Fevered Book Novels & Stories

he snapped the book shut, dust puffing off the spine–“I’m surprised you even talk.” Rowan crossed his arms. “What, just cause I'm not Erwin?” Rowan muttered. Floyd snorted, “Yeah, dude never shuts up” he slid the book back into place. “What book are you even looking for?” Floyd ignored the question, dropped into a chair, and fanned the pages of another book like a deck of cards. “You should be at the feast. I’m not here to chat.” Rowan raised a brow. “Could say the same for you.”

KELLY The room had grown colder, though Nevaeh burned like a star in my arms. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her skin slick with sweat. I pressed a damp cloth to her forehead, but it was useless. The fever wasn’t ordinary. It pulsed beneath her skin like something alive. “Stay with me, baby,” I whispered, brushing her hair from her face. “Please.” Her little hand clutched at my wrist, too weak to hold on.

"Jane... wait. I think the trauma of the fall has triggered a sudden, severe fever. My chest feels unnaturally warm." Jane rolled her eyes so hard she almost saw her past lives. "You do not have a fever, William. Your temperature is literally 98.6 degrees—I checked it ten minutes ago!" "It's an emotional fever," William insisted solemnly, his plush lower lip popping out into a devastating pout. "It can only be cured by your presence." "Goodnight, Mr. Reynold," Jane laughed, shaking her head as she grabbed her handbag.

I frowned, adjusting my grip and pressing a hand against the baby’s forehead. "Why is your body so hot?" I whispered, my heart beginning to race. A fever. I looked down at the child, noticing the slight redness in the baby’s face, the weak little movements. Something was wrong. "Damn it," I muttered under my breath. I needed to find Joanna. She would know what to do. Maybe she had some medicine or knew a way to bring the fever down. Holding the baby close, I walked through the dimly lit hallway toward Eva’s room, my footsteps quick but careful. The house felt eerily quiet, every little sound making my nerves tighten.

Isaiah urged. “cannot guarantee," Miranda exclaimed. Isaiah couldn't say anything. He pressed his brows together, but he had no choice other than to compromise and try to explain in a euphemistic tone, "Actually, it's an old problem. It has happened now and then after Brian's accident A high fever is a Symptom. However unlike a common fever, high fever does not go away, and there is no method to lessen his fever no matter what the situation is." "How could this happen?” Miranda wondered with her face flushed with fear, "I don't get it"

Arnold owns varieties because the shelf sheltered all sorts of books, whether it was on politics, war, or fiction. After rummaging through the rows, she finally selected one and settled under the warmth of the covers. A sheen of sweat collected on her forehead and she felt her temperature rising. The bout of fever was attacking her again. She hoped it won’t last long and invested herself in reading the thick book. She was halfway through the seventh chapter of this romance-fantasy when was startled by a loud knock on the door. “Hello? Is anyone home?”

The kind of cry that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She was out of bed before she was fully awake, crossing to the cradle in the darkness. Ayla's face was flushed, her skin hot to the touch, her body rigid with distress. Even in the dim light from the dying fire, Elara could see that something was wrong. She lifted the baby, cradled her against her chest, and felt the heat radiating from her small body. A fever. A high one, climbing fast. Caleb was beside her, his hand on her shoulder, his voice calm despite the hour. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Adrian looked extraordinarily handsome when he smiled. It made him seem less human and more divine. God. What am I even thinking? I really am suffering from a fever. He placed the book back on the couch and started unpacking the bags. Containers of food. Fruit. Bottled water. Fresh juice. Fever-reducing patches. He had thought of everything. He opened the box of fever patches and took one out. Then, without warning, he leaned toward me. The fresh fragrance of his perfume filled my lungs.

“But leave some of Daddy’s cum inside you. I want you walking around all day feeling exactly who you belong to.” I shivered with fresh arousal. “Yes, Daddy.”

Really hurts. “You okay?” Damien's hand stays lightly on my shoulder, steadying me. I manage a tiny nod. He doesn't look convinced. Instead, he immediately looks at the doctor. The doctor comes forward and takes my temperature, my heart rate, lights up my eyes, and ultimately puts down his instruments. “Don't worry,” he assures me, “she has something called a psychogenic fever.” Three blank faces confront him. He smiles knowingly. “A fever caused by stress. On occasions where an individual is under prolonged stress or anxiety, the body's response is to increase its temperature through the brain.”