The Nightingale Book Review Novels & Stories

she replied, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. Before I could process her words, I felt her arms tighten around me. Her scent was intoxicating, clouding my thoughts. Her hand began to wander, igniting a fire within me. Looking at Delilah, her face flushed with desire, I realized I was falling for her. Beneath her nurse's uniform, I caught a glimpse of black lingerie that sent my thoughts spiraling. And at last, I gave in.

“She wanted me to deliver a message to you and Mrs. Flamingo.” At the mention of her, Mrs. Flamingo came barreling out the door, her face so bright red, she looked like an angry, red tropical bird. “What are you doing here, Harlow Nightingale?” she demanded. It was only then that she realized I’d fixed her house. She turned around and stared at it for a few seconds, as if she were inspecting it to make sure that I didn’t leave even the smallest speck of blue on the paint. I hadn’t, though I’d thought about it.

I ask for the second time. MYSTERIOUS OLD LADY: Why does it matter to you, do you also want to kill me like you killed that old man? (She whispers into my ears and I tremble) I'm still lying in the darkness and I can feel her breath all over me. I feel like she's encircling my bed and whispering into my ear whenever she gets close to it. I can feel the continuous motion around me. I'm still, and I can't move my body.

The wind blew colder, and it shielded me from it. I was waiting for Tina on the balustrades adjacent the prayer hall. I was facing the quiet garth, instead of the crowded corridor, so I had the view of the sky that was partly hidden by the towering roof of the convent. A flock of pigeons flew by, and it was followed by something that abruptly covered my view. It was a book. My hands were swift on it. It had no false cover this time, that I could see the illustration of glinting constellations on an unlit horizon of nothingness.

she said softly. I felt a warmth spread through my chest as I sat down on the vacant chairs in the library. I knew that even though the books I had been searching for were gone, there were still so many stories waiting to be told. I looked down at the book on the table, feeling a sense of connection to it, it seemed mysterious and unknown. I felt a shiver run down my spine as I ran my fingers over the embossed title: Nightstalkers; Hunting the Creatures of the Night.

Her aunt’s sharp nails dug into her cheeks. “You have no right to refuse,” Mathilda said through gritted teeth, her eyes blazing with anger. “Don’t think your tears will change anything! They’re useless and won’t help!” She then forcefully let go of Lilliane’s face. Lilliane sobbed, almost choking from crying. The sharpness of her aunt’s nails seemed to linger, embedded in her skin. Richard smirked derisively, as even he could hear the girl’s words.

Tancorix strained her eyes to the north side of the valley and spotted a few fireflies in the night, something she wondered if the Romans could see as well. The Romans had spread out their numbers to the south, though, digging in for a fight. A few pickets walked out in the bright light of the moon, spears up, scanning the plain. They pointed their spears at the three females, but could do little as they were so far away. Ragala made an obscene gesture with her left hand, but Weaver swiped at her in the air as if she could strike her down. The girl frowned, bit her lip and let her chin drop.

“Follow her. She’ll lead us to him.” Nightingale was legendary. She was breathtakingly beautiful—often described as a "fox spirit" in human form—and famous for her ruthless management of Quinn’s empire. No one dared cause trouble on her turf. People often said she was exactly the kind of woman an "Underworld King" deserved. Nightingale stopped in front of the man, her voice a sultry, cat-like purr. “Mr. Grayson, Quinn has the wine and food ready. He’s waiting for you in the VIP suite. Please, follow me.”

She stood up quickly and walked over to the small kitchen counter, her throat feeling like absolute sandpaper. She grabbed a large glass pitcher of water from the small refrigerator and poured it down her throat, practically drinking the entire contents in a desperate bid to quench her burning thirst. She had arrived at her apartment late in the afternoon, utterly exhausted from her brutal training session with Nimrod, and fatigue had claimed her the moment her head hit the pillow.

It filled her chest with a burning sensation, but it was a pain she welcomed. Hopefully, heavens would hear her prayers. Ayla walked to the window frame, from where the full moon shone brightly. “Please keep Master safe.” Then the pain changed. As if an unknown force was telling her this was something she wasn’t supposed to feel, Ayla felt her back being skinned, right where the soulmark used to be. She fell on her knees with a thud. *** Author's Note: Thank you for reading "Night-Blooming". If you like the story, please leave a review or your opinion about the character's so far. Once more, thanks for the support!