Exotic Books By Black Authors Novels & Stories

It is time. Yes, it is time. What she had been expecting had finally come. Why does Alessia want The Black Book? The legendary Black Book contains the past histories of each leader of the powerful Mafia families — The Dante's who were in charge of hard drugs, the Russo's who were in charge of assassinations, the Fernandez's who were in charge of illegal oil business and the Santini’s who were in charge of assassinations too. Only with the help of The Black Book would she be able to achieve her aim. Her goal is to utilize the secrets in the Black Book to protect her growing family and play the other mafia families dirty.

Others were modern thrillers and contemporary fiction, their glossy jackets still vibrant. But then she came to a section that felt...different. These books weren’t stacked like the others. They were nestled into the shelves like treasures, rich, cracked leather covers, some with gold foiling so worn it was barely legible. Her hand paused over one that read, The History of the Black Moon Pack. Her brows knit. “Pack?” she murmured under her breath, pulling it from the shelf.

My wolf and I trusted Justine to keep the truth remain hidden. "Hidden son?" He cleared his throat. "But why? Because he was not normal like us?" Undeniably, Justine had sharp and keen eyes. He immediately noticed something was off with Christopher. I nodded. "He had severe autism and bipolar disorder. They kept him from the pack because they were terrified that the pack humiliate, degrade, or worse, dethrone them from the pack. And they hired me to help him become the next alpha king."

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I tell him. Flavius nods in response and begins to pack his things. I fill my satchel with various clothing items and few books. "Why are you packing books?" Flavius asks curiously. "Since we are visiting another horde without sending a messenger ahead, I need to bring something that will serve as a gift. Those of the Horde of Fates are known knowledge seekers. I have many books in my private collection that have not been seen since The Fires. They should serve as a suitable present," I say.

Agbai said. "His lifestyle or morals has nothing to do with his economics," I said. "Okay, I agree with you on that one. Um... You said you read Nigerian books, which one have you guys read." "Chimamanda's Purple Hibiscus, Americana, a whole lot," I said. "But I like Wole Soyinka's A Dance In The Forest and..." I paused to think of the other book. "Things Fall Apart," Raymond added. "Yes, that's it. Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart." I said.

I asked Callum. "You'll see in a second, sugarplum." He replied with a smirk, kissing my cheek. We found the seating, and saw around thirty people sitting, many with the same book in their hands. They were chatting quietly, waiting for the author. I instantly recognized the book as A Black and White World by one of my favorite author's Zara Jones. My palms began to sweat as we sat down in the back. "Oh my God Callum, I could die right now." I whispered in excitement.

For now, she didn't even want to wonder what would happen if aunt Margareth finds out about her feelings. Selene stretched first, then slowly dragged herself off the bed, her eyes immediately fixed on the Book of Magic that was lying down on the desk, the one she had gotten from aunt Meredith yesterday. Selene took it gently in her hands and sat on the edge of the bed, setting the bulky volume on her lap, and flipped through the book several times. Afer the fourth time she stopped at a page that showed a portrait of a man with ebony, half-length hair, in a long black coat... The face itself seemed familiar at once, but when Selene saw his eyes - dark and captivating like two black holes, she

Dannie picked up another joint from her room and went to the library. Among the ancient books was one of the largest collections of werewolf history in the world. If there was anything on Balric or the black book it was there. She gathered a variety of titles that looked promising and lit the joint. Taking a hit, Dannie opened the first book. Inside was mostly what she already knew.

“Oh, it's just booking.” I’m not listening to her, though. My blood is thundering in excitement. “These are—How did these—” I can’t even form a coherent sentence, just staring at the hardcover books. They are a fictional detective series by a foreign author who doesn’t sell his novels outside his country. I’ve only managed to read his books online, from no legitimate sources. I never dreamed I could ever own actual copies of his work, including his new releases. “Are you crying?!” Jazz looks horrified.