Booktok Photos Novels & Stories

Brayden looked up from his computer and across the room at Meredith. “Greta, have a seat on the couch. I’m almost finished with this.” He told her and then continued to type away at something. Meredith took a moment to look at the books on the bookshelf. There were mostly business book and biographies or books inspiring greatness lining the wall. She noticed one book was displayed next to a framed photo. The photo was a woman that looked a lot like Brayden and a boy about ten years old who looked like a younger version of Brayden. She assumed it must be Brayden and his mother. The book that was displayed on a stand next to the photo was Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

“We didn’t find anything, Tess.” I blinked. “Nothing?” She shook her head. “No letters, no notes, no secret potions, no dark artifacts tucked beneath the mattress. Just…” She opened the wardrobe and stepped aside. I moved closer, and my stomach twisted. Photographs. Dozens of them. Taped inside the back panel. Framed in crazy neatness, like some macabre gallery exhibit. All of Lucian. Some candid – grainy shots from across a field, through a window, blurry in motion like they’d been taken secretly. Others posed – formal portraits likely swiped from wherever they kept in the estate.

Just enough to fade into the background. She extended a box to him and waited while he opened it. “I, um… I wasn’t sure what to get you.” He peeled the paper apart carefully, trying not to rip it too badly. That notion flew out the window when the sides of the wrapping fell and he noticed the book inside. It slid out onto his hand. A photo album with blue leather and gold foiling. Swallowing a grunt, he flicked it open to the first page. I glanced over, careful to keep my distance but curious enough to stay close and saw two photos tacked neatly to the center of the page.

She pulled it out, sneezed once as dust motes tickled her nostrils, and lowered the book on the coffee table. The title was written in cursive gold letters, 'The Art Of The Body'. Clearly out of curiosity, she opened to the middle of the book, and her eyes nearly popped out in pure mortification. The book contained explicit diagrams of men and women in different, erotic, sexual poses.

There, between the unorganized stacks of books, sat a photograph of a woman. She was beautiful. Her wavy dark hair, warm chestnut eyes, and full red lips smiled kindly back at me with the glamour of an old Hollywood movie star. She looked so happy that her photo alone lit up the dour bedchamber. That must’ve been Liora. Valen stood and walked over to the bookshelf. Wordlessly, he tilted the picture and put it down so that I could no longer see it. Then, he turned to me, eyes once again containing that cool, hard edge.

I downloaded the photo and hid it in a folder on my phone, then deleted the text. In the photo, I was clearly in one of the bathrooms at school. The puke green tiles were on the wall behind me with a clear view of the industrial-style sink. If one of the deans or principal saw this picture, I'd be suspended, maybe even expelled from school. The photo was a close up of my face and chest, covered in a thick liquid. I was on my knees. They say a picture says a thousand words. I could think of one hundred of those words right off the top of my head. Stupid.

But she… didn’t flinch. Lena walked over to a little table display and picked up a thin, cloth-bound book. She walked over to him, holding it out like an offering. *The Quiet Between Lightning Strikes.* A poetry book. The cover was old and nubbly, the title scribbled in fine silver ink. Julian stared at it like it was an alien thing. "What's this?" "A book," she said, smiling. "I told you. I don't—"

No matter how much time I spent with him, I would never get used to that side of his world. Slowly, I moved through the room, taking in the details. My fingers lightly brushed over the books as I passed the shelf. Business strategies. War history. Stoicism. Dark psychology. Art. Exactly the kind of books a man like Zane would read. As I walked to his desk, my eyes caught a small picture frame resting near the edge. I picked it up, bringing it closer to get a better look. It was an old photograph —worn at the edges but carefully preserved. A little boy, no older than four, held a tiny baby in his arms, his smile wide and filled with pure joy.

Mike asked. "Tink find dirty book," the goblin whispered. Picking it up, she opened the pages and turned it around. In stunning detail was an image of a werewolf, his monstrous member dangling between his legs as he jerked his load into the hungry mouth of a pair of women on the ground beneath him.

There was something in his expression that told her that he was waiting for a particular discovery, so she turned back to the album suspiciously. “Such kinky, kinky boys,” she murmured to herself as she flicked through the book. As suspected, it contained photos of Heath both dominating and dominated, posed and in action, bound, tied, or tying one of the others. “Group shots?” She wondered as she reached for the last album. The front page was empty. But the second page held three polaroid photographs. “Oh,” she said softly. They were of her. “I remember these.”