The Woman In The Library Novels & Stories

"I'm glad. It sounds perfect." The following Tuesday, I walked into the library's community room. Around the table sat a handful of women—Agnes, a retired schoolteacher named Betty, a young mother named Sarah who desperately needed the adult conversation. They were discussing the first three chapters with a passion that was both earnest and endearing. There were no high stakes, no hidden agendas. Just a shared love of a story.

Ten years in prison was enough to mess my head already. Lost in thought, I heard footsteps approaching. Glancing up, I saw a young woman entering the library. Her beauty was striking, her presence commanding attention effortlessly. I recognized her immediately by the cascade of dark hair that framed her face – it was Lydia.

I marched out of the house and drove to the library. “Good day, Alpha,” the librarian greeted as I walked toward the front desk. She was an older lady, her wrinkles that adorned her forehead. She was the quintessence of a librarian with her knitted sweater and her glasses that had beaded loops that wrapped around her neck and tucked beneath her silver hair. “I’m searching for a book on the Order of the Fang,” I said. She paused, her eyes widening. “Alpha?” she called and I tilted my head. She seemed to have seen a ghost with the way she reacted and I didn’t know it was even possible for her to look as pale as she did now.

The woman took the book from the desk and signed it back in the log. After that, Snow returned it to its shelf and considered finding another book. She walked toward the staircase leading to the upper hall, her eyes shimmering at how bright and beautiful the library looked. Books—rows and rows of them—all containing knowledge about themselves, other kinds, and more. She trailed her fingers along the spines of the books when her gaze landed on a particular one. “Mate Bond,” she muttered. She probably shouldn't be reading it, but her curiosity was suddenly piqued.

Ensuring she was in the right place, she looked around. Yep. Library was having many visitors. But why all of them were women? “Hey, is there something happens? Why they’re running into the library like that?” Irina held an arm of a younger woman. The younger woman’s smile looked so silly, thought Irina, as she gave Irina brief and unclear explanation. “Oh, there’s this new man in town, he’s in there.” Then the younger woman hurriedly went inside the library. So? Irina shrugged as she couldn’t relate why the man visited the library.

I said, and she nodded. “Sometimes the biggest weapons, the strongest and deadliest are hidden in a library, Diablo.” She said, opening the door. The two of us walked inside and she nodded at the librarian. The woman did not even bother getting up. It was as if she was aware of our presence. She was aware of what we were here for. Maybe she was.

No one acknowledged me beyond quick, nervous bows. I was the Mafia Prince's wife. The newest acquisition. Something to be wary of but not engaged with. I found myself drawn to the library. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, leather chairs, the smell of old paper and expensive scotch. A room that felt lived in. Real. I ran my fingers along book spines. History, philosophy, military strategy. Fiction mixed with fact. Someone in this family actually read. Actually thought. "Finding everything satisfactory?" I spun. A woman stood in the doorway. Older, maybe fifty. Elegant gray suit, hair swept into a perfect chignon. She looked like money and authority and absolutely no nonsense.

She straightened and touched the loose of strands of hair coiling around her face to ensure they were in place. She’d freshened up her makeup after her class had ended and had hurried over to the library. The men looked like they had been here a while. She wondered how Abel and Ethan had gotten out of class so quickly. Preparing to walk further in, Dorothy caught sight of a new person she hadn’t seen before. A young woman with soft, pink hair stood at the Librarian’s desk. She was dressed as if for work in a large shirt tucked into a long skirt. The pretty lady had a petite build with wide hips, her hands holding onto a list and several books.

June whispered, her voice trembling as her eyes darted to the door. I dragged a hand through my hair, the thought gnawing at me too. It could be. Whatever. I pulled in a deep breath, the kind that burned down my throat, and swallowed hard before pushing the door wider. The hinges creaked, and the library’s dim light spilled into the hall. Inside, a woman stood with her back partly turned, sliding books onto the shelves in neat rows. Her hair, long and pink like strands of silk and her plain blue gown with her nails stretched out like tiny paintbrushes.

When we finally hit solid ground, it wasn't the mint-green structure we landed in. It was a library. A massive, impossible library that stretched in every direction, its shelves reaching toward a ceiling so high I couldn't see it. Books lined every surface—some ancient and leather-bound, others looking like they'd been written yesterday. Floating orbs of light drifted through the space, casting everything in a warm, golden glow. And sitting at a desk in the center of it all, writing in a book with a quill pen, was a woman. She looked up as we crashed onto the marble floor, her eyes—one gold, one silver—studying us with interest.