Stolen Tongues Book Novels & Stories

Maybe because it was far more relevant to me. The Malkara supposedly contained everything about wolves, Lycans, dragon shifters, hybrids, cursed bloodlines… creatures like me. Demigod hybrids. I sat down and opened the tome, intending to skim through it quickly. I expected ancient knowledge, histories, and hidden truths. Instead, my eyes landed on a single sentence repeated endlessly, filling the parchment: “The sleeping tongue remembers only the blood that first taught it to speak, because blood restores the forgotten language and breaks the seal that was never forged for keys.”

Elena looked back at the burning ruins, the sky above glowing red and gold. For the first time, she understood what The Stolen Pride truly meant — not just a legacy lost or a bloodline broken, but the cost of holding on too tightly to something that was never meant to be owned. She whispered into the rising smoke, “We’ll carry it right this time. Not as pride. As truth.” Alessandro wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Together.” She nodded, leaning into him as the fire consumed the past. And somewhere within the blaze, faint and fleeting, she swore she heard Matteo’s voice once more —

—— A few minutes passed and Caroline left, what she didn’t know was that, one of her hair pins, it was exchanged for a microphone. Perfectly crafted to look like a hairpin, it was misleading. I glanced at Luca for a moment, the kids are awake and having dinner. I could barely stomach any food. Luca settled in the living room with his laptop open, watching everything unfold and I settled beside him. The view came from her jacket, we could see the van perfectly. “How does this work?” I whisper.

The smile on my face grew colder. Three days after the stream ended, things began to shift. Quietly. Then, all at once. The first to fall was Tyson. Early Monday morning, a piece of news spread through every class group chat like a virus. Tyson had both his legs broken. He was in the hospital. Rumor had it that the bag of 30,000 dollars he found was not lost property at all. It belonged to a local underground banker, someone known for being ruthless. He had dropped it during a rushed deal.

Damien drove the rogue down, one knee in its chest, claws at its throat. “Say another word to her,” he growled, “and I will remove your tongue.” The rogue smiled up at him. “You cannot stop a door once it knows her blood.” The journal fluttered in my hand. Pages snapping hard enough to sting. Words appeared. THE HOLLOW CALLS WHAT THE HOUSE WAKES. My mouth went dry. “Damien.” “I’m busy.” “The haunted book has an update.” “Not ideal timing.” “Shockingly, the book did not ask.”

On the first page, the introduction stated: [The man who steals had been known as a thief, a gentleman of knowledge, a flying thief, and there are sects of stealing, such as…] “Damn it! Why are they all the same? So pretentious,” Darryl muttered, but it was not long before he was hooked on the contents of the book. The Cult Mistress was right; this was indeed an interesting read. The stealing techniques used by modern-day thieves were considered unprofessional. This included using tools such as using long tweezers to steal a phone from a lady’s bag.

Their feet were glued to the sturdy wooden surface beneath, and all they could do was watch and pray, and not a word could dare a rebel from them. "Where do I begin my day's lecture?" He gave the woman mumbling a scream a deep eeky look, sending every once of liquid in her to ripple. "Yes! Your loud mouth got you into this, so --" He jetted his hand between her lips, into her mouth, crushing her jaw bones. "-- I'll take care of that first." And yanked out her tongue, detaching it. The blood from the wiggling tongue as he lifted it above his head, channelled down, fiercely running to his elbow. He shot his lips over his arm, and ran his tongue with the rails the sprinting red beaded liquid ma

she asked the new bartender who even seemed hesitant when she saw her. He looked at Eve’s back and his face suddenly become scared that Eve knew he wouldn’t let her have what she asked for whatever reason it was. She didn’t care anymore. Thus, seeing the opened liquor of the costumer near her, she grabbed it and drunk it all up, consuming everything despite those people’s protest. As she drank it, the scene of Lucas kissing that woman flashed before her eyes again, making her grit her teeth in frustration. Not having enough, she stole the guy’s drink beside her and drink it again

My pupils constricted, and I screamed, "Don't look at it!" I tried to snatch it away, but my fingers passed right through the pages. Left with no choice, I watched helplessly as Jonathan picked up the diary and opened it.

And then I touched it, and when I did, it burned and hurt and I bled. Now the voices had returned, I was bleeding and shaking in Elijah's arms, and too weak to keep the voices from frustrating me. I couldn't seem to make it stop. It crawled into my bones, repeating the same words over and over again, louder and heavier every time the words were said. "Return what was stolen. Return what was stolen." Like I had ever stolen anything in my life. But retribution for what I didn't steal was the least of my problems. Right then, the hand that still held on the crown piece still burned against my palm, and my head felt like it was being slit right open.