Burning Bed Book Novels & Stories

The same way he used to sleep next to me. I swallow it down. I bolt the door. All three locks. Twist them tight. No one gets in. No one gets out. The fireplace still burns low. Good. I tear the drapes down, pile them near the hearth. Books. Pillows. Anything that burns. I grab the flint and strike. The first spark crackles. The drapes catch, flames licking upward. The fire begins to spread. I move toward the bed. He doesn’t stir. My knife is in my hand now. My fingers tighten around the hilt.

Little did I know, the spark was about to become a raging inferno, courtesy of something far beyond the mortal realm. It started on a rainy Friday night. I’d come home exhausted from a long week, my blouse clinging to my skin from the downpour outside. I kicked off my heels, letting them thud against the hardwood floor, and poured myself a glass of merlot. The apartment felt emptier than usual; my last girlfriend had left months ago, citing my “workaholic tendencies” as the reason. Truth be told, I missed the warmth of a body next to mine, the soft curves and whispered promises in the dark. To distract myself, I rummaged through the old box of junk in my closet— relics from my rebellious pha

]* Bedtime. Not Alex’s room. Not ‘through.’ Our room. Big bed. Knight bed. Day 1 bed. Twins. Middle. Already asleep. Sand in hair. _HOME_ washed off. Still there. Alex. End of bed. Book. _Not_ shark. _Not_ court. _Not_ 11 seconds. _The House That Was Just Home._ Susan wrote it. Last night. 4 AM. “Therapy,” she said. Illustrated it. Stick figures. Us. Bear. No bad men.

Hell no! My name isn't Blackwood, the doctor must have assumed I took up Damien's name since he's now my stepfather. I was too weak to argue so I let it slide. “Let's check what's going on with you.” He said and moved closer to me. “She clearly has an infection. That is the reason for the fever and why she's burning up so much. Miss, do you have any infected wounds?” The doctor asked me and I nodded in the affirmative. I opened the blanket and showed him the cut I had from the tree at the cemetery yesterday.

But, I was on high alert, and I would remain on high alert until I left, whether that was in a body bag or my own four paws. I flopped down on the bed. It wasn’t the most comfortable mattress, but it would do. I grabbed one of the books Blair had loaned me. The one in question was one I had picked up just last night. One of the few books that existed on lycans. However, it was within the first few pages that I fell asleep.

Driven by a restless, uncharacteristic impulse, Nives stood up. Her bare feet made no sound against the thick carpet as she walked toward the main bedroom. She didn't press the brass handle immediately; she stood in the threshold, her chest rising and falling in a slow, calculated rhythm before she pushed the door open a fraction of an inch. The room was dark, save for the pale moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains. Asena lay in the center of the massive king-sized bed, buried beneath a mountain of crisp white duvets. She was sleeping soundly, her dark hair spilling across the down pillows in wild, loose waves.

It was most likely the bed warmer. Rhys handed Amira the book he’d been reading. It was the book she’d been reading the night before. It had been years since she’d read a good book, and since her scheming had recently come to a halt, she decided to pick this one up. It was a romantic tragedy, something she didn’t think she would find in the library. But one that she was instantly immersed in and fell asleep to.

After collecting them, I found one last room in the building. The books were completely destroyed, pages burnt to the point where the words are unreadable, and the leather-bound titles melted into unrecognisable words. One book, however, I found hidden away in a cubby within a desk. Untouched by the fire that turned the rest to ash, I run my fingertips across the words on the cover. "The Great Demise: The Fall of the Moon Goddess"

She seems prepared for whatever shit she had in mind Magazines of several collections laid on the bed. In short, the room was a total mess and disaster as expected. The room hasn't been cleaned for days. “What level of craziness happened here?” I asked, gesturing to the littered floor and bed and trying to control my anger even though it was bubbling beneath my face. “The kind of madness it requires to stay in the Niccolians Estates.” What? Just when did her sassiness get this worse? “You heard me.”

I wandered, letting my eyes skim across the room in small, tight, cautious sweeps. The bed was impossibly inviting. The crimson silk all smooth and glossy, black pillows stacked like they had never been touched by someone who actually slept. The nightstand beside it was dark wood to match, its surface polished but not to a sheen. I stepped closer, my heartbeat starting to thunder again. Lying on top was a book. Thick, hardbound, the kind with a cracked spine and a ribbon falling out the bottom end as a marker. The title was stamped in worn silver lettering: