Page 33 of Stolen
Then, I move on to the next title.
This enormous book is on a shelf by itself. There’s a glow inside, like the book emanates light, and I have to stand on my tippy toes to even try to make out the words.
The cover seems to be made of pure silver and gold. Etched into the metal is a crown, like the kind you’d see in some fantasy flick directed by Peter Jackson.
“The R-Rise of the,”I whisper, and try to get higher.
I look around, see a small box, and I grab it, placing it in front of the shelf.
I step up and try again, my heart in my throat as I finally see the full title.
“The Riseof the Prime of Nightfall.”
I touch my hand to the glass, I just can’t seem to help it, and the book?
I swear to God, it’s like the bookexhales.
“Shit,” I mumble, stepping back and literally falling on my ass.
I peek around, but no one sees me. So, I dust myself off and leave that aisle.
Restricted sections aren’t for me.
I wander deeper into the stacks.
The air changes the farther I go—thicker, quieter, like even the books are holding their breath.
I trail my fingers over the rows of leather-bound volumes, some of them glowing faintly, others humming beneath my touch like they know I’m here.
And I mean, come on.
This is every book girl’s dream, right?
ThatBeauty and the Beastfantasy, where the brooding, misunderstood monster gifts you a library so big you could live in it and never finish reading.
Only, let’s be real.
I’m no Beauty. Not with my curves and my sarcasm and my habit of trusting absolutely no one.
And Alaric? He might be a Demon Lord, or some dark god of kidnapping chunky humans, but he isn’t my Beast.
He’s something else entirely.
Something more dangerous.
Because the Beast had rules. Boundaries.
Alaric has intentions—ones I can’t read, and ones I’m starting to feel in places I probably shouldn’t.
Still, I can't stop the part of me that’s secretly, silently thrilled.
Because, this place?
This world?
The impossible, beautiful, terrifying Nightfall?
It feels more like home than anything ever has.
