Im Cold Book Novels & Stories

I feel so tired. I watch the ice crawl slowly towards my leg like delicate spider webs but I don’t have the energy to move a muscle, not even when the ice starts working its way over me. I know it’s gotten bad when I start to feel warm. I read a book once titled ‘The Cold Death’ and it was about people that were condemned to die in ice. They always felt warm right before they died and I wonder if that’s what’s happening to me now, my body offering me one last comfort before it gives up on me completely. My lashes flutter closed and as ice flakes appear on them, my last thought is that Alpha Kael was wrong. My wolf is either very broken or she doesn’t give a damn about my death.

"No solar gain." Cale made a writing motion. Elion grabbed the notebook from the floor. He handed it to Cale. Cale’s hand was shaking so badly he could barely hold the pen. He wrote two words. Hypothermia. Imminent. Elion stared at the jagged letters. "We need heat," Elion said. "I can... I can burn books. In the sink." Cale looked at the stack of books. He looked at Elion. He tapped his chest.

The cold did not care about etiquette. It came in from the north the way it always did in autumn, finding every gap in my coat and every patch of exposed skin. My breath fogged in front of me. My fingers were numb around the spine of the book. Pilar did not seem to notice the cold. She stood in the middle of my mother's garden with the book open in her hands and the expression of a woman who had found her calling entirely too late in life. "Again," she said.

Each time he wrote to her, she dreamed of the day that they would see each other again. It was a warm summer day when Ayla sat on the bench in her garden. A new book was in her hands. She loved reading while the sun kissed her skin. In Myrthana, it was always warm. Rhobart had told her that in Nordmar, it was always winter. She couldn’t imagine how someone could live in a place that was always cold. Ayla opened her book in the middle, where she had hidden the last parchment Rhobart sent her. Her mother had given it to her earlier, and she had already read it a few times.

I sobbed but snuggling impossibly closer to Danelle ,wanting to feel that warmth I felt when I was in her arms But only now, I couldn't feel any warmth..In fact now realizing it ,Danelle's body was was so cold ..And slightly pulling back to look at her ,she looked so pale and her lips were a faint blue..I was confused.. "You so cold and you look so pale ,are you sick?" I said worriedly placing the back of my hand on her forehead..She was ice cold "Oh lord, we should go home now so I that I can make you something warm"

Then the sky opened up. Rain poured down suddenly, heavy and cold, soaking me in seconds. The streetlights blurred through the downpour, turning everything gloomy and gray. Perfect. Just perfect. My new pixie hair stuck to my forehead in wet strands, the rain turning it into a messy frame around my face. My crop top clung to my body like a second skin, soaked through and leaving nothing to the imagination. My jeans felt heavy with water, sticking uncomfortably to my legs. I stood under the building's overhang, shivering, arms wrapped around myself as the downpour hammered the pavement.

𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐭 My body was hot. It felt like someone had lit a fire inside me and forgotten to put it out. Every breath came out warmer than the last, every inch of my body too sensitive and too aware, like my own skin had turned into something foreign overnight. Even the cool air brushing against my face did nothing to ease it. Everything felt wrong. My limbs were heavy, my hands slow to respond whenever I tried moving them, like the signal from my brain took the scenic route getting there. Even lifting my head took more effort than it should have, and the moment I did, my vision spins hard enough to make my stomach churn.

Kimberly P. O. V Bucket of cold water splashed on my face ,waking me up from my sleep. I took a few gasping breaths. Shivers ran down my body. I just wanted to curl my body into a ball to gain some heat. The dungeon was as cold as ice. The stone cold walls were not helping the situation either.They only thing that kept me warm was the rogue on the stone bed in this prison.

I was disappearing, ounce by ounce, and part of me found it fascinating. The cold had become a living thing inside me, coiled at the base of my spine, radiating outward. I shivered constantly, even when the cellar wasn’t particularly cold. The chill had sunk deep, colonizing my marrow, turning my bones to ice. The cold wasn’t just in my bones now—it was in my voice, my thoughts, the way I calculated Clarksdale’s weaknesses with frostbite precision. It was the kind of cold that made you wonder if you’d ever be warm again.

My voice is low and cold. ************* Note: Don't forget to like, comment and share the book! This really helps it grow on the platform