The Book That Wouldn't Burn Novels & Stories

I was late morning when Tristan entered the room pulling my head of the book, I looked at him in slight amazement. “We have the conference call in twenty minutes.” He greeted stepping into the room as I looked up. “What?” He asked and I held up the book. “Tristan, this book.” I stated not really knowing how to explain it. “It’s a novel, just a story that I found in the library, but it’s based on a family of werewolves, the two daughters, twins, were born with a special gift, they could produce fire and ice.” I uttered and watched as his brows rose. “They later became joint alphas of the their pack. Do you think this could be the story of the alpha twins that we were looking for?”

How was this possible? Then what happened to me? I felt those flames; I felt them consuming me. I remember that there was this voice, the beautiful voice. Telling me to embrace the flames, to embrace the fire. It said something else too. I shiver all over just thinking about that part. It can not be true, and I can not tell anyone what happened. They will never believe me. And that little girl, who was she? One thing I was sure of, I will never embrace the fire, even if it’s my gift.

It’s all about faith. °°° The story ends here. Thanks for reading. Follow me on my I*, and get to know about my next book which is about their kids. Also, read my another book Beta Nocholas. It's a werewolf romance. Thanks again :)

Today I saw it in the books which I had not read so I decided to read this one. Currently, I am in my room and sitting on the bed with my knees pulled to my chest. I am holding the book with my only left hand. I cannot use my right hand because the king burnt it last night with hot candle wax. The candle wax had deeply burnt my skin and I am sure the wounds will leave scars. It was very painful and I felt like my arm was in direct contact with hot blazing fire rather than hot wax. It was worse than walking on the hot sand. When he left the room last night, I fainted. I woke up this morning.

He started flipping the pages and his eyes scanned meticulously word by word. I was amazed with his reading speed and I leaned in to wait for his explanation. But then, his eyes grew visibly wide as his cheeks turned red. Once he reached the last page, he closed the book in silence. “So, what was it all about?” I asked. Then his hand glowed as I gasped, as he cast a small fire on his hand directly to the book as it was completely being burned. It only took a second before the book was burned into crisp. “W-What was that for?!”

Jenny sat by way of the massive window in her room, watching the locked gates of the mansion. The golden lights of the chandelier reflected off the polished marble ground, making the vicinity feel even greater like a palace. But no matter how beautiful it was, it turned into nonetheless a prison. She had back, however not with the aid of desire. Noah had compelled her to return to his global, using her fear in opposition to her. She wrapped her palms around herself, feeling the load of the entirety crushing her. Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry. Crying could not change anything. She needed to suppose. She wished a way out.

Carla and Travis watched from the sidelines, hands clasped. “We did it,” Carla said, her voice steady. Travis nodded. “And we’re just getting started.” The scars remained, but they were no longer wounds. Dave, Carla, and the other victims were healing, not just surviving but thriving, their journeys a testament to resilience, love, and the unyielding power of talent reclaimed. ----- This marks the end of the Burning Embers: Scorching Tales of Desire. Compiled short story arcs now made their way to their ends.

The paper curled the moment it kissed the flame. Scarlet didn’t hesitate. She pressed the notebook harder into the candlelight, watching as the edges blackened, the ink blistering and fading into nothing. The words she’d bled onto those pages...plans, filth, fear, secrets...warped and vanished in a hiss. Ronan was still struggling with his shirt, fabric caught over his head like a damn blindfold. She tossed the burning book into the fireplace. And screamed.

She lost herself in the words, letting them pull her into another world, another time, another story that wasn’t hers. She didn’t even notice when her eyelids grew heavy. Didn’t notice when the book slipped from her fingers. Didn’t notice when she drifted into unconsciousness. Heat. It was the first thing she felt. An unbearable, suffocating heat pressing against her skin, wrapping around her throat like a vise. Then the smell—thick, acrid, choking. Something was burning. Her eyes snapped open, and terror crashed into her like a tidal wave. Flames. They licked hungrily at the bookshelves, devouring the store in angry tongues of gold and crimson. Smoke curled in thick plumes, turning the air

I interrupted. Her cheeks went red, and her eyes brightened. With a groan, I shook my head. My wolf was growling at me even before I said, “It’s not worth crying over.” The book blew up. Every page lit on fire as it burst outward, flying in every direction. A chunk of the flaming spine hit me square in my chest. I batted it away, yelping in shock. There was a slight burn where it’d hit me, but nothing bad. I stomped out the flames and made my way to the other bits of burning paper, putting out the fires.