Rowan Booktok Novels & Stories

- I responded back, burying my thoughts deep. My face flushed realizing that he had been able to pick up these X-Rated thoughts so easily since I had been so deep into it. The book hadn't helped at all to keep my mind on my task for the day. It had been the equivalent of "See Spot Run" in the Draygonian world. Nerrian rolled his eyes and closed the book. He set it off to the side on a pile of books that never quite made it back to his shelves. I don't think this will work today. Nerrian admitted shaking his head.

He mindlinked him, and he nodded, sniffing. "What the fuck is going on here?" A familiar voice asked behind them, making Hashmuk let go of Rasmore. The person standing behind them was the person he was crying for, thinking he had left him. It was Kelvin, with a pile of magic books in his hands. He and his friends smelled like they were coming from the sewer.

But it was impossible; the words were now ingrained inside of me, and I knew it would keep circulating in my mind that Rowan was no longer a rogue but now an alpha of a potential pack, and anything could happen. Yet among all that was the nagging question of why he didn’t want to reconnect with his people. It should be a thing of joy to learn that you are no longer alone as you had thought, that you have a pack waiting for you, that you have a people to rule, to lead. I don’t know, but I would have taken up the opportunity to see my family even if it were extended. “I can see the wheels in your head turning.” Rowan’s voice suddenly cut my train of thought, and my head snapped up to meet him.

I will slide my tongue inside your sweet mouth at the theater. My breath hitches, a wild, dripping wetness soaking my underwear instantly. Lucan. The ruthless Alpha King is watching me from the shadows like a dark guardian beast. I feel so safe, so incredibly dirty and wanted. I fold the note and slide it deep into my bosom, the rough parchment rubbing against my full, heavy breasts. "Everything is set," Rowan says, walking back inside, his eyes scanning my flushed face. He frowns. "What is making you look so red and happy?"

Books and camera gear covered every surface. She parked herself close to the flames, rubbing her hands. Rowan moved around the kitchen like he owned every inch of the place—which he did. He poured a mug of coffee without asking and slid it across the counter. Their fingers brushed when she took it just for a second. Calluses against her softer skin, that spark flared again, hotter this time. "Thanks," she muttered. "Don't thank me yet." He leaned against the counter, watching her. "Who's your editor?"

Anything to change the conversation before she starts rambling on about the bucket list she wants to fulfill with Rowan. “Tales of the Moonlight,” She repeated the book’s title with a bit of dryness in her voice. “It’s a fantasy book.” “You like reading fantasy?” I held my hand out for her to give me the book. “Is it kid-rated though?” She hummed as she handed it over for me to inspect. “Uncle Ro bought it for me.” I closed the book in a flash, making the poor object yowl with a slapping sound. Rowan, again.

I didn’t absorb much. Something about a winter famine and a minor curse that turned birthing water black for three years. My mind was already three steps ahead, north of the manor, at a river fork and a cluster of trees that might be long dead by now. Finally, I closed the book gently and stacked it with the others. Rowan appeared as if summoned by the sound, peering through the curtain. “Find what you needed?” he asked, a little too casually. “Enough to remind me why you don’t like people in here,” I said. “And enough to have more questions than when I started.”

Rowan had always believed books were meant to be read. She never expected one to read her back. Rowan had spent three years as the youngest archivist in the Arcane Athenaeum without ever breaking a single rule. She was perfect for the role: quiet, meticulous, and painfully shy. At twenty-six, she still blushed when scholars complimented her handwriting. Her uniform was always crisp, high-collared white blouse, long charcoal skirt, sensible shoes, and wire-rimmed glasses that constantly slipped down her nose. While other archivists chased rumors of lost spells and hidden power, Rowan preferred the comfort of cataloging, dusting, and preserving the fragile silence between endless rows of books

~Iris POV The room was quiet. Peaceful, for once. A soft lamp glowed at the corner, casting warm light across Rowan’s bed as he lay beside me, his small head resting lightly against my arm. The chaos from earlier had been cleared,repaired, hidden,but I hadn’t forgotten. Not for a second. I flipped a page in the book, my voice calm and steady as I read. “…and the wolf, though feared by many, chose not to bite, but to guard…”

“She’s human.” Rowan’s voice cut through them, sharp and commanding. “Get Joe nowhere near her.” “Why Joe?” Elara asked weakly, her body trembling. Rowan was suddenly there, lifting her without effort. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. His voice wrapped around her, grounding and warm, and she clung to it like a lifeline. “You should read books,” she rambled breathlessly. “You have such a good voice. Everything feels better when you talk.”