Ash Black Butler Novels & Stories

As long as you come back to work, I'll promote you to become my assistant! I snorted and said, "You must've received my message last night, right? If my text got lost in the sea of well wishes, I don't mind repeating it again." Over the phone, I heard Vernon suddenly inhale sharply, and I continued, "We're over. What do you think? Did I make things clear enough for you today? You understand what I'm saying, right?" Without waiting for Vernon's response, I ended the call right away. I also blocked this unfamiliar number.

And Ashen gasped. “Grayson,” he whispered, voice trembling, “I see something—” I grabbed him immediately. “Ashen, stay with me.” Hamish stepped closer, eyes wide. “Describe it. What do you see?” Ashen’s voice shook violently. “A silhouette. Not Solven. Not Ateron. Something… whole.” “What does it feel like?” I asked. He shuddered. “Like… it’s mine.” Hamish’s voice dropped. “Ask it its name.”

She stood there, oblivious of the danger that lurked behind her as she stood forward with her hands pressed against her chest while the breeze blew against her hair softly. And this person was closer, his left hand reaching for her. This close, when I picked up a small sized stone and sent it flying in the air and as his hands were an inch away from hers, the stone hit him at the back of his head. Selene turned in fear but I had already cornered the man, dressed in black overall and was already fighting sovereignty as he was not backing down. This person, head bald, waved his knife at me. It was not the regular kitchen knife, this one, had a slant shape on the edge and was very sharp.

Damon’s lips curved in a smile, his hand cupping her face as though she were the most fragile, precious thing in the world. She shook her head, leaning into his touch. "Never, I feel like a princess with you " "I don't want you to feel like a princess doll, you are a queen " He muttered and leaned in closer. Just when their lips were about to touch, a sharp vibration rattled the coffee table, interrupting their moment, Damon frowned and reached for his phone. He reached for it lazily, but the moment he saw the caller ID Butler Harris his brow furrowed. He answered, his voice clipped.

“No. But I should have. Guys like you usually bring them with you.” I smirked. “Guys like me?” “Leather, tattoos… gunshot wound,” he said dryly. “You scream of trouble.” He wasn’t wrong. “And you don't want any of that?” “Name’s Ash,” I muttered when he didn't reply and finally regretted it. Where were we? Tenth grade? I was watching him move around the small room tending to my wounds with precision. “Noah.” He finally said, not looking up. “Thanks, Noah.”

The collar rune around my throat snapped—light cracking like glass. It dissolved. Mara’s face twisted with rage. “No,” she hissed. “You don’t get to—” “I do,” I snapped. I turned to the black-water seam and spoke the only command that mattered. “RETURN.” Ash surged—not upward, not outward—*sideways*, into the water like a hook. The black water fought, swirling, trying to swallow my ash. I clenched my jaw and pushed. “RETURN HER.” The water bulged. A shape rose.

I broke them with pressure, anger and the promise that resistance would only make the end worse but Asher broke them by making them understand he had no predictable limit. He set the black case on the table and opened it carefully. The men stared. Inside were tools arranged in perfect rows. Some were ordinary enough to recognize, while others had been altered with silver edges, runes or narrow channels designed to carry herbs and poisons into the skin. Asher selected one instrument, inspected it and returned it to its place, taking his time as though choosing utensils for dinner. “I want to be clear,” Asher said pleasantly. “I don’t actually enjoy this as much as everyone claims.”

Olivia sighed and decided to trust her friend's judgement for the night. Nickey grabbed Olivia's arm and pulled her towards the bar. "All we have to do is stay away from that bitch, Thelia." *** "You'd better make sure everybody knows that this is the last time I'm going to put up with these endless parties," Asher Blackwood exclaimed. "I have had enough of the constant parade of available bitches for my consideration. I'm telling you, as I have told my mother countless times, that I don't need a mate to rule! " He continued to restlessly pace across his bedroom and glowered at Carlisle, the other man in the room.

It felt less like a security room and more like the inside of Shadowfen’s mind, where every hallway, breath, door opened and closed somewhere as a small thread of information. Asher moved through it like he belonged to the madness completely, his grin still there but calmer now, fingers moving over the consoles with surprising precision. He was not joking as much anymore. His crimson eyes were sharp, focused, occasionally flicking from one floating panel to another while strange lines of light responded to him like trained animals, and I found myself watching him with a new kind of wariness because it was easy to forget, beneath all his flirting and insanity, that Asher Blackthorne was not j

But alive. I slip into the black dress. It's simple sleeveless, floor-length, with a high neckline that seems almost modest until I turn around and see that the entire back is open, plunging down to just above my tailbone. "Let me see!" Lila calls. I step out of the fitting room, and her jaw drops. "Holy shit." "Is it too much?" "It's perfect. Spin around." I do, and she makes a low whistle. "That back. Jesus, Esme. You look like you could kill a man."