Zane Book Novels & Stories

I don’t know why. Something is wrong, and I don’t know what. I nodded. “Yes. That feeling that something is wrong is all over the last book.” I looked up at him. “Why did you hold this one back?” He held out his hand, and I gave the journal back to him. He flipped pages near the beginning this time, sighed, and gave it back. Zane came in drunk last night, basically fell on top of me, came inside me, and then went to sleep like a pig. I could feel it taking; what a great way to become pregnant. Is this the sort of boorish behavior I get to look forward to forever?

Watch out for “Striking Blow.” (Strike Zone Book #2) This is Pearl and Antonio’s story. Filled with international intrigue and subterfuge. Striking Blow Colombo. Sri Lanka. Pearl needed directions—a map—a freaking GPS back to herself. Finding her worth again meant starting with a physical transformation. For starters, the blonde princess staring back at her in the mirror wasn’t real, and it was time to pack “socialite barbie” away in a dark drawer; time to step away from the two-hundred-dollar haircut and her designer lifestyle.

“I’ll be damned if I’m taken naked again.” She couldn’t explain why she found his comment amusing, but she did. He gave her an odd look at the sound of her faint giggle, but said nothing as he quickly pulled on his clothes. They’d just finished pulling on their boots when a zombie -who had once been a male human- burst out of the brush. For a zombie, its speed was fairly quick, which led them to believe that it was advanced. It completely ignored them as it headed for the deer.

he said. “No,” Aiden whispered. “But you’re afraid of feeling something you can’t manage.” Julian’s hand reached up, half-formed—like he meant to touch him. But then the door opened again. Zane. “Oh,” he said, eyebrows raised. “Didn’t know the room was booked.” Aiden turned fast, guilt prickling down his spine. Julian’s expression locked back into place. Zane smiled slowly. Then, as he walked away, he said just loud enough:

I reply stoically ignoring the tray on the table. Lillian excuses herself leaving me and him. "Are you not going to eat the food?" he asks. "Is it any of your business?" I retort scowling at him. I should be scared by the glare of his face but right now I don't care what he has to say. Gabriel walks until he is by my side hovering where I sit gazing at the book like it is the most beautiful thing on earth even though I am not sure I can make out any word I am reading with him so close to me like this.

Turkeys, ducks, I even saw a fat geese, and also a very beautiful peacock with all kinds of feathery creatures just wandering around like they owned the place. Every fenced house I passed had at least one bird. Either walking proudly across the road or swooping right over my head. Brushing away a trickle of sweat running down my chin, I walked into the living room and came to an abrupt stop at the sight before me. Zane was sitting on one of the couches, dressed casually in grey joggers and a long sleeve black compression shirt that hugged his frame. AirPods nestled in his ears, his attention was fixed intently on the tablet in his hands. He was so absorbed that he didn't react to my presence

The room seemed to shrink around me. Every breath felt tighter. Every second heavier. Because suddenly, this wasn’t just about me anymore. It was about Zane. About what he would do. What he would risk. What he would destroy. And deep down... I knew one thing with terrifying certainty. Zane wasn’t the type of man to negotiate. He was the type to retaliate. And when he did… There would be consequences. Deadly ones. The man straightened, stepping back toward the door.

I am incredibly late. This is the moment I have been anxiously awaiting - my first encounter with the renowned Zane Orion. A figure of literary mastery, and my class supervisor. Although I am more than familiar with his work, today marks our first official introduction. And unfortunately, I have already managed to make a terrible first impression. In my hastened state, I stub my toe on the elevated platform and stifle a silent cry of pain. Could this day possibly get any worse? I remember the first time I read Zane Orion's nonfiction book on the romanticism of poetry, at the tender age of fifteen. It was a pivotal moment that ignited my passion for writing.

“I asked if you talked to him.” My chest tightens again. My fingers dig into the fabric of my dress. I feel my pulse hammering against my skin. Zane studies my face carefully, watching every twitch, every blink. “You’re nervous,” he says quietly. “I just want to go home.” “Not yet.” My breath stutters. Zane pulls open his drawer and places a small black notebook on the table. He flips it open to a page. “Ray’s handwriting,” he says. “Recognise it?”

“Did anyone recognize you?” Zane flashed a wide smile, revealing his gums. “Not at all,” he said, smug satisfaction dripping from every syllable. He turned on his heel dramatically, letting the cloak swirl around him. “I was nervous at first, sure. But now?” His grin deepened as he tapped his chest. “I feel invincible. Perfectly capable of carrying myself. After all…” He sprawled across Yeonho’s bed as though it were a throne, folding his arms behind his head. “All those years in the mafia paid off.”