Romans & histoires Eragon Book

Anatoli asked. Without turning to them, Orcenal grabbed something from his bag. He showed it to them, making them squint in displeasure. It was a book. Orcenal found it inside Harriet’s room this morning. The book was the prophecy from the other world, and the title was... [The Crown’s Diamond]. Anatoli and Ayja immediately stood back up and approached him. When they were about to reach and observe the book, Orcenal threw it to the raging fireplace.

Prologue II: Pyre, 3113 Pyre Av 5, 3113 Stephan Caliphus, King Everything was on fire the night he finished the book in the back room of a borrowed house. He laid his glasses down on the desk in front of him and rubbed his tired eyes. The crackling of flames could be heard as the city burned all around them. The blood curdling screams of the men in the streets where they died was enough to make the blood of the fiercest warrior run cold, but he was a man of empathy and it hurt him more than it did the others.

Dude was very sadistic once it came to his business. “So, I leave New Orleans to become a better person because of the treaty.” Eric began. “Never in a million years, did I ever think it would be broken by a fucking hybrid Greyson and my fucking daughter. Please, can somebody explain that shit to me?” The room was silent again. When nobody answered his fucking question, Eric snapped his fingers. Both of the men he brought with them came over to us and pointed their guns at us. We already knew that the bullets he carried were no ordinary bullets. They were meant to kill us wolves.

“Magnus…” “It is in the annals, my king. We don’t expect Gamma Eric to understand our traditions as he… well, we all know what he was before you turned him.” Elder Marcus fetched a hefty book from the shelf behind me and banged it onto the table in front of me. He opened it to a specific page and tapped his gnarled finger on a paragraph. “Read it, if you please.”

Seraphina’s scent led him upstairs—through the corridor—straight to her room. He kicked the door open. Gently, reverently, he laid her down on the bed. Her hair fanned across the pillows. Her body glowed faintly. Her power still pulsing beneath her skin. “She’s burning with magic,” one of his Betas murmured. “She released it all at once,” Darian muttered, brushing hair away from her forehead. “Her body wasn’t ready.” Behind him, Kaelion and a few others barged in. “What the hell is going on?” Kaelion barked. “You can’t just—”

Shaking my head, I held out my hand for Grace and helped her get up. “Thank you,” I nodded. “I’m sorry but I can’t come. And if you want to fuck, you can choose from my friends to have their cocks fill in your cunt. I don’t fuck twice.” Then I walked away to go to my car. I massaged my forehead then stalked Erica again. I noticed that all of her pictures characterized her as a prim and proper lady, her clothes were perfectly fit on her body, it was so good, alluring, and addicting but not to the point that you will lust over her.

Her hair dangled, but was too drained to even move a finger. "Give me the book," Olga demanded. Her voice echoed, like a strong wind going with a storm. Mherkealla smirked. "I swear to protect this book with my life, Olga. If I die, I'll take it with me," Mherkealla said, hoarsely. Her consciousness was slowly fading. Another drop of blood. Olga traced Mherkealla's being and a sly smile formed from her lips. She found the bravery an obtuse act. If only Mherkealla could understand better, things wouldn't have come to this.

"It is Draven. He is fine." A pause. "Of course he is," Darius said quietly. The librarian spent the next ten minutes carefully examining the fallen shelf, the scattered books, and the damaged railing. Kael helped stack the books into neat piles. Several of them had fallen open to random pages, and as he collected them, one caught his eye. He picked it up. The title on the open page read: On The Nature of Probability Manipulation in Pre-Civilization Eryndor. Kael read the first paragraph.

More, and more. End of Book 1

By the time he got to the topmost floor, he was totally exhausted and was dripping with sweat like someone who had just had a shower. Without bothering to observe the the storey meant to home him for the next an hour, professor Ericson pulled his bag behind him and walked to the last room, and knocked on the door. A second later, the door flung open showing a student with a lot of tattoos. He had managed to smuggle them into the school. It wasn't Wilkes Milton. Definitely not.