Delia Owens Books Novels & Stories

Hi, I'm Delia," the other introduces herself to direct attention to her and leave behind the awkward moment with Cecile. "Angie." I take her hand when she offers it and feel her skin soft and slack as a baby's bottom. Delia is even more precious, she has marked cheekbones, her eyelashes are long, curved and black and highlight her green eyes. She's slim and only two inches taller than me, but only because she has gorgeous shoes paired with a white dress. "They look a lot alike," he says, looking at Melody and me.

Delia calls over her shoulder. “Red,” Emma says, laughing, following after her. “Definitely red.” At 7:45, Delia is sitting on her favorite stool at her favorite bar, sipping a glass of Chardonnay that she got from Cliff, her favorite bartender. She’s dressed in a skimpy red dress. Her foot jiggles anxiously, and, noticing it, Delia sighs and forces herself to stop. She has got to calm down, play it cool. She looks longingly at the crispy glass of wine, the condensation gathering on the outside of the glass. She wishes, desperately, that she could chug it for the calm it will give her.

Panic began to rise in my chest and then I heard voices. It was Bren. He was speaking in low tones with someone , an older woman I recognized as Flora, the midwife. She had helped many she-wolves during their pregnancies, a trusted presence in the pack. But now, she looked unsure, glancing from Bren to me, as if questioning what she was doing there. And then I saw the look on Malacia’s face. She stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, watching like she was waiting for something entertaining to begin.

To tell her the truth before it was too late. She was smiling at Caleb. Her laugh was nervous and sweet. Every time our eyes met, she’d glare like I’d personally kicked her puppy. Yeah. Still hates me. Fine. Hate me. Just stay alive, princess. Jon’s voice broke through my thoughts,“So, Miss Miller,” he began, swirling his wine. “How’s your aunt Vivian?” Delilah’s face brightened. “She’s doing great, actually. She even opened a bakery and it's busier than ever. She says she owes half of it to you for helping with that loan a few years ago.”

"Mrs. Newhouse, hello! This is Maisie Squire, a newly signed author and the latest best-selling writer! Maisie, this is Mrs. Newhouse, also..." "Delilah Roper," Delilah said confidently. "Compared to Mrs. Newhouse, I prefer my own name!" Realization struck Maisie. It was no wonder she looked familiar. She was Delilah Roper, a highly acclaimed author in the literary world. Her pictures were often in bookstores. Delilah's works were a lifeline in the declining book market, always sold out upon release. With over 20 years of writing and numerous awards, she wasn't just a writer but also an outstanding screenwriter. She adapted many literary films.

“You’re exaggerating.” Suddenly, the door was knocked again. This time it was Delya’s voice. “Hey, what are you two doing? So noisy.” Olivia quickly closed her sketchbook. “Nothing, just chatting.” Delya entered carrying a bowl of cut fruit. “Chatting while hiding a book? Hmm, suspicious.” Katty immediately chimed in, “Olivia’s designing a new café. It’s so cool, Del.” “Katty!” Olivia glared angrily. Delya placed the bowl on the study desk, then came closer. “Seriously, Liv? Can I see it?”

One of them called, I turned. "The books you requested are on top of your bed." Delilah said. "Thanks, Delilah." I mumbled before walking away. Miss Elena sounds much better, ah. I sat on the cushion in the room, flipping into the pages of 'The Tale of two cities.' It was the first edition and I was astonished at how the first could be found here. I also noticed that all the five books she brought were of the first edition of each one of them. I was still reading 'The death riders' when I found myself dozing off.

“You shouldn’t worry about her.” “I should,” I sighed. “She almost killed me and my children. I need her taken off the grid. I can’t imagine her coming back to kill us again.” “The security here is tighter than even what the president is used to. Don’t you worry. No one can get to you.” But I doubted that he was right. Delia was a snake. She always found a way to get into places that was closed off to her. How she had grown from that girl in the restaurant who couldn’t blackmail me to this girl who had shot me, poisoned me and kidnapped me is still a mystery. This was a growth that she had done in such a short time.

They walked the east side of the territory, down to the creek that ran along the lower ridge base, which was half-frozen still but moving, the ice at its edges lacy and intricate and the water underneath doing its continuous patient thing. "You're leaving Sunday," Delia said. "Yes." "Back Thursday." "Thursday or Friday. Depending on how the packing goes." "How much is there?" She thought about the apartment. The careful, minimal life she'd built there. "Not much," she said. "I was never really settled. I think I knew that even when I was there. I bought furniture that was easy to leave." She paused. "I have books. And Fig. And some kitchen things my mother will want."

Raisel assumed she was the library attendant for this part of the library. “Excuse me, Ma’am” The lady looked up at her, her eyes lit up when she saw Raisel, “Fair one, how may I help you” “I just need directions to the section of the library where I can find anything that talks about the kingdom Deleria”, Raisel replied. “Oh I can help with you that”, she got out of her seat, and they both walked through the walkways in between the shelves, “The kingdom of Deleria is a human kingdom on the North East Coast, powerful and prosperous just like Islandians”