Deepwoken Book Novels & Stories

Therefore, Miguel believed that the second option must be true, and it gave him hope that if they could get hold of this book, the spell it contained would surely help them contact Nadir in the Underworld and get the message across. - We have to find this book, at all costs.- Miguel was talking to himself as he searched the internet for places selling old books, especially on the subject of magic or esotericism. And he really did thought so - for Miguel was ready to get rid of all his savings, if only to get his hands on the book. Additionally, Nadir left behind not only her belongings and clothes, but also quite a lot of money earned while working at the bar. As it was all cash, Miguel gave

Damon shrugged, pushing his head forward to a book that was placed on the man's table, and the title that was written by the side was vivid, at least, enough for him to see. “That book,” he announced, raising an eyebrow. “Walking free by Dr. Munjed Muderis, in the year 2014.” “You've read it already?” The man kept revealing the shock on his face, after every word that left his mouth. “Yes,” Damon replied almost immediately, placing one hand in his pocket. “About three times to be precise, so yeah, that should be an easy guess.” “Then why did you use two options?” the man questioned, squinting.

“I don’t sleep much.” I should have stepped back, but I didn’t. The room seemed smaller with him in it, the walls pressing in as if to keep us close. He reached past me, plucking a worn leather-bound volume from the shelf. “This one,” he said, setting it on the table, “is worth losing sleep for.” It was an old history text, its pages brittle, the ink faded. He didn’t open it right away—just stood there, one hand resting on the cover, his gaze locked on me like he was searching for something.

he called my name in a deep voice. I took a deep breath and quickly walked up to him. Then, I crouched down and met his eye level. I must have been incredibly nervous and timid. That was because I saw a tiny version of myself in his deep-set eyes, and even my lashes seemed to be fluttering. I secretly took a deep breath, plucking up my courage to raise my hand. Then, I held his hands, which were placed on the blanket. "Hello, Mr. Blackwell. I'm Leah Young," I said.

--- The conversations the book was generating were different from the conversations the posts had generated. The posts had produced recognition — the immediate, often emotional response of someone who encounters something that names their own experience precisely. The book produced something slower and deeper than recognition. It produced thinking. She could see this in the way people wrote about it — the messages that arrived not immediately after reading but days later, sometimes weeks later, from people who had finished it and then continued to be inside it and had arrived, eventually, at something they wanted to say.

The lecture hall door unlocked with a click, and she slipped out, her body still tingling from the multiple orgasms. She knew she should feel guilty, but all she could think about was how much she needed this again

By the time she reached the final page her coffee was cold and the shirt she was wearing felt insufficient armour for what she was now holding. She closed the laptop and sat for a moment in Dominic's quiet kitchen with the early morning light coming grey and thin through the windows and the sounds of the city assembling itself below. She thought about the shape of what she had just read. She turned it over carefully, the way she turned over anything that mattered, looking for the interpretation that was less damning, the alternative reading, the innocent explanation. There was none. She heard him before she saw him, his footsteps on the kitchen floor, and then he was in the doorway in a dark

“Do not think of it in such common terms, June,” he whispered, his voice smooth as silk but heavy as lead. “You are looking at this through the lens of human morality, but we are wolves. We are creatures of destiny and design.”He stepped even closer, his heat radiating through my thin, silver dress, a cruel contrast to the damp stone wall at my back.

"ASHES TO EMPIRE: Breaking Free from a Legacy of Violence" By Jaxon and Isla Winters. We each took a copy. Held it. Felt the weight of it. "We wrote a book," I whispered. "We really did." The cover was beautiful. Simple. Powerful. Dark background. Our title in bold letters. A phoenix rising from ashes. Perfect. We sat on the couch and read it. Cover to cover. Every word we'd written. Every truth we'd exposed. Every moment of pain and healing. It was surreal seeing it in print.

“I’ve been studying for three days. The Blood Moon Awakening isn’t that complicated. It’s just chanting a few spells and spilling some blood, right?” I nearly choked on my drink. “Josie, are you sure you understand the nature of the ritual?” “Of course! I’m not an idiot,” she said smugly. “And I’ve already prepared everything we need. You just wait and see my flawless performance!” The line went dead. I shook my head and went back to enjoying the quiet night. Three days later was the opening of my human friend Chloe’s modern art exhibition. I arrived at the gallery in a silver couture gown just as the reception was starting.