Sanctum Book Novels & Stories

I immediately left the bed and went to the Royal Sanctum. The Royal sanctum was a huge place, it was so big that one end couldn't see the other, not at least for an average wolf, or omega. The place was open to Royal members and since I have been the lady, I am permitted to use the place and I have been here quite a few times for reading purposes, specifically to earn more medical historical knowledge. The place was filled with countless rows filled with books. I moved through them slowly, carefully, scanning the parts of rows.

I muttered, turning toward the broken archway, “if I have to be tethered to someone, why did it have to be you?” Behind me, he followed with a chuckle, steps falling into rhythm beside mine. “I ask myself the same thing every hour, Flame.” And yet neither of us slowed. The sanctum was buried beneath the bones of the city, forgotten by everyone except those with the kind of secrets that couldn’t survive the light. And unfortunately for me, Orion had plenty.

My hirer told me I’d be working simultaneously in two departments: the entertainment department at the club, where all I have to do is suck the male performers’ cocks before they go on stage to strip-dance; and secondly, I’d also be handling the position of a fluffer at the p**n studio, where, as explained, all I’m expected to do is make the p**nographic film actors get hard between takes. Now I bet you’re probably wondering what situation could’ve led me to this point, but honestly, it wasn’t some wild, reckless decision or a desperate last resort. It was just one of those strange turns life takes when you’re standing at a crossroads, unsure of where you belong, and something unexpected off

As though a truth he had carried for centuries had finally become unavoidable. Then he quietly said: “It was never a prison.” Silence. “It was a sanctuary.” The word struck Ama harder than anything else. Sanctuary. Not containment. Not punishment. Protection. The dream existed to protect something. The book. Or whatever was written inside it. The silver key suddenly pulsed violently. The brightest yet. And across every Pillar network, every display, every surviving system— A final message appeared. Not from the Council. Not from the Pillars.

As if the very earth was holding its breath. Then we saw it. Nestled in the valley, hidden behind a curtain of vines and mist, was a structure of pale white stone. It shimmered faintly, not from magic, but from age—like moonlight had kissed it so many times it left a permanent glow. The Sanctuary. It wasn’t grand or towering. It was simple. Sacred. And heartbreakingly familiar. “This looks like...” Lira trailed off. “Like the ruins near my childhood home,” I finished.

We were a family, and despite everything, that bond was unbreakable. The library, which had been a battleground of emotions just moments before, now felt like a sanctuary. The books around us, filled with stories of love, loss, and redemption, seemed to echo our own journey. And in that quiet, shared moment, I believed we could write a new chapter, one where we faced our challenges together, stronger and more united than ever before. Sancia’s POV

“It’s a club problem, Minus and last I checked, you still wear a Saints patch.” I nodded but said nothing. We drove on through the ever-present Portland drizzle until we reached the Sanctuary, the Burning Saints’ compound. The cluster of buildings used to belong to a paper company that went out of business years ago and were now owned outright by the club. Clutch pulled out a remote control and punched in a code which opened a rolling security gate.

No child had been born in the Ash Sanctum in over ten years. The wombs of the Dustborn were sacred, bound in ancient flame and prophecy, preserved by blood-pacts and rituals too old to remember. Life here was never an accident, it was an omen. A promise. A challenge to fate itself. And tonight, the sanctum burned. Not from war. From birth. Sirelia stood at the edge of the ritual pool, cloaked in veils of black smoke and gold-threaded ash. She did not blink. Did not breathe. Did not flinch when the first scream cut through the sanctum halls.

A heavy, four-inch-thick slab of reinforced steel slid open with a hiss of pressurized air. ​“Inside. Now,” he commanded. ​They stepped into the Sanctum—a six-by-six-foot reinforced vault designed to withstand a nuclear blast. The door slid shut behind them with a definitive thud, sealing them into a windowless, soundproof, and perfectly dark void. ​The Sanctum was built for survival, but not for the preservation of a contract. In the tiny, enclosed space, the air immediately began to warm from their shared body heat. The "Hum" of the Mate Bond, which had been a steady background thrum in the sprawling penthouse, suddenly expanded to fill every cubic inch of the vault.