Novel & Cerita Jonathan Harker's Journal

Romano didn’t answer, the name of the receiver had blurred, neither of us liked the possible explanation; they both knew something was coming. We couldn’t finish reading through the journal but we scanned through all the documents. Night fell quickly, we returned to the mansion carrying everything we’d found. The journal never left my hands, not once. By the time we reached the library, exhaustion had settled into my bones, but I didn’t want to stop, not now, not after finally finding some answers; Several hours later, Dante appeared carrying coffee. His eyes immediately landed on the mountain of documents covering the table then lingered on the journal.

Pearl untied the leather cord securing the reports and began reading. Maps. Scout observations. Travel routes. Nothing unusual. Then she found a folded page tucked between two reports. Her brow furrowed. This wasn't official documentation. The handwriting was rushed. Uneven. As though whoever wrote it had been in a hurry. Pearl unfolded the page and began reading. The journal belonged to one of the missing scouts. The first few entries described the journey. The ruins. The symbols. Nothing alarming. Then the final entry began. Pearl's expression slowly changed as she read.

“Calm down idiot. You know that the night belongs to me. Even though you tried everything to stop me from coming out in the day, you can’t stop me from coming out in the night. That will mean getting rid of me forever and that will only work on the full moon.” He could perceive the delicious scent of her blood and he closed his eyes as he could feel them burn....his veins were protruding and he swallowed. The finger he had on Harmony’s face now had a longer nail sticking out and the more her chest rise and fall due to her breathing, the more he could feel the movement of her blood.....this was too much.... He could feel the twitching in his mouth as the fangs in his two front teeth protruded

“Let her talk.” Harper kept her gaze on me. “When I saw you shift that night—” “You saw that?” My voice was barely a whisper. “I saw the tail end of it. And then I waited, thinking if I came to you, it’d spook you worse. So I backed off. But I started looking through my old notes. That journal? It belonged to my great-grandfather.” I turned and flipped through the aged pages again. Symbols etched in faded ink, names like The Crimson Fang, Lupus Aeternum, and rites I’d only heard about in hushed warnings from my parents. Things not meant for outsiders.

But where could they go with a prison and a hungry godling in their bag? “We need to understand what we’ve done,” Ronan said, moving from the door at last. He came near the journal but didn’t touch it. “The journal was a record, but now it’s a vessel that changes it and us.” As if by his words, the journal glowed. The silver scar on the cover pulsed softly with a rhythm, then a new image formed on the blank page across from the Gambit ritual. It wasn’t words; it was a map, a glowing picture of the forest, their cottage, a tiny dot in the middle, about a mile northeast, another dot pulsed with a faint, sick green light.

This room barely had any fresh air. He had to finish his business here as soon as possible. With quick steps and movements he began to dismantle the large cupboard in the room. The cupboard was filled with old books, most of them looking like journals. Hugo pulled out some of the journals and placed them on the table. The man flipped through the journal, looking for notes that mentioned the words “wolvire”, “red moon” and “Kliwon Friday”.

It was at this moment that he realized just how much in love he was with Amira that he couldn’t even dare to bear the thought that he was losing her or that he had lost her. He tried to think hard why or where Juniper and Amira would have disappeared but as soon as they stepped into the room, right on the table laid a worn out journal and Jonathan recognized the journal immediately. “It’s mother's,” he whispered as he slowly picked up the journal, his fingers tracing over it like it was a sacred object. “This is what she found” Serena whispered and Jonathan swallowed as he slowly opened the journal, flipping over the pages quietly. As he read colour drained out of his face and the chair he w

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND NINETEEN JONATHAN Point of View The air in the dimly lit study was thick with the scent of old leather and woodsmoke as I sat at my desk, staring at the crumpled note in my hand. "Damon requests your presence at the pack’s lodge. Urgent." The words were scrawled in a hasty, jagged script, and they gnawed at my curiosity like a persistent itch. Why would Damon, of all people, want to see me? We had never been close—Damon was a wildfire, unpredictable and fierce, while I preferred the steady rhythm of order and caution. Yet something in the summons tugged at me, a thread of intrigue I couldn’t ignore. After a moment’s hesitation, I folded the note and reached for my pho

Hugging it close to my chest, I tiptoed downstairs and made my way to the atrium. With the coolness of the night freely circulating the roofless lead glass enclosed room, it was a much more enjoyable experience. I immediately wished for a way to be able to sleep there, but I knew that was something that simply would not be allowed. Settling onto a nearby bench, I lit a small candle and positioned it on a miniature tea table next to the bench. I was pleased that, with the candle’s flame mixing with the brilliant moonlight, it was fairly easy to read my aunt’s journal without significant strain to my eyes. Skipping over a few pages that appeared to be a young woman’s lamenting over being mi

Bethan’s grey skin and limp limbs clouded my vision, and I watched in horror all over again as Torre lifted her lips to reveal stained fangs distended from her pale gums. I shook myself as I perched on the arm of the sofa, leaning across my Paps to see the cramped handwriting that had been squashed hurriedly onto the pages of my Dad’s journal. “When we found Bethan at the lake, I thought I recognised her name. I pushed it aside as coincidence, but look – I’ve written about her here. And look at the date.” He pointed to the top right corner, his mouth in a flat, grim line. “That’s almost thirty years ago. The description of her is the same – long hair, pale skin. A young girl, exactly as she