Heat And Light Book Novels & Stories

"There’s nothing wrong with it. It just faces north. It’s too cold. I want a south-facing room. It doesn’t matter if it’s smaller." I really was cold. The brain tumor had thrown off my body’s ability to regulate temperature. It felt like I was trapped in a freezer all the time. Only sunlight gave me even a hint of warmth. "Cold? Then turn on the A/C." Mom looked at me like I was being unreasonable. "The south-facing room is your Uncle Jonathan’s study. The other one is a storage room." "Then I’ll take the storage room." Her eyes widened. "Are you insane? You’re turning down a perfectly good guest room to live in a storage closet? Are you trying to make your Uncle Jonathan think I’m abusing y

The afternoon was the kind that September produced when it was being generous — the warmth that remained once the heat had moderated, the specific quality of light that came through the east windows in the afternoon at the angle Adrian had told him about in the first week, the light he had never been home to see before. He was home to see it now. They were on the sofa. The books were open. The lamp was not yet needed — the afternoon light was sufficient — but it was on anyway, the warm circle of it adding to the quality of the room rather than replacing anything. This was the configuration. The one that needed nothing and provided everything. The inhabited silence and the books and the warmt

💦Shared Ride, Shared Heat💦 “Fuck, it’s hot tonight.” I fanned myself with my hand as I climbed into the back seat of the Uber Pool, the Miami night air thick and sticky even at 11:45 PM. My tight black mini dress clung to my curves, the hem riding high on my thighs from the movement. I had been out dancing with friends, but they’d paired off with guys at the club, leaving me to head back to my hotel alone.

“You are mine in the light and in the dark. Let me show you.” He kissed my neck. His lips left warm trails. I arched back and ran my fingers through his messy dark hair. The old couch creaked under us. His hands explored my body slow at first. Then faster, I helped him with his shirt. Our clothes fell to the dusty floor one by one. “Touch me, Liam,” I breathed. “I want to feel alive.” His fingers found me wet and ready. I moaned loud. The sound echoed in the empty hotel. He rubbed me in circles. Pleasure built quick. I moved against his hand. “Yes, like that,” I said. “Do not stop.”

Her posture was fierce, drawn to portray the much aura she carried. Lucious's breath settled at the nape of my neck. "Not in a good way, courtesy of Emrys." It did make sense to me why Lucious was the most affected when it came to matters involving Emrys. "And I am sure she would want you to have this." Lucious held a book in his hand. I took it with a frown. "Record of Blood and Conversion." I read the title. I blinked up at him. "What's this?" "I wrote it." Of course, he was a writer too. "Shortly after her death. If you wish to end us, I believe you must know us first."

Together. Years went by like the pages of a cherished book, chapters full of laughter, transformation, and quiet happiness. Lily and Vandaulf's shaky first love had gained roots, deep and unyielding. Their home—once a grand mansion prodded by sorrow—was now a nest of giggles, bedtime stories, and the little pitter-patter of Elara's feet racing down the hallways.

Out of nowhere, his hand cracked across my face. "Claire, remember who you're dealing with. I'm the Alpha of this pack! "You're nothing but an Omega. Without me, you're nothing!" I could not help but laugh, staring right back at him. His face was beet red, eyes burning holes into me. "Leaving me is going to hurt your wolf, you know that, right?" His kindness was always just for show. It was a good thing I was ready for that. I pulled away from him, slow but sure, and told him straight.

In addition, she had filled the basket with plenty of tasty drinks that tasted like fruit juice. It was everything one could possibly want if they were going to lie on a blanket in the beautiful summer sun and read a book about elven history. I lay down on my stomach, placing the book in front of me. It was large and heavy. Just for fun, I flipped to the back—there were no fewer than four hundred and forty-nine pages in the book. And that was only volume one! I wondered how many volumes there were in total. I opened the big book and could smell the traces of time in it. All I hoped for was that it wouldn’t be too dry to read.

"No solar gain." Cale made a writing motion. Elion grabbed the notebook from the floor. He handed it to Cale. Cale’s hand was shaking so badly he could barely hold the pen. He wrote two words. Hypothermia. Imminent. Elion stared at the jagged letters. "We need heat," Elion said. "I can... I can burn books. In the sink." Cale looked at the stack of books. He looked at Elion. He tapped his chest.

The shield closed, and we were left to wait outside. An hour passed. Then two. In the third hour, the circle began to flicker with an unnatural light, a color that didn't belong in a proper healing ritual. Martha gripped my arm nervously. "That light… something's wrong." Elder Thomas's face grew grim. "She's using the wrong herbal combination. If this continues, it will—" His words were cut off by a guttural, animalistic scream. The sound was completely inhuman, filled with pain, despair, and… an unspeakable horror.