روايات وقصص ضمن New York Times Bestseller List Fantasy

In another, I held a small, glowing orb in my hands, its light pulsing in rhythm with my own accelerated heartbeat. The most potent images were of battles—clashes of steel, roars of beasts, and the chilling screams of pain. I saw Lycans fighting alongside humans, an unlikely alliance forged in the fires of war. There was blood, so much blood, staining the ground and splattering against stone walls. And through it all, a sense of immense power, both terrifying and exhilarating, pulsed within me, emanating from the glowing parchment. The visions intensified, becoming more vivid, more insistent. I saw a moon, swollen and blood-red, hanging ominously in a sky torn by lightning. Below it, two opp

Although she always told herself that and ended up either forgetting or postponing it. Other than the AC problem, Chloe's place was nice. It was a fabulous flat—a one-bedroom apartment with a great kitchen and real hardwood floors. Reluctant to leave—both the apartment and the bed—Chloe moaned and stretched. The erotic novel she had been reading before she slept off the previous night was still on the bed next to her, open to page one-twenty-three. She trailed her finger over the page, then closed her eyes, remembering the way the delicious, decadent words had played over her body, with a little help from her fingers, of course....while thinking about Timothy. She stretched like a cat, tempt

I had always the bold one, fucking what needed to be fucked to get by, and truthfully, I hadn't had any fun in a while. Till the day I saw Professor Alex walk through that door with the Dean, I knew I found my target. While everyone else saw Professor Alexander Kane as the untouchable, married literature god, I saw a man starving for something real. Tall, mid-thirties, with sharp jawline, dark tousled hair that fell over his forehead when he got passionate, and a voice that wrapped around filthy poetry like silk.

Yet another fantasy Prologue Legora, the largest capital city in the world. Once one of nine, now there are four. We had lost five cities in the great calamity. Creatures from god knows where poured in from a tear in the earth. A dimensional tear in space and time the men of science called it, but really who the fuck knows? All I know is they were bigger, stronger, looked nothing like us and they outnumbered us hundred to one.

"There's also an eighty year old guy in Vermont who can tweak people's unconscious actions a bit. He uses it to get girls to bend over in front of him, or sit with their legs open so he can see their panties. He's in a wheelchair, practically immobile; it's the only way he gets any thrills at all. You, on the other hand, took over my mind, forced me to do something I didn't want to do, and even made me enjoy it." "I'm sorry, I..." "Shut up!" she snapped. "The point is, no one with your experience can do what you did. The last time this kind of thing was possible was back in the Dark Ages." "Huh?" "Back then people used to believe in magic more. They would believe that sorcerers could control

Between dealing with an asshole all day and holding my breath when I go home, hoping my landlord doesn’t come over to demand the rent balance, this is the only time I feel any semblance of peace. The fact that my boss is the subject of my imagination is troublesome, but if I don’t scribble inappropriate fantasies, I will end up drawing cartoon pictures of him dying all sorts of horrible deaths. I hate to wish ill on anyone, even my worst enemies. I’m in the middle of writing what would happen if I accidentally dropped a pen in his office and bent down to pick it when I hear footsteps. Rhys stops in front of my desk just as I use a folder to conceal my notebook. “We need to talk.”

I could feel his presence at my back—tall, warm, the faint rustle of his cassock as he moved closer. I kept reading, line after line about denying the body, about offering suffering to God, about the dangers of self-indulgence. My voice shook on the parts about “touching oneself in secret” and “fantasies that defile the soul.” By the time I reached the end of the first page I was breathing faster, nipples tight against my dress, the ache between my legs worse than it had been all day. Father Chris stepped around the table so I could see him. He leaned down, one hand resting on the open book, the other hanging loose at his side. His eyes locked on mine.

Emma said, walking deep into the living room. "Thanks." She walked to a set of shelves on the far side of the room, running her fingers over the spines of his books. A lot of them were classics, novels by Dickens, Voltaire, Dumas, Melville, and Hemingway. She smiled when her fingers ran over the spine of not one, but three copies of Mitchell's Gone with the Wind. There were modern novels, too, including Stephen King and Sidney Sheldon, but they didn't look as well read as some of the others.

nHis mother’s eyes met his, “Your father left this with me the night before he disappeared.” Corey stared at the box, what is inside? She held it tightly. “Something he wanted you to have when the time was right.” Corey’s pulse quickened. His mother slowly extended it toward him and for the first time that evening, the warmth of the family dinner disappeared. Because Corey suddenly realized something. Morgan hadn’t simply disappeared, he had left pieces of himself behind, pieces that were still waiting to be found.

Emma was in her home office working on the outline for her fourth novel when Jake burst through the door with his laptop open and an expression of pure joy on his face. "Emma, you need to see this right now," Jake said, setting his laptop on her desk and pointing to the screen. Emma looked at the webpage Jake was showing her and felt her breath catch. The New York Times Bestseller List for the current week showed "Courage in Love" at number three on the paperback fiction list, with a small star indicating it was a new entry.