Colleen Hoover Books Collection Novels & Stories

“If we research more it will be here in the library and not your dorm.” Brady denies. I look at her and smirk. She's pissed. I can't believe the nerve of her! Right in front of me, his girlfriend! Some skanks are too stupid or desperate, I guess. “Well, I hope you're not sharing with the competition.” She retorts. Oh no she didn't! I slam my book down. And stand up leaning over the table. Both my hands spread on the table to keep from ripping her hair out.

The realisation of the pose hit Abegail like a strike of lightning. Kolester's elk. She had been Kolester's elk the day Fernand had died. And it wasn't her, for her own sake, that Kolester wanted to possess. He just wanted to conquer. And he had done exactly the same thing with her son—just to conquer. It was all in his books. It was the centrepiece of the book she herself had typed again and again, the title changing, but the message never varying, just as Kolester's readers liked it. And she hadn't seen it. Only the capturing of a moment in time in a black-and-white photograph told the unfettered truth. A photograph of Kolester was kept on his nightstand. The audacity of it. The cruelty. W

Her desire was so much greater than reaching a physical peak, it became spiritual when we were together. She shifted on the bed, moving into the crook of my shoulder so she could look at me. Her eyes were a honey-brown, almost the color of whiskey but with a bit more yellow-they were intriguing. I could get drunk in the color-they're so deep. But when she was turned on, they took on a fiery-gold hue. I'd lose myself in her soul staring into those gilded windows.

"How delightfully confusing." The old woman smiled, and it wasn't entirely reassuring. "I prefer Cordy, dear. Less formal, don't you think?" She moved into the room with surprising grace for someone who had to be pushing ninety, heading straight for a section of shelves I'd never paid much attention to before. Her fingers traced along the book spines with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what she was looking for. "The curse," she said, withdrawing a slim volume bound in what looked suspiciously like human skin, "was cast by Moira Blackthorne in 1847."