Booktok Books With Spice Novels & Stories

“Motorcycles: A complete modern history.” I open the cover, and the spine cracks. It’s brand new. I wonder if Ben somehow smuggled this into the Archives. It’s not the type of book that’s highly sought out by scholars. But I laugh all the same, diving into it. The faint scent of citrus and cinnamon floats through the air, as if his scent is still attached to the cover.

Running my fingertips along the spines of the books arranged neatly in rows on the bookshelf brings back so many fond memories. “Oh wow…it’s still here…” I gasped in surprise as my finger traced the spine of a very familiar book. “What is?” Zak asked gently as he came to stand next to me. I quickly covered the spine of the book with both of my hands. “Do you remember…this book?” I asked Zak. Zak let out a small chuckle as he smiled alluringly at me. “Of course. ‘The Double Helix’,” Zak replied without a second thought.

It was in that, with the turn of pages of a book, I could lose myself between the pages and forget, even if just for a moment, the complex web of my life. Today opened like each of the rest days: the house was quiet, and I was looking for another book to pass the time with. I ran my fingers along the spines of all the books on the shelves, and one leather-bound volume seemed out of place. I pulled it out; it was a book about hybrids. Its spine was cracked and its pages were frayed from having been read so many times before. I went to the table of contents, and my eyes grew wide with chapters entitled, "History of Hybrids," "Powers and Abilities," and "Notable Hybrids in History."

Unspoken Truths - Chapter 46 Damian Alexxa’s Scotch Bar was all chrome and noise, just like everything else in this city, trying to be upscale. Lessia called this one of the best. She needs to get back to New York, where real scotch bars don’t blast EDM or serve whiskey with LED lights like some frat-boy science experiment. I wasn’t in the mood for the loud music, the girls who kept trying to flirt with us, or even the overpriced scotches. We were just here to blend in, and watch, to make sure our girls got home safely.

The envelope contained a note card from Reid. He'd written, "I could tell last night that you were having a rough trip, so I stayed home to surprise you. Baby's gone for the night, and I spent the day making a special recipe that I'm calling 'Tasha-licious'. Dark chocolate, chili cupcakes with raspberry frosting. They're supposed to release happy chemicals in your brain." Tasha licked her lips. Damn, she loved the fact her man could bake. "You can eat the first one," he'd continued, "but bring the rest with you, please."

He glanced up at us and his lips tugged into an almost smile. “You’re cooking?” Ros arched a brow. As soon as Dom returned a nod, she sped into the kitchen. “Oh, hell no! I’m not eating shit by you.” “I’m not that terrible of a cook, so move aside,” Dom said, but Ros didn’t listen and pinched his arm. “Stop it! You’re not a good cook, either.” “At least, mine’s better than yours.” Ros turned to me and asked, “Would you rather eat burned lasagna or one with extra grated cheese and spice?”

I hesitate, glancing at the angry runes still smoking faintly on his chest. "I'll be quick," I promise, pressing a fast kiss to his burning forehead. "Don't move. Please." I slip out of bed and hurry to the kitchen, my new heightened senses making everything feel overwhelming. The fridge light is too bright. The sound of my own footsteps echoes strangely. I crave spice. Plenty of heat. And meat. The juicy, soft kind, oozing with spice. Oh, I can almost taste it. My hands move on autopilot as I throw together the spiciest pasta I can manage with extra chilli flakes, chunks of sausage and beef, garlic, and a heavy drizzle of oil. The smell hits me like a drug, making my mouth water and my stom

The faint scent of something dark and expensive lingering in the air wood, spice, something almost smoky. Elias ran a finger along the spines, scanning titles. History. Economics. Philosophy. Control disguised as curiosity, he thought absently. He crouched to reach the lower shelf, pulling out one book, then another. When he straightened, his elbow brushed the desk. Something slid. He caught it automatically before it hit the floor. A matchbook. Black. Matte. Thick cardstock. Elias stared at it. His pulse kicked hard enough to make his ears ring.

Jasper sipped his milk and casually remarked, "You don't know how to cook, Axel." I looked at him in mock offense and asked, "Who told you I can't cook?" Jasper shot me an incredulous look and replied, "Michael does not look at a cookbook when cooking, and his meals come out just fine." Surprised by his observation, I stifled my laughter and asked, "How do you know I am holding a cookbook?" Jasper put on a 'are you stupid' expression and explained, "The graphic design on the front cover had pots and different spices on it," taking a deliberate sip of his milk.

He stood and offered Jasmine his hand as Mathin did the same for Andrea. They toured the market. At Mathin’s insistence, Andrea bought several beautiful books. Each was covered with sturdy leather and bound with brass. One was a cookbook. “The Haunt version of Betty Crocker,” Jasmine assured her as she handed it to her. “Just don’t try the recipe for pickled beetle eggs.” She smiled wickedly. “Too spicy.” She selected several bottles of essential oil and fragrance from the perfumer, and Mathin pointed out which spices they came from as he purchased supplies. She chose her own herbs and seasonings from the colorful display of glass jars available in one of the numerous outdoor booths.