Franklin Library Leather Bound Books Novels & Stories

The Stormfang library was cavernous, more cathedral than study. High stone arches loomed overhead, their ribbed columns disappearing into shadow. Dust swam lazily in the shafts of light that filtered down through narrow windows, turning the air into something ancient and sacred. The shelves stretched high as towers, filled with leather-bound tomes whose spines gleamed faintly in candlelight. They smelled of parchment, dust, and secrets. Wolves had centuries of blood and memory recorded here—wars waged and won, treaties brokered, betrayals etched into ink.

Zion responded, and we got to work. We began picking out books. It was really hard finding anything that wasn't purely fiction, even in the space allocated to just historical books. We eventually found all three books as needed. I went through all the necessary procedures to borrow them from the library. I made a promise to Franklin to save him, and that's exactly what I'd do. “If it isn't Seth, the unwanted bastard!” Lincoln, Thane's best friend, called. There was a very high pitched mockery that came with how he called my name.

Opening the doors of the library she met Janeka and Freya, they glanced at her. “Where did you get that book from?” Freya asked, her gaze meeting the unfamiliar book she was holding in her hands. The book had a thick black leather cover with a golden seal on its top. Earnestine tightened her grip on it when she noticed footsteps approaching. She turned and met Sabrina walking in. “The car is good as new.” She told them, but soon she noticed the awkward look on their faces, walking closer to Janeka, Sabrina glared at Earnestine urging her to speak up.

It was the only one she ever gave to me. It was a small, cream-coloured hardback book called Tropical Birds by Clive Roots . It was an ex-library book, the official stamp of Hackney Central Library just inside the front cover and a SOLD stamp underneath it in faded red. A clearly unloved book from the very few date stamps on the borrowing record, it had been sold for just twenty pence, whether to Claire or to someone else who then gifted it to her, I never knew. All I knew is that I loved it for two reasons.

The shifting thud of something heavy being pulled from where it had long been kept. When the librarian came back, she was carrying a book. No. Not a book in the ordinary sense. Something older. Larger. Thick enough that both her hands supported it carefully from beneath. Dust clung to the edges. The cover was dark leather, cracked by time, with faint markings pressed into it so deeply they had outlived colour. It looked heavy in more than one way. Preserved. Hidden. Waiting.

she murmured, tilting her head. Drawn by fascination, she found the rolling ladder attached to the bookshelf and climbed carefully. Her fingers trailed over several thick volumes—Blood Oaths and Moonlight, Fangs of Fire, The Treaty of Shadows. The illustrations on the covers were beautiful yet chilling, with fanged creatures, glowing eyes, and moons stained crimson. With great care, she pulled down four books and descended, arms full. She found the oversized reading chair near the window and curled into it, flipping open the first book.

Our pictures had been featured in the arts section of the local paper the next morning. I'd stayed with Dan, and he'd gone out to get two physical copies, the online version wasn't good enough. I sat in his kitchen drinking coffee in his shirt that was far too big for me when he'd come back. It was cute. I watched as he got out the scissors, cut out his favorite shot, and then pulled two simple black frames from the Wal-Mart bag at his feet.

He just grins and munches on his bread. Smiling, I unwrap it carefully. It’s actually two books, housed in a red slipcase. The books are bound in what I think is red Morocco leather. The spines have raised bands and are lettered in gilt. One isAlice’s Adventures in Wonderland, the other isThrough the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There. Both the copies bear a dedication: ‘Margaret Evelyn Hardy from the Author, Christmas 1871.’ One of them contains a piece of paper that explains their origin.

Carmen shoots him a sharp look, but he continues, "Follow me if you please." Giving one last look to Carmen, Maya follows. The library is a vast room two floors down, filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and the musty smell of old leather. Morris leads her to a section near the back, where several leather-bound albums rest on a shelf. Morris pulls out a particularly ornate album, it's leather binding cracked with age. He places it on a nearby reading table with the careful reverence of someone handling precious artifacts. The golden light from the antique desk lamp catches the dust motes dancing in the air as he opens it.

“That is really thoughtful of you, Luna, and I would be happy to help. You can make yourself comfortable, and I will fetch the books. Any particular preference?” Ariel looked around the library; the walls and aisle were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and there were soft velvet sofas arranged in the corner for reading. “Not really, just books about 7–10 years ago about pack history. Bring as many as you can find; the more, the merrier, right?” Ariel gave him a sweet smile that she knew people could barely resist and that the man was practically melting beside her. “Of course, Luna, anything for you.” Aaron went deeper into the heart of the library, and Ariel took to looking around.