Christian Coulson Audiobook Novels & Stories

Before he could ask anything, he noticed the thick, black journal sitting on the coffee table between them. "What’s going on?" Christian asked, his gaze flicking between them. Ruth swallowed hard. "You need to read this." She pushed the journal toward him, her hands visibly shaking. Christian hesitated only for a second before picking it up. He flipped through the first few pages, his brows furrowing as he skimmed through the words. As he read, his expression darkened. Minutes passed, the only sound in the room the quiet rustling of pages. Then, with a sharp exhale, Christian slammed the journal shut. His jaw tightened, his grip so firm that his knuckles turned white.

" Seven hundred years old. Been living in Nevada for the past two decades, keeping a low profile.” Christian’s shoulders visibly tensed beside me. The revelation should’ve been shocking, but something about it wasn’t. Maybe it was the way he moved. Maybe it was the way his eyes watched everything and missed nothing. Or maybe it was that quiet strength he carried, the kind that only came with time… too much time. Before he could say anything else, I threw up a hand, cutting in with a raised brow. “I’m sorry,” I said flatly, “but is this a confession or a therapy session? Because right now, it’s giving weekly AA meeting for ancient bloodsuckers.”

The chairman doesn't consider Christian as part of the Blackwood family any more. Christian was quiet a long moment, then he nodded. When he spoke, his voice came from a broken, hollow place. “I see what you mean.” A pause. “You'll find out the truth soon enough, anyway. And gladly, I won't be here to say, ‘told you so’.” Without another word, he placed firm hands on the wheelchair handle and pushed me out of the house. At this point I was utterly drained and at a loss for words, or what next to do. Defeat and fear collided against each other in my chest, stealing my breath.

Isabelle felt like giving up. He continued with the pounding and while he grunted, her cries filled the room. She could feel him at the mouth of her womb. Her flesh was beginning to burn already and just when she thought of screaming out loud, he stopped. He froze into her and emptied all his contents before pulling out. Isabelle whimpered and fell on the floor immediately, unable to stand with her legs anymore. Oh! It hurts. Could she ever get used to this? Caesar adjusted his dress and sparing a single glance at the confessor, he turned around and left.

Five minutes since Tony and Lorenzo were alive? We don’t say anything to each other, but from the way that Christian is gripping the steering wheel as he drives - white-knuckled, his palms grinding against the leather - I know that he’s not immune to what happened. That he’s processing it too in a very real, very human way. That he is, in fact, human. The realization makes me turn and study him. This man. My husband. My best friend. God, do I know him at all?

On the other side of the room, a bookshelf sat in the corner, displaying an assortment of well-arranged books and a few files. In general, the room felt cozy and peaceful. It was just... "Wow! " Christiana exclaimed in awe. She headed to the bookshelf. Her eyes scanned the books and finally landed on a novel. Christian's eyes lit in excitement and she took it. It was one of her favorite novels; VERITY BY COLLEN HOOVER.

Is that what Eliza was? Christian’s voice sounded a bit haunted, though just as confident and cocky as always as he said, “Sort of—but much more deadly. A lot more powerful, too.” He shifted his eyes to look at Aaron, but the Leader wasn’t looking at him at all. His arms were folded and he was looking at the ground, which made me think he knew exactly what Christian was talking about. “Do we not have any newer weapons we can try that might destroy them more quickly? Like the grenade we used against Gibbon?” Aurora asked.

“He only loved the fragile side of me—the weak, soft part that I always showed him. But that wasn’t love. He never loved ME.” Christian reached into his coat without another word and pulled out a book. Its leather cover was worn, its corners slightly bent. He tossed it lightly toward her, and it landed on the blanket beside her knees. “The answers you seek are in there,” he said flatly as he rose from the chair. Without giving her another glance, he turned and walked toward the door. The guard followed him out, and soon the room was quiet again, except for Allison’s uneven breathing. She stared at the book lying next to her for a long time. Her hands trembled as she reached for it, her finge

"If you break... the grounding circuit... the back-surge... will blow Christian’s suit wide open in the undercurrent!" Sierra! Hold the anchor! Don't let the cellular count tear your focus! Christian’s voice didn't come from the overhead speakers. It roared inside my mind, a warm, thunderous wave of raw human courage that smashed through the cold digital noise of the global grid. I could feel his physical agony—the freezing pressure of the South Atlantic ocean crushing his lungs, the icy water seeping into the neck seal of his survival suit, the violent tug of the Chronos drone as its mechanical claws gripped his waist. We survived the Newark docks, Sierra! We survived the Swiss destroyers!

He looked at the empty rooftop. “He followed us.” --- Christian is alive. Free. And hunting them. But is he coming for help or to finish the command he was programmed for?