Rogue Waves Book Novels & Stories

Sylvia’s face twisted with rage, but she said nothing, slamming the carriage door behind her when we arrived at the palace. As she stormed off, I clutched the book tighter with my fingers brushing over its worn cover. It wasn’t just a distraction—it felt like a lifeline, a tether to something greater. Back in the palace, I settled into a corner of my assigned quarters, opening the book with careful fingers. The pages were brittle but legible, filled with handwritten notes and sketches detailing the origins of the rogues. Sally was curious. “This could help us,” she said. I read in silence, taking in every detail. The rogues weren’t just outcasts—they were born of magic gone wrong, their bond

There was no chance of those brutal crashing waves that pounded the rocky shoreline only a mile away, the ones that crushed the sea-front cliff as Leon made sure that the water below them could follow his every command. David watched in awe as the waves crashed against the base of the crumbling cliffs. The cold air bit into him, pushing him back, but he stood his ground, staring as waves built up speed and height from far out in the horizon until the peaks rose high above the body of water and plunged over into the cliff. The sandy coastline being destroyed one wave at a time as the shoreline of Witchland came into view.

Wave after wave after wave, crashing against our lines like an ocean that refused to accept the shore existed. I ripped the head off a grey rogue mid-leap, felt the vertebrae pop like dry twigs, and flung the corpse into the next three attackers. They went down in a tangle. I was on them before they could rise, jaws closing around throats, shaking until cartilage crumpled.

Nothing gave away the identity. My fingers hovered over the spine, then unsuccessfully I tried to read it but I could read one word. ‘Rogue’ My hand froze. Rogues? The memory of those rogues in the ruins flashed in my mind. Was this book about rogues? Who were they? Why were they… Then suddenly a voice came like smoke against my ear. “You like touching things that don’t belong to you?” I gasped, spine stiffening, heart leaping into my throat. His scent hit me first—stormy, rich, dangerous.

He ripped the bag open dumping its contents onto the muddy floorboards. ​A mound of ruined books and loose soaked papers spilled out. They were trash that the ocean had swallowed and spat back out into the cove. ​August stared at the pile of rotting paper. ​"No!" ​He plunged his hands into the wet sand, digging frantically around the sack throwing rocks and splintered wood blindly over his shoulder. "Winter! Where are you? You were just here!" ​The ocean outside answered with a booming crash. A massive wave slammed against the base of the cliff sending a foot of freezing black water rushing into the shack. It hit August in the chest knocking him backward into the mud.

He has been going to the sea since childhood and had never seen such a storm. There were dark clouds in the sky. It was day, but it was as dark as night. The boat bounced as another huge wave tore at the bow. The dragon skin of the deck sounded like a huge drum with impact power. He struggled to keep his balance on a constantly moving deck. Even above the wind demon, the ship's bones creaked. It was only a matter of time before the sea killed the ships, he decided. It was a battle whether the power of the waves would break the Russian spear into shreds of cloth or simply peel the salvaged dragon skin off the ship's hull, trample it underfoot and drown it. Ragnar shivered not only from the c

The stormy seas symbolized the external forces and internal conflicts that threatened to pull Rita away from her path. It was a time of trials, where she encountered unforeseen obstacles and encountered the depths of her resilience. The waves crashed against her, threatening to overwhelm her spirit and extinguish the light that had guided her thus far. During this chapter, Rita confronted her vulnerabilities and fears. She grappled with feelings of uncertainty, questioning her purpose and the choices she had made.

She looked at the book for a minute before her face scrunched up. Obviously, she didn’t know the answer. Bored as hell, I finally stood up and went to get the book 257. Upon opening the book, the blank page started glowing, and words formed above it. I'm followed by seas but never filled with water; I guide the waves and pull a bit harder. What am I? It’s a riddle. I stared at it for a prolonged time, repeating the words in my mind and trying to think of the right answer. Sea…Wave… Guide… Followed…

The title interested Anthony, he nodded at Yugo in appreciation as he received the book that was handed to him. ‘Rogue, Not Rough.’ It read. “Trust me when I say, it took me many years of research to know these things. If you want to know, you would have to embrace the reality of what you are. You are not fiction. Stop reading those fictious story that tells you that you are what you aren’t. They are just figment of the human mind but you,” Yugo pointed at him then tapped his own chest, “We have seen it happen. We have felt it. So, what do you think about reading books from people who have felt it too? I think…”

But then he stilled, his eyes fixed on something behind me. I turned my head, slowly, as a cold shadow fell over me, followed by a spray of salty water. The Persephone seemed to abruptly sink, and my stomach flipped as though I were falling. I looked up, seeing the crest of the monstrous wave, three times the height of the Persephone's tallest mast, just as the peak of it crashed into the sails, snapping the masts as though they were toothpicks. I looked at Troy as the masts fell, slicing through the deck and sending a spray of debris into the sky as the wave came down as though in slow motion. His eyes were shining with tears, his mouth twitching into a soft, somber smile.