Historical Fiction Mystery Novels Novels & Stories

The Alpha has it. The first book had left its readers including me in a cliffhanger. I had always wanted to know what happened next on the journey of the main character. Actually it was not really about the world’s history, but it is just about the character travelling to different places in different times, discovering treasures, witnessing wars, anything that happened significantly on the year he had travelled on. And though it is a fictional story, it still has a touch of true world history in it, depending on where the character went and what time.

Just the way she liked it. Coughing as dust blew into her face, she took another leather-bound book off the shelf. Only a year had passed since the murder that had condemned her people when the novel was written in 1625. The stamped date on the spine, worn smooth by time and innumerable hands, was traced by her fingers. How many of those hands had belonged to others who shared her quest for the truth? Documents littered the table in front of her, a meticulous mess she had created. She took pictures of documents she wasn't legally allowed to view, copied pages, and transcribed notes.

] _______Author's Note________ Hi Readers, How have you been? Do you like the progress of the story? Can you guess who is the magnolia killer? Check out my other novel that is here on goodnovel.com The Villainous Emperor is My Pet? This novel is a lot different from this novel. It belongs to multiple genres: supernatural, paranormal, romance, mystery with mature content.

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.

She felt a connection to history as she did, and it made her feel alive. She also couldn’t help feeling, every time she picked up a book, that it held a riddle, some mystery to be solved—and that thrilled her. For some reason, she had always felt that there was a mystery lingering in her consciousness, something she needed to solve. She didn’t know what. It didn’t make sense, and that bothered her. When she worked on a rare book, at least she could solve clues she couldn’t put her fingers on in real life.

Not knowing what to do within the four walls, sitting under the tutelage of two friends, she spent time reading books. The library is large and caters for every taste, from historical novels to mysticism, 20th century literature and Sherlock Holmes antiquarian collections, the first as far back as 1902. But no matter how much I liked to dive into the worlds of the authors, I was haunted by a thick layer of dust on the shelves and books. I decided to do something useful and clean these treasures from years of dirt.

My heart is, and always will be yours. Jane Austen. While Sarah was looking at books with Finn, Annie wandered around looking at the new releases. There were a few historical novels that looked interesting but then she spotted one that really caught her eye. She wandered over to the very busy display, it was much busier here than anywhere else in the store. Picking up a copy of the book she flipped it over to read the blurb on the back. She was surprised to see it was a book about the Templars when she was jostled from all sides as shoppers grabbed a copy for themselves. Frowning, Annie moved away from the crowd and flicked through the book, it seemed the book depicted the Templars as humans

be. “What are you reading?” I asked, my gaze drifting to the book she’d set aside. She glanced at it, her fingers brushing over the cover before she answered. “It’s just a novel about a historical figure, nothing too exciting.” I leaned in a bit, intrigued despite myself. “You like history?” She chuckled softly. “I suppose I do. It’s just that... I find it fascinating how much we can learn from the past. There are so many lessons hidden in the stories of those who came before us.”

It was according to the book, if I haven't forgotten. "What time is it?" I asked. "You're asking strange things again, My lady," she answered. I slapped my forehead for being stupid. That's right. There is no clock in this novel. Time wasn't introduced and wasn't created. I don't know why, maybe the author forgot? Most of historical novels have time, actually. But here, nothing. I don't even know what sign they have on whether it's morning, noon, afternoon, or night. At least morning until evening are part of their vocabulary.

I sat beside her, and she immediately stretched her legs back out, her feet landing in my lap. "What are you reading?" She held up the book without looking away from the page. "A mystery novel. A detective in Victorian London." I caught sight of the cover. A woman in a low-cut dress leaned against a man in a top hat, their faces inches apart in the fog. The Scarlet Letter Murders. I grabbed the book from her hands. "Hey!" She sat up, reaching for it. I flipped through a few pages. My eyes landed on a passage. His mouth found the hollow of her throat as his fingers worked the laces of her corset…