Scaramouche Book Novels & Stories

The book was an ancient one from the looks, it had latin words and strange patterns written all over it. The only understandable word was the bold 'Garou' written at the top. I touched the book in Crescent's hand expecting to get the same reaction, but i didnt, it was just normal. I guess the book knows what it's doing, it wanted Crescent to open it. Scratch that, it wasn't normal, the feeling of touching the book was different from the feeling of touching a normal book. It felt like the book had a life of it's own. "Should we open it?" Crescent asked." I don't think we should, we aren't supposed to be here in the first place" I said and he agreed with me, then he put the book back in it's p

Her perky tits bounce slightly under her T-shirt, and I need to turn around and stop looking for my own good. “Want to play zombies after breakfast?” Jackson asks Scarlet. “Today’s Scarlet’s day off,” I remind him gently. “She’s here but not really here.” Jackson tips his head. “Huh?” Scarlet laughs. “It’s okay. I don’t really have any plans other than showering and reading a chapter or two from my book.” “Are there zombies in your book?” Jackson’s eyes widen. “Actually, yes.” Scarlet fills her plate and joins us at the table. “It’s a romance set in the zombie apocalypse. It’s really good.”

Moreover, he wouldn't like it that anyone else knows the secret place that he had built just for a person to infiltrate it and to take away things that belonged to him Damon knew of the consequences but his curiosity got a better hold of himself. So he walked towards where the book was and see the title of it only to find that there was none. It was only showing an old rotten cover that made him confused - even more - he even looked at the side of the book to know if the title was there but to his dismay, it was never there. Because he was curious enough, he took the book from the old treasured chair not minding that he had already touched one of the duke's treasures for the first time - eve

She moved over them, fingers tracing over things, trying to discover some type of order among disorder. And she stopped her fingers. Teardrops over an old wood box was a small leather book, front inscription S.B. Samuel Blackwood. She swallowed and let it out, harsh paper scratching on top of each other. It was neat, task writing—organization, messages, account keeping. Nothing was given on the page—except the last few entries. A sentence leaped out at her, her stomach twisting. "The girl will have to be kept safe. She's worth more to them than they realize. If Harrison gets wind—"

He hesitated, face ashen, staring at me with hollow eyes that held newfound respect and regret. I ignored him, surrounded by admiring wolves, and proceeded to the elder's platform to receive the victor's medallion. Ceremonial wine flowed freely, and someone handed me a magnificent bouquet of rare arctic blue moon blossoms. Within the flowers was an elegantly written note. "Your wolf was always Alpha. The pack awaits its true leader. - Nathan"

But he didn't, his gaze shifted, now fixed on me, as he slowly set the book aside, my eyes looking away from his very direction, as I could feel the hotness of my face increase with each passing second of his fingers, closing round my wool. The sudden pressure against my scar caught my attention, my gaze fluttered a bit to his, before looking away again. A short scoff escaped his lips into my ears, as he then drew closer, “Now, mind telling me why you are snooping around, dear little brother?” he asked, his breath heavy against mine. “Hmm… nothing…. I…. Wasn't…,” I stammered, my mind still in total chaos, from the feel of his touch and breath on me at the moment.

And you definitely did not belong in the bed of Jake. A number of heads were turned in adjoining tables. I clenched my teeth, and I was forced to be calm. I was not going to grant her the satisfaction. But on one occasion, she made a sweeping motion, and her cup slipped and spilled milk all over my shoes. "Oh God," said she, smiling at pretence to horror. "Oops." The shoe was getting wet with the white liquid, cold and humiliating. Now everybody was staring. Cassandra bent down, pretending to help. "You had better clean that out, or you will start to smell of rotten milk."

Scar shrugged as if my plea amused him. “It’s not my habit to be merciful." He turned toward the door and walked out without looking back. Scar is a gangster, but Alexander is the Mafia King of Italy, Ireland, and Spain. The man had hands and connections all around the world. Scar stood no chance but he wouldn't listen. So I spat out the blood and prayed all this was over before it was time to pick the kids up. TBC Here's a sneak peek at my new book, currently ongoing in Good novel

"Don, the knife work was lethal. If you'd truly meant to kill me, I wouldn't be here breathing." A flicker of madness in Wade's eyes froze for a split second before he erupted into a wild laugh. His laughter twisted the scars on his face into something even more sinister. Out of nowhere, he lunged and clamped down on my wrist. His grip was so strong I thought my bones might snap as he tried to shake me off. However, the moment his fingers brushed the inside of my wrist, he froze. There, an ugly burn scar marred my skin. It was an old wound, shaped like a scorched butterfly.

She promised. After dinner, Marguerite found herself engaged in a lively conversation with the duchess. The lady escorted her on a fascinating tour, the scent of aged leather wafting from the library shelves as Marguerite admired its towering volumes. Meanwhile, the duke invited Jacob to his wood-paneled study for a chat over snifters of brandy. The next morning, a gleaming lacquered carriage awaited them at the grand entrance. Inside, a bounty of fresh pastries and chilled drinks sat beside several bulging travel bags. The duchess' generosity extended to a new wardrobe. On the far corner of the carriage, Chester nestled contentedly in his new carrier, a fancy wicker basket lined with piles