Whispers of the Midnight
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Prisha is a girl with the warmth of ginger tea running away from the night that changed everything When half-forgotten memories start connecting with a mysterious stranger the situation turns dark and dangerous Night after night perfume like whispers haunt her fingertips as if some unspoken desire is speaking directly to her soul
Then she meets him A man who exists only in her darkest dreams with eyes that burn like coal embers and an aura heavy with secrets Every text every midnight call ignites a spark inside her This attraction is forbidden yet impossible to resist Is this just obsession or her one last chance to survive
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𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐚 ~𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥'𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 ( 𝐃𝐮𝐞𝐭 #𝟐 ) ( Under Editing)
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What should've been just one night of surrendering to my desires turned into an endless stream of obsession. A deadly obsession. A sickening, mind-numbing obsession. She coursed through my veins, spreading rapidly like venom. She was my very own poison. She was my savior and my downfall. She was everything that I've ever dreamed of, everything I've ever wanted. Her taste lingered on my tongue, her scent haunted me every day, and her siren eyes were imprinted into my memory forever. She shouldn't have left me, she shouldn't have created this insatiable craving that couldn't be relinquished. Despite her attempt at trying to run from me, there wasn't a corner of this Earth that she could hide in because I'd always find her. Wherever she went, I'd be right behind her. Chasing her. Hunting her. Yearning for her. Becoming infatuated with the seductress wasn't on my agenda. I didn't plan on being sucked into her world but here I was, on my knees for a woman who pushed me away every chance she got. I burned for her and I'd burn the world for her. She controlled my heart, mind, body, and soul. And the worst part was, I wouldn't have it any other way.
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Nour Delour doesn't chase men. She manufactures them. Shapes their desire with oils, honey, blood, and flame. In her Harlem candle boutique, every scent has a spell, every wick a whisper of old Southern rootwork passed down from women who knew how to make love feel like a fever. So when Rajah Thomas━the ex who ghosted her, walks by her shop window with his new girl on his arm, Nour doesn't cry. She gets even. She carves his name into wax, mixes it with her own essence, then lights the candle her grandmother warned her never to use: the 𝗪𝗮𝘅 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁. It doesn't just draw Rajah back━it 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘴 him. And this time, he returns with wet eyes, trembling hands, and a craving he can't explain. He's starving for her aroma, her skin, her darkness. He says her name like a prayer. Cries when she lets him taste her. Tells her he'll never leave again. But obsession has a cost, and magic always demands balance. As the flame burns lower, Rajah unravels. He starts sleeping outside her door. Sobbing when she doesn't answer. Losing jobs, friends, time. As for Nour? She's not untouched. She's sweating through her sheets. Moaning his name in her sleep. Bleeding from places that shouldn't bleed. The spell has tethered them by more than lust━it's welded their souls into something unnatural, and if she tries to break it, 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩. Still, there's a part of her━the part that wanted this━that isn't ready to let go. Because this love? It's not soft. It's not safe. It's 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗹𝘆. 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄. @GLOSSNEILES ON THE COVER ART.
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