Shiver Book Novels & Stories

It began with an eerie, oppressive silence. Not the kind that wrapped around her as a comfort, but rather a heavy stillness that seemed to observe her every move. Autumn stood at the precipice of the graveyard, sprawling behind the aged Mirabella Estate, her dark hair fluttering gently in the unseen breeze. With her eyes shut tight, she lifted her palms toward the heavens, feeling the crisp air fill her lungs rhythmically. The cool metal of her pendant rested against her chest, a steady weight of familiarity, while The Book of the Veilwalker lay open on an ancient stone altar before her. Its pages fluttered erratically, stirred by a wind that felt wrong, alien, as if it siphoned whispers fro

Nick complained. “You have plenty of money, young man,” Wilma scolded. “You’re family’s rich for goodness sakes.” “Rich in money, but poor with finesse. I don’t know how to compete with Martin. That’s why he always gets the girl,” Nick admitted. “Not this time,” Wilma said as she stood up and walked with determination to the window next to Nick. “Wow, it’s cold next to you.” “We vibrate at such a rapid speed that the air around us will often feel cold to a mundane,” Nick explained. “It’s one of the ways you can tell there’s a shadow walker in the room if you don’t have the ability to see them.”

Before I could move, the nearest shelf lurched sideways just enough that the glass hit wood instead, burying itself in a copy of NEON GRAVE CITY—HAZARD SUBROUTINES The book took the blow and burned from the inside, its text sacrificing itself in a puff of code‑ash. I felt the Authors’ intent in the way the world shifted. Not commanding me. Backing me. Like a crowd leaning against the same door I was trying to shoulder open. “Thank you,” I whispered, throat tight. The hum surged, like a pleased laugh in fifty different voices. The administrator did not laugh. Its mass jerked as the invisible pushes hit. Screens knocked askew tried to snap back into formation and failed. A page‑cluster on one

FREYA POV The ringing in my ears was louder than the explosion of the bottle. I stood frozen. My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird, and for a split second the old me wanted to curl into a ball and scream. I could feel the cold sweat breaking out on my skin while my hand still hovered near the door handle, trembling just a fraction. I didn't let it drop, though. I forced my spine to stay straight even though my knees felt like water. I couldn’t breathe or move; I suddenly felt it. A warm, slow tickle started at my hairline and began to roll down my forehead. I reached up, and my fingers grazed the skin. It’s blood. A tiny piece of glass must have flown and slid across my

Tonight I can smell the season the way it's usually only possible to at the very first moments of its return, before you're used to it, when you've forgotten its smell, then there it is back in the air and the flow of things shifting and resettling again. It is as though some old part of yourself wakes up in you, terrified, useless in the life you have, its skills and habits destructive but intact, and what is left of the present you, the person you have become, wilts and shrivels in sadness or despair: the person you have become is only a thin shell over this other, more electric and endangered self. The strongest, the least digested parts of your experience can rise up and put you back whe

I say without thinking, and everyone howls. The music rises, the lights fade low, and the whole place seems to wake up at once. We are having the time of our lives. The music is loud; the champagne is flowing, and our bodies move with wild, unfiltered joy. One stripper has taken off his shirt completely, revealing a tattoo that snakes down his chest and vanishes below his waistband. He picks up Amelia and spins her in the air while she screams with laughter. Another is grinding on Brianna’s lap, all smooth hips and cheeky smiles, while Jenna is recording the entire scene and shrieking, “This is going viral!”

Images from the past, reminiscences from when they first met, flashbacks from the times they had spent together, and lastly images from yesterday when he raped her. Shivers ran down her spine as she remembered last night. She could still feel his lips leaving hungry kisses down her body, still feel his hands groping her breasts and touching her thighs, touching her down there, she could still hear his lustful growls. Emma closed her eyes and cried. She could still feel his touch on her body. 'You're easy to read.' More tears rolled down her cheek as she recalled his words. He had always read her exceptionally well then what happened last night?

The trouble is, she hasn't shifted often enough in recent years. To stay nimble, shifters must shift back and forth as nature calls. A shifter who stays too long in beast form, will forget how to become human again, and vice versa. Living with Minette, her hafling granddaughter who never manifested as a shifter, she wasn't able to run wild as often as she'd like. Especially when they were hiding in cities. Now, weak, hungry, and injured, it is even harder to call up the magic. Remember. Remember what it's like. She thinks about her first shift at puberty, the joy of chasing her sister through the French countryside. There.

Althea asks when I'm fully dressed and ready. "Convince him I'm there for a date," I reply. "Slip the sedative into his drink then search his room." "And if he sees through you?" "Thea, no one can resist a good pair of these." I gesture to my chest which looks great in the revealing dip of the dress. "He'll be too focused on what my body is doing, he won't notice anything is off," I reassure her. I hope. Shifters have advantages I could never dream of. So, I need to make sure he doesn't see through me.