Im Cold Book Novels & Stories

At least it would fill her up and cool her off. She closed the fridge and pressed the cool can to her forehead, closing her eyes and leaning against the stove. Who would have guessed she’d find heaven in an ice-cold aluminum can? Especially when she’d already found it in the hot, sultry prose of the nineteenth-century book. Slowly, she trailed the can down over her nose, her chin, down her neck to her cleavage. It felt wonderful, and she was just so damn hot.

_Barely_ _Just finished a book_ The three dots appear instantly. He was waiting. _Which one_ Elma looks at the paperback on her bed. The spine is cracked wrong from how fast she read it. _The God of Small Things_. She bought it last week because the cover was blue and she was tired of grey. _The one I bought last week_ _Took me one day_ Another pause. Longer this time. Then: _That is a record for you_ _You used to read one chapter a month_

A book suddenly appeared on ivory’s hand it looked old but it was surprisingly in good shape. ‘What is this?’ ivory asked curiously. ‘It’s a technique book’. Ivory eyes lit up and she opened it, on its first page the title was written it was called Ice fist. The book contained images and writings. It involved enveloping your hands with ice such that, the ice looked like gloves. It had the ability to freeze and shatter anything punched and it could even harm those who were just a phase higher than the user. Ivory quickly sat down and immersed herself in the book. Anita finally lifted her head and smiled when she saw ivory reading. Anita suddenly looked up in worry but she wasn’t looking at wh

Only for a figure to suddenly step into my path, halting me cold. "What do you think you are doing?" a firm voice snapped. I froze. Who the hell is this? My blood ran cold as the fluorescent lights above flickered, casting jagged shadows across the narrow hallway. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, and I could feel my pulse racing in my throat. * * *

Alicia's POV The automatic doors whooshed open and I stepped through before I could talk myself out of it. Warmth rolled over me first, tangible as the floor beneath my feet. Then the layered smell, fresh espresso slicing through vanilla and the musty sweetness of old paper. The kind of smell that usually made bookstores feel safe. Today it made my stomach clench. The space opened up in front of me. Three stories of books and glass and exposed metal beams. Escalators cycling in the center. People everywhere: browsing shelves, sitting in corners with coffee, talking in low murmurs that wove a constant thrum through the background.