Books On A Nook Novels & Stories

**Amara's POV** Thursday. Volume two arrived. Not by courier. Adrian had collected it from the bookshop on Walnut Street in the morning before the school run. He had placed it on the bedside table beside volume one. Noah had seen it when he woke up. He had not said anything. He had looked at it. He had looked at the ammonite. He had looked at the two volumes side by side. He had nodded. He had gone to breakfast. At the kitchen table he had said, with the focused efficiency of someone reporting a completed inventory:

His presence and his arms tight around my waist, calms the fuck out of me and I fall asleep again. … I walk all the way from the dinner table to find Noah in his study room. I give the door a slight knock before I pushes it open and walks in with his breakfast and spot him reading a book. There are three different books on the table, excluding the one he is currently reading. The ancient, intricate bindings are beautiful and I look at the titles to know what books they are and what they are about. I freeze when I see that they are about sorcerers. I hate the chills that suddenly runs down my spine at the sight of the titles of the books.

Briana POV I went to my desk to pull out three large books and handed them to Noah. Without a word, he accepted them. I watched while he opened the book at the top and was silent, seemingly engrossed with its contents. “It’s the children’s baby book. From birth up to their birthday last year.” I informed him. He nodded absent-mindedly. His eyes never left the page as he scanned it. It seemed like he was lost in what he was seeing and had forgotten about me, but I didn’t mind.

“We have a feast now.” After dinner, we exchanged our gifts. Noah opened the book first, a worn paperback copy of a science fiction novel he had mentioned wanting to read. He turned it over in his hands, his thumb tracing the creased spine with a gentleness that made my throat tight. Then the pencils, then the coffee, each gift received with the same careful wonder, as if he could not quite believe that someone had chosen something specifically for him. "Your turn," he said, and he handed me a small box wrapped in brown paper and tied with a piece of red string.

A row of old cafés, a bookstore with dusty windows, a small flower shop tucked between them. Noah blinked at the street, awe flickering in his eyes. “Where are we?” “A place with no expectations,” I said simply. The bookstore bell chimed as we stepped in, the air thick with the scent of paper and ink. Noah drifted between shelves like he belonged here, fingertips brushing spines reverently. He moved slower than most people, as if every book was a treasure to be uncovered. I leaned against a shelf, arms folded, and just watched. This was Noah outside of fear, outside of obligation.

Nok kicked a chair sending it flying across the room before he marched over to the bed and picked up the diary, “You see what he’s doing right? This stupid little gift from him is the start. He’s going to drive a wedge between us!” “Nok,” my eyes went wide, “please give me that back.” I held out a hand, “please don’t.” “Give it back!” he barked and I saw his nails puncture the leather, “This stupid book is so important to you why? Is it because it’s from him?” “Nok!” My voice was growing strained as I saw the lettering splitting. “Stop!” “He’s controlling you with stuff like this! Why can you not see it!” The book’s binding failed finally the cracks continuing to spread until with one final

“Here you go,” Niko says holding out an old brown book. Like the mafia rules, there’s nothing written on it, no title, or author's name. not even an abstract design. Just a plain book. At least this one seems to be just an old journal not like the other one Niko described to be bound in human flesh, yuck. The original Mafia rules, not the copy I read but still. I still sniff at it a little. Only smelled old woodsy smell and nothing gross like rotten flesh or skin.

“Nikolai will be down shortly. There is sweet tea on the table if you would like a refreshment.” “Thank you.” When Aaron stepped out, I took everything in. I couldn’t help it, I stepped up to the bookshelves and ran my hands over the books bindings, loving the feel of the different textures. In his collection he had vintage books, possibly even a few first editions of some classics, along with more modern titles.

I asked. Noah hesitated. “Sometimes.” “I’d love to read something. If you ever feel like sharing.” He didn’t answer, but he didn’t tell me no either. That was progress. We sat in the reading nook for a while. He buried himself in a thick hardcover with a worn spine, and I pretended to read the one he gave me, but mostly I just watched him. The way he curled up with his knees tucked under him like Ivy used to. The way his brow furrowed in focus.

Damn. I ignore that thought. I'm safe here for now and Noah is not an asshole like I thought he was so no need to do anything irrational. I wonder how one could be so wealthy and good-looking but yet he has no one he loves that's just so lonely. I've never met anyone like him. Even if he isn't I love, how does he get off steam? I proceeded to study to explore awesome books. The books below are just philosophers' books. I'm in no mood for philosophy today, above that are literary books. I'm in no mood for that either. I climb the ladder to get up where I see books of mythology and fictional books.