Far North Book Novels & Stories

“Now, listen to your princess.” “Yes, Indigo,” I called smugly. “Listen to your princess.” “But it’s—my God.” He picked up a piece of fruit and gaped at it as he climbed aboard. “Are these grumpackers? They grow in Far Shore, too? I thought only Donnelly grew grumpackers.” “Or maybe High Cliff’s the only oddity that doesn’t harvest them,” Farrow countered before telling me, “We’re in, my lady. Go!” “Hee-yah,” I yelled, snapping the reins with all I had.

Hrodgar’s smile was beatific. Kemp and Kenward walked through the city and towards the industrial side of town where the loud metal smiths and smelly tanners worked. They found one of the larger blacksmiths that had been recommended to them and owned by a man called Farsh. He was not the Master Smith but well respected. Farsh wore a thick leather apron covered in burn spots. A tunic of the same thick leather covered his torso and left his huge arms bare. His arms were enormous, as with most men in that trade, and the arms were also covered in thick, matted hair, much like those of some type of large apes seen in travelling side shows.

Various theories have the library being built there by aliens, by a civilization ten thousand years old, or by a race of vampires. Caitlin let the book fall from her lap, her mouth open in shock, and it landed with a thump on the floor. She sat straight up, feeling a jolt. She suddenly felt wide awake, as if she had just lost all sense of time and place. She picked the book up again, her throat dry, and read the words again and again, desperately, like a castaway starving for water.

This is it. Stepping further inside, my fingers traced the spines of books as I scanned the titles, searching for anything related to priestesses. After a few minutes, I found a section labeled Sacred Lineages and pulled out the first book that caught my eye. I was just about to settle into one of the chairs when the door creaked open. I turned, expecting maybe Brandon or Alpha Rhett—because, apparently, he had a habit of appearing whenever I least expected it—but instead, it was Ares.

“You were born with something inside you. A flame that was dormant—sleeping. But it didn’t come from me. I only… woke it up.” Her breath caught. “You’re saying I’ve always had this?” she whispered. “The visions? The fire?” “In a way, yes. It was buried deep. Most people never awaken it. You would’ve lived your whole life never knowing—if it weren’t for what’s coming.” Evelynn’s skin prickled. “What is coming?” He walked slowly to a shelf, pulled down a tattered journal, and handed it to her. Inside were sketches. Of creatures. Of symbols. Of her.

Crap, this is all I need. His eyes narrowed but he didn’t say a word and i remember his question “Charlotte, but I prefer Charlie” “Then Charlie it is, I am Alexander and I shall see you later” “Well Charlie, that was weird” I often find talking to myself helpful. When I reached down to grab another book out my bag, a bag of apple slices had appeared, a note was stuck to the front ‘thought you would enjoy these, A’

Aron wasn't just going to walk away from her that easily. A/N: Hey thank you for reading Book One and journeying with me. This is the End of Book One. Update: Book Two is up. F******k: taniashava I*******m: tanz.v

he waved dismissively at her, wishing the barista would hurry up and get his coffees to him and sincerely regretting ordering his PA one since it was delaying his return to the office. “Narnurs,” the woman shoved the book in his face, “the latest release from Perris Brooks. You’re Narnurs, right? You are on the cover of the book?” Realization hit him almost as soon as the dread did when he took the book from her hand and looked at the cover. His fingers clenched tight around the hard binding.

Christmas was the reading of the book. This Christmas, Don's book was a novel—Norwegian, which was not a coincidence, a novel by the same writer whose essays were in the Norway reading programme. The novel was called The Dark Year, and it was about a man who spent a winter alone in a cabin in the far north of Norway, experiencing the full darkness for the first time. Don had been saving it since September, when he had finished the essays. He had placed it on the shelf above his desk, the designated holding place for the Christmas book, and had not opened it once.

Farrah was a bit annoyed. *** Dear Readers, I am down to my last few exciting chapters so please hold tight and together, we finish the finale of the story. Words could not describe how happy I am to all who patiently read and support my first book. With all your support, it inspires me to keep going and write more stories. From the bottom of my heart, thank you very much! Love Lots, Lady Aston