Winter Book Covers Novels & Stories

Lily came back with the drawing before he left. It was a house, a big square with a triangle roof, the way all children draw houses, with a sun in the corner that had about sixteen rays coming off it. In front of the house there were three figures. The tallest one had what appeared to be a suit drawn on in careful crayon strokes. The smallest one had enormous hair. The middle one had, Lily had given it long dark hair and a yellow shape at the bottom of the page that I eventually understood was supposed to be a cardigan, My cardigan. The yellow one I wore on Tuesdays.

I stared at the book cover and saw something weird. On the top left side of the cover of the book, was a sticker of something blue... Once I recognized it my eyes widened. It was a...smurf sticker? I double-checked and saw I was right. The smurf sticker was staring back at me, a big smile on his face. He was jumping, happy. I got the other series to check if there were other stickers also. Alas, every single one of the books has different stickers of smurfs doing different poses on the top of the book covers.

I was a nuisance alive, but if I were dead, my mother's connections and hidden assets would slip away. Neal stood nearby, brow furrowed, haunted by my calm gaze as I sat on the warehouse floor. There was no fear, no plea for help, and not even a glance in his direction. That look pierced him like a needle, stirring an inexplicable panic. Liam spoke up. "I found this in the alley behind the warehouse." He opened his hand, revealing a small silver bookmark etched with half a frost flower. It was my cherished keepsake. Olive's sobs paused, then grew louder. "That is Eira's favorite bookmark. Something has happened to her."

I smiled and shook my head as I backed out of the driveway to head out of the pack territory. It was now almost December, and the ground was covered in snow, the Vermont landscape was a winter wonderland, trees and mountains layered in white. Throughout my time growing up in this area, I never tired of the changing seasons and all the unique sceneries they brought. I couldn’t decide if I enjoyed autumn or winter best. Both had a magical feeling to them.

"More? You've already done so much." Callum smiled, reaching for yet another package—this one larger, rectangular, wrapped in gold paper. "This one's from a tradition in our family," he said, nodding to Oscar. "Our parents always gave us each a book on Christmas Eve, to read before bed." The package was heavy in my hands, and I opened it carefully to reveal a beautifully bound volume—a collection of winter tales from across our kingdom, illustrated with intricate drawings that seemed to shimmer on the page. "We thought we could read it together tonight," Oscar explained. "Start our own tradition of stories by the fire."

The city moved at a gentler pace. People bundled in coats hurried through streets. Children built imperfect snowmen. Cars crawled cautiously through intersections. Life continued. Beautifully ordinary. Later that afternoon, Ama found herself walking home alone. Fresh snow crunched beneath her boots. The air carried that unique winter stillness. Not silence. A quieter version of the world. She passed a bookstore. Then stopped. A display window had caught her attention. New releases. Classic novels. Poetry collections. Stories. So many stories. Each one beginning with a choice.

Kamar – "The witches should be here soon, and then we will walk over to their new home, a cabin close to here. They made the cabin of camouflage colors matching the forest, hiding the cabin in plain sight. The cabin has two bedrooms, one being fixed to accommodate the baby, with cribs, toys, etc. They fully furnished the cabin with all the latest necessities. We have provided an Elven nanny who is also a warrior of ours to help and guard the baby at night."

His people kept their distance, but they respected him—and by extension, left me alone. But my dreams? They grew worse. They weren’t just dreams anymore. They were memories. Too vivid. Too real. Flames. Screams. A woman—my mother—pressing something into my hand. A man with silver eyes facing down monsters that howled like broken wolves. And always, the voice. “Run, little star.” It was during a rare moment of calm—when I’d stepped outside to breathe in the cold—that itappeared. The wind stilled. The air shimmered. And then, from the edge of the forest, a great she-wolf emerged.

The little black cat curled up in her lap as usual. "Tonight we find out the real skinny on this, kitty," she murmured as she opened the heavy book to the page she had marked. "I don't even know what I'm looking for any more but I hope I find it soon." She opened the book to the place she'd marked, two pages of hand-drawn sketches. One of the drawings especially caught her eye. The face of the wolf looked almost human and she had the bizarre feeling the animal was staring out at her from the page.

From time to time, Kail kissed her cheeks and caressed her hair sweetly. Silje couldn’t believe this was happening. This moment they had together… Silje glanced at him secretly often to make sure he was real. It felt like she was dreaming. “‘Smila’s Sense of Snow’ was great too. I will definitely check out the book you mentioned. Karin Fossum’s ‘Don’t Look Back’, right?” “Yeah. You’ll like it. It won the Glass Key Award and it starts out like this: ‘Up on the road everything was quiet, and a breeze that had been playing amongst the buildings during the night that had finally died down.’”