Special Book Novels & Stories

The man Henry was talking about was your father" He thought aloud. "I don't understand," I replied. "Don't worry, it is nothing," He replied. "It seems you have finished reading the book," He added, looking at the last survivors. "Yes... Can you tell me why this book is what makes this blue penthouse important and sacred?" I asked.

Fuck! "So, what is it going to be? As I've heard, I should pay 70,000 for it. I'm willing to pay now. Half will be given to you now, the other half when the deal has been signed for the condo." And then it hit me. The "extra service" he was referring to is sex, of course! How can I be so stupid, not figuring it out in the first place?! Maybe because I was a newbie in that industry. No one didn't even tell me or give a hint. I think they wanted me to know it the hard way. Of course, where is the thrill when I find out?

Marissa felt a surge of gratitude, knowing that these gifts were not just material items but symbols of the love and support that surrounded her. Among the gifts, one particularly caught her attention—a beautifully bound book filled with handwritten recipes from the village's oldest residents. This was a treasure she had always wanted, as cooking had been a cherished pastime shared with her mother. The book was a collection of family recipes, each page telling a story of love, tradition, and the joy of gathering around the table. As Marissa flipped through the pages, she could almost hear the laughter of her family and friends echoing through the years.

I got out a dense packed book and quickly went back to Reuben in bed. He looked confused and disheveled; his inquisitive gaze fell on the book in my hand. He asked, "What is that?" I, in turn, proudly presented it to him, "Lo and behold Your Highness, this right here in my hand is the 5th popular limited edition of Busty Asian Babes. I heard it is so stimulating that you can release at any time." Reuben with book in hand, "..........."

They dressed slowly, stealing glances and soft touches. As they leave the facility separately, security footage shows them entering together late at night, and Tatum’s phone buzzes with a message from her assistant: “League office wants to schedule a meeting about ‘conduct concerns.’”

As soon as I showered and sat on my bed I passed out face first into my Calculus book. The next day was a blur. I squeaked by the rest of my finals and got the golden ticket to graduate. After school I walked home again but with Jessica on my side. Her and I were going to get ready for Jacksons 18th birthday party. I put the finishing touches on my makeup and listened as Jessica gushed about how Damion looked today, or how he looked at her, how he walked, how he spoke....the list could go on and on. "Are you ok Stephanie?" Jessica asked putting her hand on my arm.

There is no mate bond, but having him close makes me feel more secure. “I can’t wait for you to see this.” He rubs his thumb on the top of my hand as he leads me to a store. It’s rare Bronx gets so excited about surprising me. We approach a bookstore with a dusty, old window display. In gold paint, there is a picture of a pan flute and a goat. The images are peeling and sundried as if they’ve been there forever. Over the pictures are the words ‘The Barded Goat Used & Collectible Books’.

They wanted the trash out of the establishment—me. I stood, tucking the strap of my purse over my shoulder, only to have the thin leather snap. Suddenly everything I had in my bag was scattered over the tiles. There were tampons, lip gloss, my phone, some lotion, gum, and my twelve-step book. The waitress grabbed the book and looked at me again with a hint of pity. I thanked her and tucked the bag under my arm with my possessions shoved back inside. The voices had already started up. ‘Just one hit, it won’t hurt anything. You will fell so much better. All of this will go away. Do it, Shay, we need it.’

Deagan looked down at the object in his hand, Aria had gotten him a personalised diary with the name “Deagan Lockheart” and signed off in the name “Ivan D’Heart” below, engraved on the leather cover. The diary was exactly the same as the one his father kept and filled with various notes on markets and business tactics. He had a feeling one of his siblings or Andrew had something to do with it, but it didn’t bother him, because he loved the gift and the limited edition Mont Blanc Fountain Pen that matched the diary perfectly.

They had been gathering dust for years—ever since I got married. One of these books, *The Therapeou*, was particularly special. It was nearly three centuries old and had been passed down through my family for generations. However, neither my father nor my grandfather ever unlocked its secrets; it was a widely held belief that only the women in our family were blessed with healing powers. This ability was extraordinarily rare, especially among wolves, whose natural immune systems rendered healing gifts almost unnecessary.