Im Cold Book Novels & Stories

As long as the rain stays off until I can go home then this is just a waiting game. I illuminate my phone and groan when I realise it only has four percent battery and my torch will nuke that in minutes, heaving another sigh at what is typical of my fucking life. I still yank my book out anyway, in case I can see it enough until it brightens up, even though it immediately starts curling with the dampness saturating the air. I’m getting cold from my clothes slowly absorbing it and my cheeks are flushing with impending fever. My body was never good when it got damp and cold and I know by the time I head back I am probably going to be a lot sicker than this.

Like autonomy is a commodity. The Axis hums, uneasy. I exhale slowly. “Send word to the Accord,” I say. “All councils. Immediately.” The man nods, rushing out. I stand alone in the chamber, anger quiet and contained, like fire banked under stone. Book Three was about proving consent could survive power. Book Four is going to be about proving consent can survive comfort. And that is a harsher war. Enemy POV: Clarion performs beautifully. They do not need direct orders. They do not need puppeteering. They need only a tool, a field that reduces friction, and language that makes control feel responsible.

The wind hummed softly, touching the trees and making them sway to its caress. The smell of the gutter, spoilt fruits, ice fish and more all mixed together in the air. All around, people were busy. The wheel barrow pusher shouted at people to clear as he approached with cartons of indomie stacked on his wheel barrow. A man selling boxers made from bedsheets was walking around calling for customers. A woman shouting, ' upstairs and downstairs!' was walking around waving pants and bras in the air.

she mumbled, taking half-steps to approach the man and ensure what was happening with Richie. Sharlynn tilted her head, observing his face. Suddenly, she smiled as she moved each inch of his face. She smirked when still moving every inch of his face. Curved eyelashes with thick eyebrows that almost merged with the curvature indicated the man's deep sleep. "You're handsome, but unfortunately, like the icebergs in the North and South Poles..." Sharlynn paused her sentence to take in as much oxygen as possible. "I can't stand your temperature; it's too cold. Polar bear!"

His blue eyes were contracted for a while, till he looked down at her, and they dilated as he released a small breath of relief, nuzzling his face on hers "No, no. You keep me warm. You always keep me warm" He didn't stop anyway. Just kept nuzzling all over like a damn dog. "Tell me" His head was now resting so comfortably (which made her redden like fireworks were exploding in her cheeks!) On her breasts as he said "How do you people have clothes when you all seem to avoid human contacts as much as possible?" His hand had found themselves under her sweater, the cold fingers, which did not make any sense because he was a wolf and he was supposed to be always warm....

"I missed you, B." "I missed you too, Les. Does this mean I'm forgiven?" Betty asked with hopeful eyes. "Eh, maybe..." Leslie replied, and they both giggled. "Alright, Mrs. Blackwood," Betty stated with a wink, earning an amused groan from Leslie. "Tell me all about life lately with Mr. Iceberg." Leslie barked out a laugh. "Iceberg, really B?" Betty shrugged innocently. "What? Isn't he an iceberg?" Leslie giggled this time. "Well, I guess he is, but the iceberg seems to have been melting these days." Leslie said with a loud yawn. It was the 5th yawn since the call started.

If she had not forgotten to turn off the gas after making that late-night soup for Jeff, our daughter would not have succumbed to the silent killer that was carbon monoxide. If that guy had not blocked the ambulance, if we had not lost precious time, my daughter might still be alive. She believed I was just being petty, making a cruel joke at the expense of our daughter's life. I was in a fog as I handled my daughter's final arrangements. When I got back home with her ashes, the place was a mess. Lacy bras, panties, skirts, jeans: they were scattered from the living room all the way to our bedroom door. From inside, I could hear sickening sounds.

Chapter 84: The Old Sawmill Luca and Ethan crawled from the icy creek bed, slick with black mud that clung to every fibre of their clothing. The cold had been brutal, searing their lungs, but the sludge offered a brief shield against Maxwell’s thermal sensors. Ethan’s ribs throbbed with each laboured breath, yet the cold had muted the pain just enough for him to move. Their bodies shook violently, teeth chattering, limbs trembling as if their muscles themselves had forgotten how to obey.

He reached into his backpack with a conspiratorial grin and pressed a freezing cold, condensation-covered can into my hands. "For you! Ice-cold sparkling water. Found it hidden in the back of the freezer downstairs." He winked. "Drink up. It will help with the heat." In a 140-degree wasteland, a cold soda was worth more than gold. "This is too generous. Thank you." "Don't mention it, Eliza." Just as I was about to pop the tab, a violent, terrifying chill shot up my spine, making the hairs on my arms stand up. I whipped my head around.

Primo explained. “Can I come up? It’s rather cold out here.” He asked and rubbed his arms for emphasis. What a weak little bitch if he thinks this is cold. This is nice weather. Cold is when it’s -40℉, and even that, I wouldn’t bitch about it being cold. If he wanted cold, he could know the cold of death when I ripped him to pieces. With a growl, Gunnar and I rushed out and tackled the jackass who dared ask to be invited into our mate’s room.