Under The Skin Book Novels & Stories

Boring, predictable, exactly what I'd expect from a man who treated feelings like a liability. A leather-bound book sat tucked behind a row of finance texts on the lowest shelf. I pulled it out without thinking much about it. The cover had no title. Just worn leather, soft from years of handling, a small dent across the spine like it had been dropped a hundred times and picked back up just as many. I opened it. My own face stared back at me. Page after page. My jaw, my hands, the curve of my neck, details I didn't even know anyone had noticed about me, let alone bothered to capture in pencil with this much care.

I was about to give up when my fingers brushed against something different. It was massive, bound in what looked like black, flayed skin, and heavy enough to make my muscles strain as I pulled it from its slot. It landed on the reading table with a heavy thud that sent a cloud of dust into the air. I wiped the grime from the cover, my breath catching in my throat. The title was embossed in faded silver script: Vampiric Death and Rebirth.

But for now, updates will be Mon-Wed-Sat (1 to 2 chapters, or more if I can). The book BENEATH HER DARKNESS is already launched on g o o d n o v e l. However, the APP is currently having some system glitches, which resulted in some of you not finding any books at all. But they are there. If you wish to read my new book, I will have to suggest this workaround in the meantime.

She was laying on the bed, dressed in only a silk and from the way her nipples pushed against the thin fabric of the robe, it was obvious that she was not wearing any underwear. “What is it that you have to say?” I asked. She stood up from the bed and walked towards me in a series of sultry movements. Under different circumstances I would have found this sexy. Hell, the former I would have had her bent over the nearest table while I drill into her, but now, I was just irritated. Not even a semi. Her skin touching me made me feel like my skin was crawling…. Kennedie, she had ruined me for every other person and I should be wary, I knew I should be. All of this was supposed to be too much too

That's some guts! "You know..." She was still talking when she noticed the spotlight fall on a tall, cool ivory-skinned, handsome hunk with a light auburn hair packed in a neat high bun who was standing on the well decorated podium which was 4 feet higher than the floor where Jessica and every other guest of the party was and immediately, Katherine could tell he was the Lycan King even though he wasn't dressed like royalty at all as he wore denim jeans and a black T-shirt which seemed to be missing a few buttons at the top.

Because the hand that emerged from the sleeve was rotting. Not wounded. Not infected. But dead. The skin hung in thin, loose folds, grey-green and peeling, with long cracks that oozed black fluid. Black veins pulsed beneath the translucent flesh—no, not veins—tunnels. And inside them, something squirmed. Maggots. Or something like them. Moving slowly beneath the skin. Living under the flesh. I fought the wave of nausea that curled inside me, forcing my breath to steady. But my throat locked.

"Her last wish before she died was to watch over you, so I put on her skin and came to your house to make that happen. Think of it as a favor for letting me come back to the living world." I was still confused. "So, what you're saying is that my dad and grandma were involved in my mom's death. But why didn't my dad suspect anything when you showed up at our house wearing her skin?" The woman casually fiddled with her long, perfectly manicured nails and said slowly, "Because all he wanted was a mindless body—someone to clean the house and do his bidding without asking questions. "He'd heard some shady rumor that if he strangled his wife, dumped her somewhere remote, and then sprinkled some ho

I became a bit better after I wore a pair of gloves and warm thick slacks with the shirt. As I strode back to the bed, my eyes caught the view of steady fire from the hearth. A line I had vaguely seen in a book while I hurriedly riffled through its pages popped into my head - ‘burning as the flames of the furnace, triggering an absurd color of the skin; a tickling effect in the layers of the flesh, popping the veins out― demons-bane’.

Fingers clutched slippery pale, her nails digging, stained with red as she tugged sinewy flaps free to expose glistening meat stretched over bone. Stripping the skin, the stranger’s front soon opened like the pages of a book, one telling a tale of ribs and lungs, spleen and intestine, heart and blood, she searched for what made her different, better. One that singled her out as more deserving of his attention, his kisses, his love and affection. This, this slicing, this sawing, this tugging and excavating, this peeling back the skin and diving underneath, this made sense. First, she’d find the answer and then . . .

"Three?" "Yes," he replied. "The first one is 'Under the Darkness,' the second one is 'Summer Under the Leaves,' and the third one is this one," he pointed to the title of the book with its faded and burnt rose-petal cover. "All written by the same author as the last one. She's really good," he smiled. "She describes certain scenarios of what could have happened in Melia Conkinova's life, regarding her parents' lives, their death, and her own as well. I've read them all, they're incredible!" he exclaimed with excitement. "Sorry," he mumbled. "No problem," she said, tousling his blond hair.