Arcana Lucio Novels & Stories

To have separate lives away from each other. "What does your friend looks like?" Lancelot asked. "Lucia is fifteen years old lady, bit shorter than me. Long straight black hair and has porcelain skin. She has big brown eyes, and she is very beautiful," I said. "Wait. What are those things?" Lancelot asked while pointing at the man-structured smokes hopping from one corner to another, searching. "That was done by my friend Lucia. She is a white snake summoner that is why she can produce men of white snake. She told them to go and search for his cousin. Remember Orion? The one I told you who just disappeared when there was a mist and a humming voice."

Dante obeyed without question. “Sorry pussies but I lied. Neither of you deserves to live” Luciano turned, his bloodlust rising. This wasn’t just about betrayal or the shipment. Sure those things were infuriating but something darker pulsed in him. A fire he hadn’t been able to control lately. Araceli had been the spark. Ever since she entered his home, something in him had twisted. Bent. Cracked. His need for her and his failure to control it had left him a ravenous beast hungry for any sort of release. He needed an outlet and the two dangling men would have to do...for now.

His voice was low and calm as if he wasn't just yelling now. “Then what happened? Tall to me Lucian.” He takes a glance at me then looks back to the cup he plays with in his hands. “My name is Lucian D’Arcanis. Once a prince and heir to Vampire village till the disaster happened.” He pauses, his mouth slightly open as his next word seems to be stuck in his tongue. “Take a deep breath Lucian. Everything is fine.” Adhering to my words, he does as I say. He started speaking again.

“It’s my way of saying I think you’re dangerous. And I like dangerous things.” The silence thickened between them. She didn’t blink. “Careful,” she said softly. “You might find yourself in over your head.” Lucio took a final drag, exhaled smoke into the cold night air, and stubbed the cigarette out on the balcony rail. “Maybe,” he said. “But drowning never scared me.” Then, just as suddenly as he’d come, he stepped back toward the door. “I’m heading down to the cellar. Better wine down there. If you ever want a real drink…” He let the sentence trail off like a thread, unfinished.

No wonder Lucario had kept mute, saying nothing. Lord Lucas was the leader of the second leading mafia gang in the vicinity, Python Confraternity. He was domineering and powerful too, just like Lucario. But Lucario, beats him hands down in fame, influence and affluence. Lucario is more commanding than he is. For a long time now, Lord Lucas has been asking for her hand in marriage, but she has vehemently refused. She just doesn't know what love is, and she is never ready to experience it, not now, not ever. Even if she wanted to, it wouldn't be with someone like Lord Lucas, that beast.

“No work excuses, since it’s a Friday night.” I hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Tonight.” His grin widened. “Seven?” “Seven.” As he walked away, I realized I was smiling. And that was exactly when the temperature dropped. I didn’t even need to look to know. Lucio stood across the room, tablet tucked under his arm, eyes locked on me and Evan’s retreating back. His jaw was clenched, his posture rigid, like he was holding something in. Our eyes met. Something dark flickered through his gaze before his expression shut down completely.

As he talked, the wry smile never faded from his thick lips. His men stood behind us with guns on our necks. I was literally sweating but Jacob was cool and relaxed. "Young man," he said as he leaned towards me. His thick fingers find their way down my chin and the next moment I was staring in his eyes. What I saw wasn't a human being but an accomplice of the devil who rejoiced in the pain of his villains and smiled at the sight of their blood. We were the villains. "I used to be like you, following my emotions to wherever they led me but I learnt the hard way. You don't bargain with devil, no way," his barritone voice echoed in the room as he slowly placed the glass of water on the water an

I commanded quietly, keeping my back turned toward her. Luciano moved from the shadows with the terrifying, silent grace of a mafia ghost. He placed two mismatched ceramic mugs onto the flour-dusted surface of the marble island. One was my personal mug—noticeably chipped and stained at the rim—while the other was a flawless, pristine white porcelain cup he had retrieved from our back storage. He did not retreat from the room once the task was finished. Instead, he stood anchored in the corner of the room, his massive arms crossed tightly over his broad chest, his towering shadow stretching long and menacing across our sage-green walls. He was the lethal, uncalculated variable in this equatio