not stop until I was pressed back against a shelf of leather bound books, the hard spines digging into my shoulder blades. "Killian," I whispered, the name catching in my throat.

Kennedy POV. The weather was bad, but I needed to get that new book, it's Robert birthday gift, who'd knew a grown up man would kill for the newest werewolf love book. I got into my car, drove carefully toward the local book store, they had the new book reserved for me. It was supposed to one quick drive, until I walked into the library. A girl was sitting on a bean bag, her blond hair was covering her eyes with overgrown bangs, she tried to huff them away from her face but to no use. She looked young, maybe she's just here with her parents, looking down at the book she had in her hands it was a kids story. Does she read for the local kids? Or is it just for her?