Romans & histoires Read The Apothecary Diaries Novel

she smiled, her grey eyes gleaming “My old wolf has had trouble healing this since yesterday, but that curse was certainly hindering your potential terribly! Keep working on your concentration like this and you’ll be able to heal even a dying man in no time.” “Thank you, Flora.” I smiled, picking up the book from my bedside table “I’ll also be reading all the diaries of past wizards that I can, whenever I have free time. This one seems especially interesting. It was written by my great-aunt. Uncle Kent gave it to me…”

The room was dim until Cain moved past her to light a lamp on the heavy central worktable, and the light spread outward to catch on shelved jars, leather book spines, copper instruments gone green with age. A healer's workshop. She'd never seen one — she'd been too young when the Ashford home burned, and whatever her mother had kept had burned with it. But she'd read about them in the books she'd stolen during her years at Blood Moon. She'd memorised the descriptions: the worktable, the drying racks, the journals, the apothecary organisation of a hundred small jars. This was that. This was exactly that. "How long has this been here?" she heard herself ask.

I looked away abruptly, hiding the flush of my cheeks. I had been so lost in my naughty thoughts, that I hadn't even noticed when we made it to the Apothecary. Devyn pushed the door open, patiently waiting for Kristen and me to walk in before shutting it—a surprisingly gentlemanly gesture from him. The familiar blend of sweet scents of herbs, mints, and various distinctive fragrances wafted through me, filling my lungs. It had been a while since I last came here. Diana’s long gray hair immediately caught my attention as she was hunched over her counter, playing with a black cat. The last time I came here, there were owls. I had no idea she had a cat too. It made me wonder if she had other pe

"But I suppose it's not unheard of." She turned and started down a book and scroll-lined shelf. She pulled a big, leather-bound volume back to the table. She replied, "This is our healer's journal," laying it before me. "It holds decades of knowledge passed on from one generation to the next. Being a holy book, I hope you will treat it with dignity. My pulse pounding with anticipation, I nodded fast. Like this was it. Renly can be saved with the secret I went for the diary, my fingers sliding over the ancient leather.Elara's hand shot out, though, halting me just as I was ready to open it.

Sometimes, I wonder if she’s the one I am feeling in this room. I don’t believe in ghosts or that shit. I grab a blue hardcover, with the name, ‘Herbs for healing sleeping sickness’. I flip the pages, leaning on the bookshelves, as the pages flip, a paper falls out. I grip it, the paper is nearly old, the edges almost torn off. The writing is legible.

the welp demanded. "Ah, so you do know what this is," I said. "Now, as much as I would like to show here everything this book contains, we are not here to speak of the transaction history. No... What you want to know is details about this package delivered to you. From a shop called the 'Europhia Apothecary'." "I made no purchase to any apothecary, you fraudulent mutt!" the welp shouted. I rolled my eyes at him, surprised with how high his arrogance was. How fragile his pride turned out to be. "No one ever said you made the purchase. Unless if you mean to tell me you suddenly live on your own here."

I had already made that vow in the dark. I took two of my best trackers for the morning’s rounds, quiet wolves with good noses and better memories, and we worked the path of the tray backward. Kitchen. Pantry. Scullery door. I spoke to scullions and dishboys, to the pot-witch with onions on her breath, to the night steward who wrote with an elegant hand and sweated when he lied. The ledger showed an oddity: a new apothecary’s stamp on a bundle of minted tea that wasn’t on last month’s accounts. “Gifted by a patron,” the steward stammered. No name, of course. “A courtesy for the King’s table.” “Not for his table,” I said, letting my voice cool to winter. “For his prisoner.”

"'The relics,' he says, Eyes wide, I nod, reaching for the chalice and cross, laying them on his stomach. I stroke his cock fast at them. His hips buck and he cums hard. Thick ropes shoot out, he spits, the silver chalice splashing. white streaks on the gold cross. It pools on the cloth. More spurts hit my hand-hot, sticky-dripping down the sides. I drain him dry, from base to tip, watching as the last drops fall upon the holy items.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about. Just some old notes. Private shit.” Private. Yeah right. The word only made my curiosity burn hotter, mixing with the ache in my cock that hadn’t gone down one bit. While he stood up to grab another bottle of whiskey from the bar cart across the room, I leaned forward quickly and clicked on the locked file. A password prompt popped up. Fuck. I tried the obvious ones fast,his book title, his name, the date on the manuscript. Nothing. Then on a hunch I typed in a phrase from one of his filthiest scenes. The file opened.

"You didn't even notice me." Startled and curious to know more, I looked up. “I… have I studied this before?” He leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed. “You were passionate about it,” he replied, his tone soft. “You used to spend hours lost in these kinds of books, so much so that I had to drag you away to eat. You always had a gift for it. You wanted to be an apothecary.” The word struck a chord, resonating deep within me. “An apothecary…” I repeated slowly, feeling a sense of accomplishment and recognition for the first time in a while. “It feels… familiar. It feels right somehow.”