I Am What I Am Book Novels & Stories

***ABOUT THE BOOK*** The Elf King & I is a romance/humor/fantasy fiction set in the fictional world called Aldous (+ a few more) and the real world, USA. The relationships of the characters are: - BxB for main couples. - BxG for others. This story is bound to have some silly events to depict comedy scenes for a good-time laugh. Nevertheless, though the story may start light-themed at first, it is recommended to brace yourself for a heavy plot in the future.

Chibuzor Victor Obih was born in the southern part of Nigeria. He was born in Warri, Delta State to be precise. His writings includes novels, poetry and short stories. During his free time, he likes to play soccer, read, study and above all, write. He is currently a fourth year student of a renowned public university in Nigeria (University of Port-Harcourt) where he is pursuing a bachelor's degree in Mechanical Engineering. I Am Also A Werewolf is his fourth book and his first attempt to write a beautiful novella. It talks about the wonderful story of a female werewolf who supports her human friend during his crisis with his ex-wife's parents concerning the death of his wife. It features lov

I had to keep you safe. I had a massive frown. This woman might actually be on drugs. ‘Our kind? Why wouldn’t I be alive?’ I wanted to see where her story went. I smell bullshit from miles away. ‘You feel no pain. You heal fast and sometimes you have been having dreams so real, you feel like believing in them.’

Anna scolded. "I wished they did; at least, they would have banned me from going out with that jerk, Leo." She blurted. Miss. Anna moved closer to her, sitting beside her on the bed, she continued; "I understand how you feel, but you don't need to endanger your life to be free. What if you had injured yourself while staggering into your room?" "No Miss. Anna! You don't understand what I'm going through; isn't it better that I get injured, and even die in the act? What am I living for? I have lost everything; I'm left with nothing." She said, sniffing between words.

the trainer wishes me. "Thank you, and the same to you!" I leave the room. At this very moment, I find myself in the library. I'm studying an old book about alphas, betas, and omegas to find out what's in me or, rather, what's missing. Why haven't I transformed yet? What's wrong with me? Why do people hate me so much? Could I be paying for something I did in the past but can't remember? Distracted, while looking at the book, I am surprised by someone talking.

I refused to let my despair consume me any longer; I was ready to face whatever may come with unwavering strength. Standing tall amidst the darkness of the cell, I spoke with a voice filled with conviction, declaring, "I am Alpha and Omega, and there is no difference between us." My words rang out with resounding clarity, silencing the mocking chants of my fellow inmates and commanding their attention. As I continued to speak, the truth poured forth from me like a river breaking through its banks. I exposed the injustices of the system, highlighting how it favored the superior clans while leaving the omegas to languish in the shadows. I narrated how the lower clans did all the work and paid

To my all lovely readers: My name is Reedsy and this is my very first werewolf book. Considering it is my first, I might not get some stuff right but this is a fictional book and is solely based on my imagination. I hope you can all overlook any minor mistakes and focus on the main essence of the story. This is the story of Elodie and Eros. Hope right in, let me take you on a journey through my imagination. Oh and one more thing,

And as she closed her eyes briefly, leaning into the warmth of human connection, she whispered softly—not as a mantra, not as a shield, but as a statement of survival: “I am here. I am real. I am still me.”

The days that followed the burning of her book were a desolate landscape for Amara. She moved through the lavish rooms like a ghost, her spirit heavy with the weight of her captivity and the crushing revelations from her mother’s journal. The dry toast and bitter coffee became her constant companions, a physical manifestation of Dante’s psychological warfare. He was systematically dismantling her, chipping away at her identity, seeking to sculpt her into something new, something that would fit his twisted narrative of revenge and redemption.

My hand had brushed past his waist and touched something cold, hard metal. I gave a bitter smile in my heart. Good thing he hadn't put that thing to my head before asking the question. I answered with my final shred of strength, "I don't regret it." After that, memory was a white blur. This was the second time I'd seen him, and the first time I had truly looked at him. He was handsome, with a high bridge to his nose and sharply defined contours, like a masterpiece. Could a person like this really be a killer and a pervert?