Mistletoe Books Novels & Stories

But nothing seemed to match the symbol on my door. Frustrated, I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples. There had to be something here, some clue that I was missing. I glanced at the stack of books beside me, my eyes landing on one that looked older and more worn than the others. Its leather cover was cracked and faded, the title barely legible: *The Mysteries of Silverwood.* I pulled the book closer and opened it carefully. The pages were brittle, the text handwritten in an elegant script. As I flipped through the pages, a passage caught my eye:

I can’t explain it, but I don’t have to, either, if I don’t bring it up, and I’m not one to ever start conversations. I sniff the paperback—old, musty paper, glue, and Justus—and set it on the pallet. The next book in the pile, Peter Kropotkin’s The Conquest of Bread, has a picture of two men chopping down a tree on the cover. It smells the same. All the books are dog-eared paperbacks with yellowed pages—Walden by Henry David Thoreau, Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler, Critique of Practical Reason by Immanuel Kant, several each by Ursula K. Le Guin and N. K. Jemison, and a massive hardback of Plato’s collected works. The Plato is the only one that looks like it hasn’t been read a hundre

Even Kaya, my wolf stirs violently inside me, sensing the threat. Derek, is the first to snap out of the confusion. "What do you mean mistletoe?" Derek demands, stepping forward, protective instincts already flaring. Cyre doesn't look away from me. That look - like I know something. That I could do something. "It's a Hallucinogenic. And also a poison. To wolves," she says quietly. "Used to weaken the mind and body of wolves when inhaled in high concentration...." Derek cut her off. "I know what a mistletoe does. What I want to know is how is it got in the air?"

~VITTORIA ~ His office was large, spacious, organized and extremely neat. There was his fairly large wooden table at a far distance facing the door where he was sitting now. There was a shelf in a corner with a few books, a little golden vase flower on it as well, and some paperwork neatly arranged. There were two paintings beside each other on the wall, one was an abstract brush of charcoal and brown that looked like a man's portrait while the other was a minimalist one that I couldn't put together what it actually meant.

Cela remains disappointed. "C'mon. It's not like they bought everything. They just thought of giving the books as Christmas presents apart from the corporate giveaways. You must know that your mother enjoyed your first book so much. Too bad that she passed before the second one is out," Nanny Rita continued. "You've always been loyal to her," Cela said.

Just muttered, “Feel free to browse.” I nodded and wandered. The silence was thick. Peaceful. I ran my fingers along the spines—mysteries, war history, sci-fi. None of it felt right. I turned a corner and found myself in a crooked, narrow aisle. A handwritten label above the shelf read: “Folklores, Myths & Things Best Left Alone.” Something about it made me shiver. I reached out and picked a worn, black-spined book: “The Blood and Bond of the Wild.”

This is it. Stepping further inside, my fingers traced the spines of books as I scanned the titles, searching for anything related to priestesses. After a few minutes, I found a section labeled Sacred Lineages and pulled out the first book that caught my eye. I was just about to settle into one of the chairs when the door creaked open. I turned, expecting maybe Brandon or Alpha Rhett—because, apparently, he had a habit of appearing whenever I least expected it—but instead, it was Ares.

Men, women, and even the children, who should have been safely asleep in their beds, were here, united by a common cause – to free our village from King Crowell’s oppressive rule. We worked swiftly, the moonlight providing a faint glow to guide our hands. The children’s laughter and the hushed whispers of the adults filled the air as they brought bundles of mistletoe leaves to me. There was a sense of determination in their eyes, a belief that this humble plant could be the key to our liberation. As they handed me the mistletoe, I thanked each of them with a whispered word of encouragement. They were risking their safety to be here, to contribute to our cause, and I couldn’t help but feel a

’ ‘In no particular order, I assume,’ determined Wolf, put on his glasses and flipped through the gray book. Now and then he mumbled something, then flipped through or back. ‘The mistletoe,’ he said then. 'The what?' ‘The mistletoe from the sacred oak, from a six thousand-year-old oak, we need that.’ Raven looked at his brother in surprise for a moment. ‘Book nerd,’ he explained, ‘just give me a moment and I'll have a look in our mother's room.’ Raven looked briefly at Maddie, who was trapped in the twilight world.

(I just discovered that these two do not have a ship name, geez! So, as I was saying, BTV is practically ending and I have a new book ready for you guys, some of you may have already been aware. It's titled Underneath The Mistletoe and it's a Christmas special novella actually, but because I was unable to have it published in time for the Yuletide and New Year celebrations and I have no wish to toss it aside, I have decided to publish it either way because as it is, I have started to grow attached to our lead characters. Right now, the book will be drafted on Goodnovel, but unfortunately, until it's signed, you guys won't be able to read it so, I'll try my very best to get it signed ASAP.