Novel Cover Novels & Stories

Artemisia had briefly forgotten that that day wasn't normal, she's starting to realize, and think, that maybe she's not the one who's going crazy. The girl approached the shelves and Helga's voice danced again in her mind. "The navy blue cover book will tell you a story, I can't tell you which one, only the book is entitled to that." Artemisia didn't understand, but soon found the book near the second door. It was a heavy book, but not as thick as expected. It had a glow reminiscent of sunbeams touching the greenish water of a river or lake. It also had nymphs drawn on the cover and side of the leaves.

Hold Me Close (A Heron’s Landing Novella) Published by Blue Violet Press LLC Seattle, Washington Copyright © 2016, 2017, 2020 by Iris Morland Cover design by Qamber Designs All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Published 2020. First edition published 2016 under the title Let It Snow. Second edition published 2017 as Adore Me Ardently (A Heron’s Landing Christmas Novella). Third edition 2020.

I know very well that I'll think of Calix's firm chest 'Stop thinking about it Lalaine! It won't be worth your time!' I said to myself inwardly as I scratch my whole head. Anyway, I put back that book on the book shelf but as I was putting it in bettween of books, a black book fell off from the shelf. And so, I picked it up but strangely, it has no title nor any cover deaugbs at all so i frowned. Normally, authors focuses on their book's cover to attract more readers regardless of whether they are an academic book or a novel.

Most of the covers were just black with huge fonts on the front covers in a language l didn't understand. I screwed up my nose as l looked further down in to the shelves. As l took a thin book from the last shelf , l noticed the difference in it from all the books. While most of the books had grey and yellow pages and we're in fragile condition , this book was a paperback with white pages untouched. It looked brand new and in English.

The book was everywhere. Stacked in gleaming piles at the entrance, hugged in the arms of every single one of the guests, its cover a masterpiece of affective branding: a softly blurred, casual photograph of a young Davidson, his back to us, walking away from the lens into a vortex of white-hot light. The cover screamed in bold, spartan typeface: BETRAYED BY THE PROTÉGÉ. And below, the killer subtitle: A Wife's Story of Faith, Family, and a Fortune Stolen.

I can’t believe what I'm seeing right now. "Fuck, it's already released?" I asked in disbelief. I could not stop my hands from taking a copy of my book. The cover of this book is very familiar to me, it was me and Zie but our faces are cut, Zie's naked body is the only thing I love about the cover as if he's compelling you to grab the book and buy it. "Yes, it was distributed the other day at different national bookstores," Zie informs me. I stared at my book again, it's really beautiful, the cover was hardbound so it seemed like it was just like the international books that were released.

It was not all, the cover was the eyes of werewolves. My brows furrowed in keen interest as well as something I can't name settling within me. Without thinking further, my hand took out the book and the front cover showed the face of werewolves with its eyes glowing in a golden hue. I brushed my fingers on the cover, mesmerized by the image. It was delicately printed and made.

Suddenly, his ears turned a deep shade of red, and he quickly looked away, clearing his throat. Perplexed, I frowned. “What is it?” He handed the book back to me without meeting my gaze. “Nothing. Just... interesting choice.” Confused, I looked down at the book in my hands. My eyes widened in horror as I took in the image: a shirtless man with rippling muscles, a woman draped over him, their lips locked passionately. The bold title on the cover read: “Desire’s Embrace.” Instantly, I felt my face turn beet red. I’d purchased… a smut novel.

The cover of the book read, “Arthur Zimmerman, Game 71. I found the second shelf on the case and scanned for my next book. Book thirteen had a cover of deep purple. I frowned at the woman looking up at me, scanning over her tangled fiery curls, the cinnamon freckles across her nose, and the way her emerald eyes seemed to twinkle at me from the cover. Her hair and eyes were the only familiar thing about her. My face was a bit rounder than hers, and definitely held a bit more baby fat. Her cheekbones were high and her lips full, conventionally beautiful in a wild sort of way. I felt that twinge of guilt as I looked down at the cover. “Sasha Burnette, Game 51.”

But I knew some hill folk—especially a hoodoo man named Clive Hartley—who could read Latin, so I put it aside for later. I looked back into the box and of course, that’s when I found it. The book that’s caused all this trouble. The Way of Ah-Tzenul. Course, that’s not what’s printed on the cover. There’s a picture of some sorta tribal man squatting down with both hands raised to the sky etched into the cover and traced in silver. Otherwise, it’s a plain-looking book, all bound in pebbly black leather.