Laced Book Novels & Stories

Hey beautiful people, Just a warning. This book is an erotica, which means 18+, so if you are uncomfortable with sex and adult stuff, please don’t read my books. But if you are a nymphomaniac like me, go ahead ;) Also guys, for the better understanding of the stories, I’d also like to give you the order in which the books should be read: 1)Nathaniel Lachlan 2)Aaron Riverwood 3)Landon Chambers 4)Danika Williams

I opened it and found myself entering a smaller version of the library downstairs. There was no swirling staircase going up, up, up, rather walls full of books, some of which were only accessible via the sliding ladder off to the side. With my stomach full and heart heavy, I waltzed over to one of the shelves and scanned them, intending to pick a book at random. One in particular drew my eye. The cover was made of dark leather, embossed with a swirling gold font that was a bit hard to read. Tendrils of flame, interwoven with threads of shadow, danced up the spine and around the back.

I moved my flashlight to where I saw a row of old armor lined up against the wall, there were some rusty swords and shields that I couldn't help but think that these shields had been here way before the Lycan King had even been born, there must have been used for a battle a hundred years ago or even more. There was a large desk in the corner with an antique-looking lamp on top, the bulb seemed to be lit but not on, there were strange-looking books, some with leather covers, others paper, some old, some brand new with pages that fell open and wrinkled under my fingers. There were even some books with gold writing on the cover but none of them looked like they were readable, I picked up the ne

He mindlinked him, and he nodded, sniffing. "What the fuck is going on here?" A familiar voice asked behind them, making Hashmuk let go of Rasmore. The person standing behind them was the person he was crying for, thinking he had left him. It was Kelvin, with a pile of magic books in his hands. He and his friends smelled like they were coming from the sewer.

Rows of leather bound histories, the kind of books that were bought for the look of them as much as the reading of them, uniform spines in deep greens and burgundies. Except one was slightly different. I almost missed it. The color was close enough to its neighbors that it took a second look to notice the spine was a half shade off, the leather slightly newer, the gold lettering crisper than the books on either side of it. I pulled it forward. It was heavier than it should have been. “Lucas,” I said. He crossed the room. I opened the cover. It was not a book. The pages had been hollowed out, glued together into a solid block with a cavity cut into the center, and sitting in that cavity was a

The Guild favors places like this when it wants to remember something and forget it at the same time. I sweep the room. Corners. Ceiling. Floor. Then I move to the wall panel. It’s slightly misaligned. I pry it loose. Inside is a thin, worn book. The leather is softened with use. No markings. Just a name pressed into the cover. Lucien. The response is immediate. A sharp pressure low in my chest. Gone almost as quickly as it comes. My fingers tighten around the spine. Heat rises to my throat. My breath falters once.

Even with Uneece's sadness, she looked mesmerizing: straight out of the painting. Nonetheless, Shiera continued to admire and stayed silent by the door. Meanwhile, Alexander rushed to his private library rummaging in his drawers, searching for the book that his deceased great- great grandmother left him. He was indeed mentally disturbed. The book he was looking for was about Lycan's soulmates. He knew their culture better than anyone but the words Uneece spoke of had him perplexed. His big fingers skimmed word-for-word. He needed to check twice.

Books that whisper if you listen too closely. I smile faintly. “Alright,” I murmur. “Show me what you’re hiding.” Because if Lena is the Moon Goddess’s choice… Someone will try to remove her. Quietly. Cleanly. And I won’t let them. I walk between the shelves, running my fingers along the spines, feeling the weight of centuries in the bindings. Each book carries a story, a warning, a trap. I pause at one in particular. The leather is cracked, the edges frayed. I feel the pulse of magic under my fingers. It hums in recognition, like it knows I’ve come prepared.