روايات وقصص ضمن Horror/thriller Books By Black Authors

“He’s clearly got you on drugs or something.” “That’s ridiculous. I’m completely sober.” “Are you, Camille? I should give you a test or something.” He checked out the other books. More vampire romance? Where were the werewolves? He saw none. “Wrong,” Dire grumbled. Don’t worry. We’ll get her proper books. Maddox browsed more of the vampire books and realized that they all had the same author. Grace Moon. That was an interesting name.

"They will not teach you mercy. I won’t either. But I will teach you love—because love is the thing they fear most. The pen shook only once. Then steadied. She wrote about silence, the language of killers. About the way empires rot from within long before they fall from without. She wrote about the weight of a name. Of survival. Of trust sold at gunpoint. Of brothers lost in smoke and sisters buried beneath blood. This wasn't a lullaby. This was war scripture. The second entry in The Book of Blood. And she meant every word. ~~~~~~~~~~ GHOST MOUTH — DAWN Lorenzo stood barefoot in the tide, shirt open, smoke curling from the end of a thin black cigarillo. Behind him, Roji and Inez oversaw the

Mafia books on this platform: Take me I'm yours ( stalker romance) His secret wife (Marriage of convience) Werewolf books on this platform: The royally screwed Luna The royally screwed queen The royally screwed princess The royally screwed rogue Dark romance on this platform: Let me go ( Stalker romance) Coming July 2024 Kind regards Tema G.M Your favorite author *Heart*

So you're a big Lovecraft fan? - Definitely. A thousand times more Cthulhu than any shining vampire. - She smiled. — I like some fantasy books. Writers like Laurell K. Hamilton and Patricia Briggs, who take ancient legends like vampires and werewolves and bring them to the contemporary world. There's this amazing author called SC Green who wrote these dark steampunk books set in dinosaur-infested Georgian London. My friend Derek referred me. He is always giving me new books to read. He's studying mythology, so he likes that sort of thing. — What is your favorite creature?

“And how is Magnus?” “He is as well as can be expected. Looking forward to seeing you. We will have dinner with him this evening.” I nodded as he led me inside to the great room. The interior did not disappoint. Everything was an open layout. The decor and lighting were moody with black and gold accents. Black was my best color, so naturally I was a fan. I looked around the kitchen that led into what seemed to be a common area. Walking down the halls, I noticed a library with a huge selection of books, and I imagined myself enjoying some quiet time there. As we continued to walk down the long halls, I noticed aside from the vampires that had accompanied us on our trip, I had yet to see anyon

Rotimi offered me the chair at the front of the desk, and I sat on it. "Thank you." My eyes wandered to the books on the desk, which belonged to the same author, Gerald Olsen. He was a popular author known for writing horror stories, which means my client was a horror lover. I hate anything related to horror. They make my skin crawl and I could have a heart attack if I watched anything related to horror. "Do what you need to do, Rotimi." The voice behind the desk sounded harsh and stern. It sounds like he was someone with a big problem.

I said, quickly changing the subject. "Yes, we do. Does anyone have a suggestion on where to start?" Braxton asked. I saw Thane hook his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the books on the desk. "I vote we do some reading." I nodded, then stood up and approached the desk. They all looked very old, but I was drawn to one book in particular. I picked up the black, heavily used book that was titled Demon Hierarchy. I then turned back around and sat back down. I felt as if I was in a trance as I opened the book. All the noises in the background all faded away. I was pulled into my thoughts as I scanned the pages. I blinked a couple of times and when I looked up from the book I saw an enormous

There, sitting upon it, was a black leather-bound book. The whisking sound out in the hall . . . the hem of a robe dragging across the floor . . . drew closer. Ignoring the sound, John approached he black book sitting on the writing desk he never used. He finally admitted to himself—though it made about as much sense as the toy spider being misplaced or Beth staring through him and turning the lights off—he’d seen the book all over his office. Jammed in with the horror anthologies, with the Star Wars novels, the Ramsey Campbell novels, and on the Stephen King shelf. Somehow, John knew if he turned away, he’d find it elsewhere.