Slow Burning Book Novels & Stories

Not waiting to behold the fallout, I scramble out of the dining room, fleeing back to the nursery. Once back in the room, I ignite a taper from the room's only wall sconce. I make my way to my dark cell, lighting the little oil lamp on the nightstand next to my sleeping pallet. The small oil lamp sheds enough light for me to open my newly acquired trunk and grab another woolen tunic. I change and performing a cursory exam of the fading burn marks on my thighs, relieved that the soup is not any hotter because this is a time where I could die from a splinter.

Everything outside felt sealed away distant, unreachable, wrapped in white silence. We sat by the fire, the orange glow dancing across the rough wooden walls and casting long, flickering shadows that moved like slow dancers. The stone fireplace radiated a deep, steady warmth that soaked into my bones after the sharp cold of the day. I had curled up in the old armchair with a dusty paperback mystery from the 1970s I’d found on the shelf—yellowed pages, cracked spine, the kind of story where everything got solved by the final chapter. The words were comforting in their simplicity, a world where clues led somewhere clean and certain.

XAVIER STORM The study was cloaked in shadows, the only illumination coming from the dying flames in the fireplace. The books that lined the shelves, had their spines worn from years of use, yet none held my interest tonight. The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional crackle of burning wood.

___ Selene’s POV The dim candlelight flickered against the old parchment as Selene traced her fingers over the delicate pages of the book Ronan’s mother had given her. The scent of aged paper filled the air, mingling with the subtle hint of burning wax. She had spent hours pouring over the text, meticulously taking notes on anything that seemed remotely useful. The book contained knowledge lost to time, secrets about the origins of their kind, forgotten magic, and hidden weaknesses that could turn the tide of war.

I had thought that it would burn me – taking a peek at the two women who were with me, they were back away from the fire, Leah patted the small flame that got on her pants, Lyv helping her put it out. I could still feel the heat, but what was odd was that the flames didn’t burn me. I lowered my hands slowly, looking at the book – now burning yet the pages were intact. My heart beat fast as I walked back to the podium. I blink, there was something new. I blinked again. I rubbed it, feeling the sting I had felt when Leah brought me to Neverwhere.

Olivera's finger throbbed with pain as she stared at the small drop of blood on the page. The circle, now darkened with her blood, seemed to pulse with a life of its own. She pushed it away from her lap, and shifted to the other side. Her eyes widened in incredulity as white smoke began to rise from the book, curling and twisting in the air. The scent of lavender and rose filled the room, a soothing contrast to the sharp pain in her finger. She watched in awe and trepidation as the smoke began to form shapes, reacting as if it were alive.

“Tell me what you're thinking.” “I’m thinking about how much I want to bury myself deep inside you,” I confided, starting to rock my hips back and forth and coating my entire length with her wetness before lowering a bit and aiming right where I wanted to be. “But we'll take it slow, okay? I want to savor this moment to remember it my entire life, Vivienne.” Her lips parted, but no sound escaped from them. Her eyes narrowed and didn't leave mine as I started to fuck her slowly, inch by inch. Her vaginal walls parted to welcome me into her warm, wet interior until I was finally fully buried in her.

The fire in the library had burned low, casting long amber shadows across the walls. Sloane sat curled on the velvet sofa, her sketchbook closed in her lap. She hadn’t touched it since the mirror shattered. Her fingers ached to draw, but the lines inside her wouldn’t settle.

"I say you’re ambitious, Blackwood. Let’s see what’s in the rations." We sat there in the fading light, a rejected mate, a secret daughter, and a King with no crown, just breathing. For the first time in five years, the "Slow Burn" wasn't a fire that was consuming me. It was a hearth, keeping the cold at bay. And for tonight, that was enough.

she said firmly, her voice taking a chastising tone. "No, this is exactly the time," I interjected stubbornly. "I saw fire today. Once you light a fire, it has to burn and it doesn't care if this is the time or place. Fire either burns brightly or it fizzles into nothingness and smoke. Without the fire, there is no light. So, are you two burning or fizzling?" I demanded. I wanted an answer. Andrew looked at me, and I shrugged. I might be confused from the drugs, but it had sounded poetic in my head.