The House Of The Scorpion Audiobook Novels & Stories

“OH MY GOD I HATE THIS HOUSE.” From the distance, the House hummed irritably—offended. “Sorry, Brenda!” Samantha yelled. The House buzzed once—accepting the apology. --- Then the hum changed. Turned sharp. Frantic. Panicked. Samantha stiffened. “Lucien. That’s Brenda. What is she saying?” I listened. Varyn House was screaming through the roots of the earth. One word. Over and over. Danger. “Sebastian,” I said softly.

He glared. “Okay then this one?” I pointed to one that clearly was about plants. It was green, a vine was poking out like a bookmark as it weaved down and around the spine. “No idea.” He grumbled again. “You know if I would have known it was this easy to distract you with books I'd have chosen a different location.” The pounding finally stopped and he pushed the books aside to climb out from under the table. I followed before grabbing a very human book. It was an old history book about a specific battle and I held it in front of Hectyr. “What’s this one about?”

I almost laughed at the thought, but the sound died in my throat as my gaze landed on the open book before me. Bruja. Only I could see the book and how its pages flipped on their own, fluttering like wings, stopping abruptly at a single page. I could see it clearly in my mind even though the book wasn’t near me. “Frosndomd Dexali Hippocampus,” I whispered, not even realizing I was chanting a spell. The rock glowed violently and then everything pulled. It was like my soul was being sucked into it. “Every element on earth holds memories,” a voice whispered in my head.

Two months later, his friends asked again, "Tristan, how long has it been since Esther contacted you?" Tristan froze, unable to respond. It had been a while since Esther had reached out to him. The home that had once been theirs felt empty without her. It was just cold brick walls now and could no longer be called a home. "This isn't right. Esther's always been soft and gentle, but now she's acting so decisively." At that moment, Tristan's friend, Jordan Fletcher, hesitated before saying, "Tristan, I heard Esther's with the heir of the Russell family in Straburgh."

Now I knew he'd been bleeding me dry for Riley Anderson, his childhood sweetheart. "I want to refinance the house, too," he added. I stopped what I was doing, my hands frozen in the sink, and turned to stare straight at him. "You really want your four three-year-old sons to end up homeless?" This house wasn't much, just a small three-bedroom, but it was ours—the one we'd fought for, saved for, and sacrificed for. The mortgage wasn't even close to being paid off. His name was on the deed because when we first bought it, I had been out of town on business. He'd told me it would be easier that way, with him making the payments.

His amber eyes seemed to read her soul without a word. The atmosphere was heavy, as if the house itself were observing the conversation before it began. Scattered candles cast distorted shadows on the walls, forming unfamiliar shapes—half-visible faces, tiny creatures that moved and vanished. The scent of incense, with its hint of burning metal, filled their chests, making them feel as if they were inhaling an ancient history, unwritten but still alive, waiting to be told. A heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the distant trickle of water, as if the house itself were testing the newcomers' patience, observing them, gauging their readiness before revealing its deepest secrets.

came a voice more husky and masculine than all the smutty audiobooks I've listened to “it’s been centuries since anyone woke me with such… interesting intent.” I stumbled back as soon as he opened his mouth, my flashlight clattered, falling from my hand, the beam spinning wildly as it rolled far away from my reach. He uncoiled with languid grace, almost fifteen feet of powerful tail stretching and flexing beautiful scales that caught the light like liquid metal. It was unlike anything I've ever seen in the real world and in all my weird discoveries, this right here took the crown. “Don’t run,” he said softly. “I can taste your fear and something sweeter underneath.”

I could not remember how I left the dungeon, or how I reached the House safely. My stream of consciousness was flying. If I felt unsafe in the House before, I feel it now more than ever after encountering such a spine-chilling man. Fenrir left, but Deo arrived. It seems the world finds entertainment in seeing me live in terror.

“Am so sorry, I still have a bit of a problem controlling my powers.” Oh, really, it wasn’t obvious. “It's fine.” I swallow dryly and pick up the book that had fallen to the floor. Tilting my head curiously, I study it. It’s bound with a thick kind of leather strap and though the pages are worn out and they smell a little stale, the ink is still very visible. I turn the book over in my hands and read the Latin words on the peeling hardcover. “The Genetics of Elemental’s.” The book is snatched from my hand before I could even ask what it is about and I glance up in surprise to see how pale she’s gotten. “You read Lat-Latin?”

Then, a rasping voice, laced with a hint of madness, emerged from the darkness beneath the hood. "I… I was a scholar," it croaked, "driven by a thirst for knowledge forbidden. Now, I am… trapped, consumed by the whispers." A wave of empathy washed over Maya, the tracker known for her keen senses and compassionate nature. "We can help you," she offered cautiously, "but you have to let go of the book." The figure clutched the book tighter, its knuckles turning white. "The power… it promises freedom," it rasped, the whispers intertwining with its words. "Freedom from pain, from fear… from everything."