Ironhand Book Novels & Stories

The book said. I placed my trembling hand on the glowing pages of the Book of Shadows and a searing pain shot through my fingers like a bolt of lightning. It was as if my hand had been engulfed in flames, the intensity of the sensation causing me to cry out in agony. "Ahhhh!" I yelped, my voice echoing through the cottage as I tried to jerk my hand away from the book's surface. But to my horror, the pain only intensified, as though invisible chains were holding me in place, trapping me in a vortex of excruciating torment.

River's fingers danced across the spines, devouring titles that whispered promises of resilience and courage. "The Blind Voyager", "The Lame Warrior's Triumph", "Against All Odds", and "Unlikely Heroes" each resonated deeply, but one title in particular caught her eye: "The Story of Alero, Blind Healer". With gentle reverence, River pulled out the slim volume, its cover adorned with intricate, raised patterns that evoked the delicate petals of a flower. The book did not come out alone, it came with another document: a large parchment like the one in her dream!

Kneeling down in front of me he narrowed his eyes once more as he held up the palm of his free hand, “Do you know what iron does to those of you’re kind?” Gulping hard I shook my head before looking at it once more. I noticed a symbol scarred into his hand, it must have been burnt into him. He held up the iron symbol and I realized it was the same symbol, “Give me your hand,” He said sternly. Gulping again I frowned as I instinctively pulled my hand against my chest,

“Yes sir!” the men replied. Once more, Zephyr laid his eyes on the books, his gaze rested on one of them. The book was covered in a layer of dust and was made of bamboo. It looked unique. “Thunderfoot?” Zephyr muttered as he opened the book, reading its contents. A wave of excitement washed over him. He excitedly flipped through the pages, carefully memorizing the technique’s intricate steps.

I stumbled toward Rohan, my legs feeling like lead. "Rohan," I whispered, falling to my knees beside him. His head was hanging low, blood dripping from his wounds onto the silver chains. I reached out, my fingers glowing with a soft, healing light, and touched the metal. It hummed and fell away, the silver no longer able to resist the heat of my magic. As the chain hit the dirt, Rohan’s eyes snapped open. They weren't blue anymore. They were blinding gold. Before I could breathe, he lunged. He didn't attack me; he dragged me into his chest, his hands locking around my waist. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his breath hot and ragged against my skin.

My gaze landed on some of the worn, leather bindings on the shelves. I walked towards them before I could stop myself, letting my hands trace the spine before I pulled out one. Green, old, frayed. The name written on the first page after the cover made my blood run cold. My breath left in a rush. Henry Stark, written in fine handwriting. The same handwriting I’d recognize even in my sleep. I failed to stop my hand from shaking. Why in the seven hells is this book here? How did Lloyd gain access to this? More importantly, why didn’t he tell me?

Kaelen Thorne The hand that reached out from the rift didn't look like a hand. It was a fluid, shifting geometry of silver, like mercury caught in a dream. It didn't belong to a man, but to the Idea of Ownership. I felt my heart hammering against my ribs, not with fear, but with the instinctive biological rejection of something that shouldn't exist. I stepped in front of Elara and the children, my hand gripping my knife, though I knew steel would be as useless as a prayer against a hurricane.

I was late morning when Tristan entered the room pulling my head of the book, I looked at him in slight amazement. “We have the conference call in twenty minutes.” He greeted stepping into the room as I looked up. “What?” He asked and I held up the book. “Tristan, this book.” I stated not really knowing how to explain it. “It’s a novel, just a story that I found in the library, but it’s based on a family of werewolves, the two daughters, twins, were born with a special gift, they could produce fire and ice.” I uttered and watched as his brows rose. “They later became joint alphas of the their pack. Do you think this could be the story of the alpha twins that we were looking for?”

He raised his arms and she saw the thick black shackles on his wrist and ankles. "Let me free you!" Rie ran towards him. "No. Don't touch the chains. I may be here but only in spirit. My physical self is trapped somewhere in the deep recesses of hell. Only a druid can help connect me from my body. Here, open your hands." Doing so, she watched as he placed some white feathers on her palms. "Spread this on his wound and it will help extract the poison. He should be well in a few minutes. Go now."

"Kelda would like you to have this. It is very old, a history of our people. We hope it will help." Liv didn't move for several breaths, but finally stepped forward and took the book from Brodi's outstretched hand, careful not to touch him. The book itself tingled in her fingers and she almost dropped it in surprise. The book clutched tightly to her chest, she stepped back. "We are here…I am here for whatever you need," Brodi told her, holding his arms out to his sides. Liv bit her lip as she regarded him – like some kind of Viking warrior presenting himself to her as tribute. Her insides quivered, but she refused to submit to this insane pull she felt for him. It's not real. Just get out of