Novella It Novels & Stories

“Come on. I’ll take you upstairs to rest.” He stood and guided her toward the stairs. Finn and Calvin exchanged a look. Then they followed right after them. God, I wanted to go eavesdrop so badly. Linda, sitting beside me, muttered under her breath, “Slutty bitch.” That jogged my memory. There was a drugging subplot around this part of the story. If I remembered correctly, Linda was the culprit. She had been secretly in love with Calvin for years, but Calvin only had eyes for Nancy. In the original novel, she managed to drug him, but afterward he turned the tables and dosed her ten times worse, leaving her stranded with no help. She ended up with a terrible fate.

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PART II Renaissance September, 1876—April, 1877 CHAPTER SEVEN The Noble Hatter Humphries Following the Nightfall, a series of pamphlets known as The Immortalist Papers were circulated throughout England under Queen Isabelle’s orders. This first pamphlet was published on September 26th, 1876, only days after the Nightfall began: On the Necessity of the Nightfall, by Rupert Walters For centuries, immortals have anticipated an age where they would need not fear the sun. That time has finally arrived.

She slurped that thing down like it was a cup of jello and not the plate of inferno that it was. "Are you ok?" I ask, finally getting back my ability of speech. She gives me a thumb up, her lips still wrapped around the carton of milk. Her lips leave the mouth of the milk with a pop. "What was in that shit? Hellfire?" I fumble through the dustbin, fishing out the empty pack and reading the back. Manufactured by... Blah blah blah. My face blanches as I go over the line I just skimmed past, making sure I read it correctly. "It is considered one of the hottest noodles ever. A raging ball of fire. Advisable not to use all the pack of flavor in it." I let it slip through my fingers and back into

Right before she turned back toward the board, I spoke out. “It’s based on a novella titled ‘Un Captiano Moro’ by Giovanni Battista Giraldi Cinthio. It was written in 1565,” I answered clearly. Everyone sitting around me was nothing short of stunned. Mrs. Shields’ jaw nearly hit the floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Arthur’s expression. Pride. “My, my...It seems that you are far ahead of everyone else,” Arthur chuckled. I closed my eyes and inwardly groaned. Good God, what the hell? Was this really going to be my new reality—picking fights with teachers?

Nova’s fingers curled tighter around the journal. Later that night, the house was quiet. The kind of calm that hums with tension just beneath the surface. Nova sat cross-legged on the rug in Damian’s office, the journal now open in her lap. Pages lay scattered around her, some handwritten in English, others in rough Romanian, Damian translated. Between the faded ink and cryptic references, it read like a war map disguised as a memoir. Damian stood over a desk by the window, speaking low into a secure burner phone in Romanian. His voice was taut. Sharp.

“Something is happening,” I say and get to my feet. “She’s showing a different side of the dungeon.” Caterina follows me and we watch as Marle stands in front of Nikolai’s mate and her children. Nikolai is passed out and bloody, while my niece and nephew just look at the witch with no emotion in their eyes. “If it isn’t Tiarin’s little pet and her…runts,” she says, trying to antagonise them but Nova simply scoffs.

The Nouveau-Riche Romance Chapter twenty-nine The brightness of the day filtered into the room. Illuminating it with its soft glow. The illumination was just enough to rouse Joan from sleep. Her body felt relaxed, she felt mellow really. It felt like she was coming down from a drug high. No, it was a sex high. Sex? Sex... Joan abruptly opens her eyes as she remembered the events of the previous night. She had sex with Asher. Now that she thought about it it was a crazy night and she wouldn't believe it if she hadn't experienced it.

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She would usually do it herself but now that she wasn't here, Anthony felt lost. He decided to distract himself from thinking about her by watching some TV, but it got boring real soon. "Mr. DeMarco, sorry to bother you again." It was the housekeeper again. Anthony looked at her. "You are not bothering me. Is there something wrong?" he asked. "No sir, nothing is wrong. I just found this book lying on the ground. I figured it could be something important, so I thought I would give this to you," she said and handed him a red leather-bound book that looked like a journal.