Eater Novel Novels & Stories

Licking her lips, she moves to settle herself down next to the tray of delicious food before picking up her fork and knife and moving to enjoy her breakfast in peaceful bliss. 45 minutes later and a belly full of food, it doesn’t take Isabella long before she begins to get bored of just sitting within her room. Her body itching for something to keep her mind busy, that she decides on reading one of her many books, a book known as Our Luna, Our Mate. A spicy romance novel dealing with wolves. Werewolves to be more precise before diving into their pages for company. “Mmm, that’s it baby, moan for us” whispers Eros, loving the way Athena reacted to their touch even when Ares moved to bite her b

"How many times do I have to watch you die? How many times do they have to bring you back as a monster?" "Rowan is a memory, Lyra," the man said. His voice was deep and smooth, but it didn't have the warmth I used to crave. "I am the First Eater. I am the evolution of the species. I am what happens when the wolf finally stops begging for scraps and starts eating the moon." He stepped over Isaac’s unconscious body, his boots clicking on the metal floor. He didn't look at me with love. He looked at me like I was a bug in his path. He reached out a hand toward Leo, his violet claws glowing.

I opened my eyes, looked down and—feeling very little surprise—saw The King Wears Yellow sitting open before me on the den table. I loosed a shuddering sigh. There it was. The book that, apparently, I couldn’t get rid of. Something tore free inside. With amazingly little fanfare, I reached out and pulled the book toward me . . . The phone in the kitchen rang. Its shrill alarm jerked me upright. A shock ran through me. My earlier feelings of revulsion about that book returned, shaking off the blissful numbness I’d felt only minutes before. Like a recovered alcoholic who had nearly fallen off the wagon, I jerked my hands away from the book, pushed my chair back from the table and lurched uprig

I glanced over and all three Walker brothers and the two girls started to make their way toward us. I sighed and faced her. “You are ridiculous.” She snorted at me. “Hey, if I can enjoy some eye candy, I’m going to.” I snorted back at her. I took another bite of the casserole that I was now obsessed with. I hadn’t had something like this ever. My meals were always planned out by personal chefs at home. And back in Seoul, everything was highly healthy. “Babe, I think whoever eats the food in this horrid establishment is utterly disgusting.” The girl who yelled at Cora yesterday said as they passed and eyed the food on our trays.

You can't have two mates or so. However, it was mentioned in the novel that the owner of my body, Evelyn, was born to another woman. However, I don't know if it was true or not since this novel consists of five hundred chapters which I immediately dropped. Anyway, the chapter that I read was filled with bullying, gore, bloody scenes, and lovey-dovey between the two protagonists. Yes, this novel is rated for eighteen and above.

The soul eater sits on the floor, covered in blood and something else that I don't recognize until I open the door further and step in. Looking down, I see a disemboweled baby torn to shreds. It's in so many pieces that I can't even tell for sure what it is, except for the baby bottle half buried in the blood and intestines. Suddenly, the smell hits me and I have to bend over as I lose my supper. Sandwich spraying everywhere, even on the soul eater. She looks up at me and smiles while holding an arm bone and then begins gnawing on it.

He looked at Elian — this man who had written his interior in a novel and read it back to him at a kitchen table on a Portuguese island, without drama, without ceremony, just as the accurate description of a thing. "One hand around his coffee cup," Dante said. "The other resting on the table." "Yes," Elian said. "Close but not touching," Dante said. "Yes," Elian said. Dante put his hand on the table. He moved it across the manuscript, across the three hundred and forty pages of the thing that had grown here — across the garden novel, the Bucharest novel, the Euler novel, the love story novel — and put it over Elian's hand. "Close," Dante said.

m. The dining room smelled of ginger, citrus, and sharp money. Mama Inez had cooked soft yam, red stew, and fresh eggs. The table was full. Everyone was loud—except the ghost. Eli sat near the end, silent, focused. He ate like he was born in a palace but raised on instinct. Every motion was precise. Every blink was measured. "So," Big T said loudly from across the table, pointing his fork, "we lettin' strays eat with us now?"