Leather Bound Dracula Book Novels & Stories

That was all, but I had been wary of the knowing smile he had given me for a split second. "Yes." I muttered, waiting for him to leave before I opened the book. "That would be all." He bowed, leaving the room. The librarian wasn't an old man with a face covered in grey hairs. He was young, older than I was, but younger than the stereotype and definitely weirder. I scanned the book and realised the order of druids contained spells translated to English. These were too useful to be locked away and forgotten inside this dark, cold room. The book listed the spells numbered in ascending order. A few of them had symbols next to them and a how-to-use description attached to it.

The book I was currently opening was larger than the rest, bound in black leather that had cracked and split over time. I flipped through the pages only to freeze when a heading popped out at me. History of the Dark Bond.

Only the sound of dripping water echoed through the temple. She glanced around. The walls were covered with runes ancient, jagged, almost alive. Some pulsed faintly when she looked at them too long. At the center of the room stood a black altar made of obsidian, carved in the shape of wings. Something about it made her chest tighten. Kael noticed her staring. "That altar once held the seal of the first Bloodbound." Her head snapped toward him. "You said those were legends." "They're not," he said. "This is where she died."

"Making them the softest lycan... and also the most heartless if triggered wrong." The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling over us. I stared at him, my mind racing. "That's not possible." "It is," Draven said firmly. He stood abruptly, striding toward the adjoining room. Elara looked at me, her expression filled with confusion and fear. "What's he talking about?" "I don't know," I admitted, though the pieces were starting to fall into place in my mind. Draven returned moments later, carrying a massive, leather-bound book. The cover was worn, the pages yellowed with age.

I sat on small wooden stool that was present inside, since Draco was not back yet , I decided to go though my bag, I pulled out all four books that was written by my grandmother on Dark Creatures, Spells, poison and lastly DRAGONS, each of this book included all detail information on spell, method, about ghost, warewolf, sorceress , way to tackle them and many more things, tree books included every detail on other supernatural things while one entire book was dedicated to Dragon. Out of curiosity, I picked up dragon book and started reading from beginning, I only finished two page when I felt someone’s presence behind me, I rapidly turned but found no one right. ‘THUD… THUD….’ two wooden pla

My breath caught as I fingered a book with black binding, the name Samoht faded on the spine. I kept searching, the books clearly in no alphabetical order. Tysen. Laurel. Prith. Mandrag. Names in the history of werewolf medicine that had changed–and saved–so many lives. My heart skipped. My finger fell onto a dark green book, the faintest “I” outlined on its spine. The next held an even more faint “II.” And beyond that, a “IV.” I couldn’t breathe, my lungs suddenly filled with centuries of dust and the weight of repressed knowledge. I coughed, trying to stifle my surprise; my shock; my satisfaction.

It’s as if the entire house is holding its breath, waiting for us to discover whatever darkness lies hidden in the shadows. I press the pads of my fingertips against the double doors leading to the dining room, and the smell intensifies tenfold. Klaus hisses in disgust and swallows down a throatful of bile. Drops of blood fall against the glossy, mahogany table. Every drip, drop, drip smells the same. Bitter, stagnant fear. Above it, a man hangs by his feet from the chandelier. Still and lifeless. His eyes are wide, protruding from his skull like a fly squeezed to its limit. His hands are bound tightly to his sides, and a note is strung around his neck like a macabre bow of death.

Walking up and standing next to him, Sebestian just watched as Damon opened the heavy book and started flipping through the pages. "I was looking for something to explain what happened to you, I started back when Fred was trying to lift the spell and" he dragged the last word as he kept on skimming through "I found this instead" he said as he stopped on a page and then tapped his finger against it. The book looked old based on how it was bound, but it looked even older once he saw the inside. The pages weren't paper but instead looked like handwoven fabric or leather that now looked yellow and worn, the writing was clearly some thick mud-like paint that had turned green over time.

Maybe I didn't want to. He reached for the tatty brown leather satchel he'd brought with him from the Vaults and tugged it towards him, pulling it onto his lap. There was a strange wistful look in his eyes as he ran his hand over the bag, finding the small hairline cracks in the leather and tracing them with his fingertips. With a sigh, he unbuckled both the straps and opened it, reaching in carefully to retrieve what looked like a hand-bound book, crammed with pages that seemed to be made from different kinds of paper and not all cut to the same size. Some pages were thicker with battered edges, some so thin they could have been made from spiderwebs. Ethan laid his palm on top of the book a

Claire reminded him. They all knew the tale of Dracula that dated back to where their pure blood originated , he had been a normal prince then , a normal prince that loved everything black magic , a normal prince that loved his people so much that he made a pact with the devil to save them from war, a pact he had to pay for with his humanity , a pact that made him the demon prince and heir to pure vampirism. Melvin knew he made no pact with any devil or sort , he just came across another entity in the other dimension that left him with a prophecy and left him with a print on his back.