Devour Book Novels & Stories

"We have to use oil on the book covers to keep them from falling apart." "Oil. Right," Devon said. He walked over to a shelf and pulled out a small book with a blue cover. He held it out to me. "Here. This is a Southern poem. I found it in a box last year. Since you're so far from home, maybe you'd like to read a bit of it for me? It’s been ages since I’ve heard a Southern accent." I stared at the book. My hands started to sweat. If I read out loud for too long, my voice would crack. I would lose the high pitch.

The words settled over the group like falling snow. Ava stepped closer. "What does that mean?" The old woman looked upward. Toward the widening fracture. Toward the thing descending from beyond it. Then she whispered: "It found us." A chill swept through the avenue. The duplicate Thomas closed his eyes. As though he already knew the answer. As though he had always known. "The Devourer," he said quietly. The old woman nodded. "The eater of abandoned futures." The title alone made Thomas uneasy. The Third Crown pulsed.

And I made sure not to stutter. I exhaled deeply. “So, please, if you don’t want that, leave me alone and spare yourself the shame. But if you really want that, it’s up to you.” I turned my back to her and came back for my salad. I could see from my peripheral vision that people had already noticed the tension-filled conversation we were having, but I ignored all of it and just ate. I looked around the table, wanting to eat something heavier than these grasses. Most of the food is gone after the long night. I want a burger or pizza!

I stumbled to my knees, breath harsh, vision flickering. The goddess seethed through me, disapproval sharp. Do not let him provoke you. Control strengthens the seal. Emotion weakens it. “He’s trying to get inside my head,” I hissed under my breath. Then shut your mind and listen. “To you?” To survival. A roar tore across the clearing as the Devourer reformed faster this time, its shape more solid, more defined. Its arm extended, shadows condensing into jagged spikes. I ducked and just barely, as they shot past, embedding into the earth. The ground quaked violently as the darkness seeped outward, corrupting everything it touched. Trees withered. Leaves curled into ash.

I slam my door shut and finally release a breath. I read through Isabella’s file again, going through her weak points, her strengths and everything possible to know about her. I have read through it a million times but every time I still find myself going back to it like it's muscle memory. I sip my drink, reading Leonardo’s file too, trying to understand what letters he was talking about but nothing aside from the fact that he is a sexual predator making me bite back my anger.

“The storm… it’s not natural. It’s *alive*.” The static in me bristles. “What do you mean?” “It’s hunting,” she says, her voice trembling. “For the Seed.” The Hunter materializes, his form flickering. ***The Apostle wasn’t the only one who escaped the Silence. There are others… older things.*** “And they want the Seed?” ***They want what it’s eaten.*** --- **The Devourer** The storm reaches the crystalline forest by nightfall. It doesn’t rage—it *consumes*. Trees shatter into shards of light, their songs silenced mid-note. The Forgotten who try to fight it are erased, their mutations unraveling into nothingness.

It seems to always end up the same way– leaving me empty and craving things I don't want… if that makes any sense. Heaven knows that forget being the last thing on my mind, falling for a man that oozes damning sensuality like a pheromone– the kind that seems to know how to call the risqué in me out to the surface without effort– is not there at all. If my previous relationship taught me anything, it’s that I am not designed for love. I can't seem to tell the wolves apart from the sheep, letting my stupid emotions push me into making terrible life choices, a case in point being what happened with Emiliano. The animal practically dumped me in a forced prostitution ring posing as an exclusive s

“How did you get this?” Kiara narrowed her eyes, “it was among the pile of books that Gwen delivered to me, and she said they were from you.” Devon sighed loudly and pinched the spot between his brows; this particular one wasn’t meant to be delivered, at least not yet. Turning his back on her, he opened his bedside drawer, tucked the book in there and locked it in. “Read the other ones, that one is not for you, yet.” “Is that meant to be a joke?”

“Barely.” We stayed like that for a minute—two broken Leightons trying to hold each other together—before I finally stood. “Are you hungry?” He blinked at me, surprised. “Starving.” “Then come on.” I grabbed my jacket. “You’re not surviving on motel peanuts tonight.” The fast-food joint down the street was mostly empty, its floor glistening under fluorescent lights. The smell of grease and stale fries filled the air. Liam devoured his burger like it was the best meal he’d ever had, talking with his mouth full as he told me everything.