Novel & Cerita The Night Deposit Whiskey Library

I never used to allow food or drinks in the archival library, but it’s the only place I have found where pack members will leave me the fuck alone, so I have made an exception for the three bottles of liquor I drink a day. The snow is falling heavily outside. It looks beautiful, but I know less than twenty minutes in human form could kill you out there. Beautiful but fatal. Just like Kas. I close my eyes for a moment and envision her beautiful violet eyes and her sparkling silver hair. I can practically hear her sweet little laugh. The pain of being away from her overwhelms me again. I take another sip of my drink to stave it off. There is a small knock at the library door. I consider not an

Unrested, I paced to and fro, trying to think about a perfect strategy. Frustrated and angered by Bianca's stubbornness, I tossed my phone and black leather wallet onto the bed, the sound of them hitting the mattress a satisfying thud. I strode over to the mini-bar, and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. I poured myself a generous glass, the amber liquid glinting in the dim light of the room. I raised the glass to my lips, feeling the cool glass against my skin, and then gulped the whiskey down in one swift motion.

My lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile as I typed back a single character: "✓" The grandfather clock in the corner chimed twice - 2 AM. The witching hour when secrets felt heaviest and resolve wore thinnest. I stood abruptly, my chair scraping against the hardwood, and crossed to the liquor cabinet. The crystal decanter caught the moonlight as I poured two fingers of amber liquid, not bothering with a glass. The whiskey burned its way down my throat, but the heat couldn't melt the ice in my veins.

I take a sip of the whiskey and pass it to Bella, who does the same. We've been doing this for the last hour or so while watching a show on TV, but my mind isn’t on the show. We're seated on her bed, and the reason we're drinking here is because her parents have a strict no-drinking rule in their house. It doesn’t matter that we’re both old enough to drink—Bella is twenty-two and I turned twenty-four a couple of months ago. So, Bella stole the bottle from their cellar and brought it to the room. The silence between us is heavy, laden with all the unspoken fears and uncertainties of the past day. Dell said Agent Morales had extended my deadline to midnight, but the clock keeps ticking, and I

I needed more. I stumbled towards the door, the room spinning slightly. I needed to get out of there, to find more whiskey, more oblivion. I paused at the threshold, turning back to the two women. "Don't expect any blankets," I slurred, a cruel chuckle escaping my lips. "It's going to be a cold night." I slammed the door shut, the sound echoing through the house. I made my way to the library, where I kept my finest collection of spirits. Tonight, I intended to drink until I couldn't feel anything at all.

The library doors locked with a soft click that sounded louder than any shout. I had only stepped inside to find a book that might help me sleep. The mansion felt too quiet tonight, and I needed something to distract my racing mind. But the moment the doors closed behind me, I knew I had made a mistake. Victor stood near the tall windows with his back to me, a glass of whiskey in his hand. The storm outside cast flickering shadows across the room, making his silhouette look even more imposing.

Chapter 2 An Unforgettable Night “Give me a Scotch whisky!” Going to 69’s Club was Alexi’s choice after leaving Arron’s office, a place that had left her nauseous and dizzy. “Your order, Miss.” A bartender slid over what she had ordered, a large glass filled with crystal-clear ice and a strong alcoholic mix. Alexi gulped down the golden liquid as it burned its way down her throat. She set the glass aside with only a small amount left, ice cubes clinking inside. “This is completely fucked up. Would men die if they stayed faithful?” she muttered to herself.

Ranger Station – Just Before Dawn Clara hadn’t slept. She sat at her desk surrounded by books — some borrowed from the Terrell Historical Society, others from the dusty back shelves of the town’s near-forgotten library, and one, far older, bound in worn deer hide. It was a gift. Left anonymously at her door six months ago. No note. No return address. Only a title burned into the cover in no language she could read. But tonight, when she flipped to its center, the same split tree symbol was there.

Nyxara Midnight tasted like bad decisions and cheaper whiskey. I needed air that didn’t smell like my own frustration, so I slipped out—leaving Lira asleep on the couch—and found a dive bar on the edge of pack territory. Dim red lights, sticky tables, wolves who knew my reputation and kept their distance. Four drinks in, the burn was finally dulling the edges. Then a rough hand landed on my shoulder—heavy, deliberate. I turned, tail flicking irritably.

Porcius then handed it to Quintus. “What is it?” “Something close to whiskey. It’s powerful, but wet, so watch it.” Cautiously, Quintus looked into the brew. “What if it’s poison?” Porcius held up a different jar, one already open, and took a long draw on it, showing it was partially empty. “I ain’t dead yet.” Quintus tasted it, made a face, but took another sip. “Strong, indeed.” Porcius nodded with vigor. “These people invented whiskey, these Celtic bastards . . . Water of life they call it. How ironic is that, huh? I bet my ass to odd high that if ya drank enough it’d kill yer ass dead in an hour.”