Brooding Dark Haired Man Novels & Stories

The screams, the explosions, the horrible stench of death surrounded me. I thrashed in his grip, desperate to break free. “Please! Let me go!” But he didn’t stop. Not until we were deep in the shadows, away from the worst of the battle. And that was when I saw him. Another man. He stood tall and still in the dim light, watching me with an unwavering gaze. His features were sharp, cruely handsome in a terrifying way. His long, black hair was slicked back, and a deep scar ran down the right side of his face, stretching from his temple to his jaw. His eyes burned with embers as it flicked over me with interest.

"Apologies for being late. Had to run a small errand." The brooding man sauntered in, wearing a black leather jacket and matching jeans. His tattoos peeked through the sleeves, and several skull rings adorned his fingers, looking like they could summon a demon particularly the one he worked for. He looked everything but a billionaire's butler—or whatever he was supposed to be. His hair was slicked back with what appeared to be rebellion, and his face was contorted in a permanent scowl that suggested he had just eaten a particularly sour lemon.

She grabs a handful of beard, and to his credit, though she gives it a good yank, he doesn’t even rumble. “Are you keeping Annie company?” he asks her, looking up at me. Have I ever seen him from this angle before? He’s a few feet below me, so the whites of his eyes show under his dark pupils. They glow in the moonlight. The breeze whips his long hair, and with his height and honed muscle and inked skin, he looks like a wild male, like the ones in the fresco above the stage at Moon Lake’s outdoor amphitheater that shows their Great Alpha, Broderick Moore, single-handedly fighting off the ferals who attacked his people on their way down from the dens.

"Maybe if I scare you enough, your wolf will finally come out." He raised his other hand. I closed my eyes and waited for the hit but it never came. "Let her go." The voice that stopped him from slapping me was deep and authoritative. It made my whole body tingle in a strange way. I opened my eyes and gasped. A man stepped out of the shadows between the trees. He was the biggest person I have ever seen. His hair, as black as the night sky. His eyes, silver like the moon. When he looked at Damien, his face was very angry.

Damon turned back slowly, his muscles coiled tight, ready to strike at any moment. Behind him, on the roof of one of the damaged houses, stood a man. He wore a dark hoodie that cast shadows over most of his face, but there was something about his stance, the way he held himself, that sent warning bells ringing through Damon's mind. "Korran!" The name ripped from Damon's throat in a growl that made the air vibrate. "Took you long enough to show your face again."

Just pure love. “I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?” He nods at Damon, Yosef, except me. “Don’t let him get to you.” “Pathetic.” The voice is near now. The man steps out from the shadows, the ominous energy swirling around him so palpable. Scars and tattoos cover his face, his neck, everywhere. He’s clad in a black Armani suit, possesses Italian features, and the smell of… weed. “I have her already. I have you all.”

I watched fully engaged as he pulled Seanleaf who had moved on and was licking Flora's p*ssy, she was shaking her legs bucking as he released her. The cloaked dark man turned him, to face me, the cloaked dark man was beautiful. Pure darkness with bright blue stars glittering on his flesh, a glimpse of his hair was shiny white. He grinned revealing very white pearly teeth with sharp canines, his body was very built, I couldn't tell whether he was like them or something different "Be careful cloak you know your d*ck is big, so be gentle." Seanleaf said in a low voice.

Her foot snapped a dry branch, the crack echoing in the silence. The man turned, slow and deliberate. His eyes locked on her: bloodshot red, glowing faintly in the dim light, pupils dilated with something beyond mere exertion. Fangs glinted between parted lips as he drew in heavy breaths, chest heaving. Blood streaked his pale skin, his dark hair disheveled, clothes torn to reveal corded muscles etched with old scars. He was no ordinary man—no shifter, no hunter. Something ancient, dangerous.

I thrash my body against the door, rattling the doorknob frantically, but the door doesn't even budge. Moon goddess, I'm so doomed. Expelling a frustrated breath, I turn around, only to freeze the very next second as my gaze trains on the darkest eyes I've ever seen. The man is leaning against the windows, his shrewd, calculating eyes fixed on me in ways that make me shudder. Damn! Those eyes are dark. Very, very dark, like the bottom of the ocean. His thick brown hair is gelled backwards to a fault, his chin flexes a day-old growth of beard, giving him this sexily disreputable look.

Conjured from breath and darkness and vaporizing into solid so fast it’s horrifying. It's the form of a man, tall, broad, masculine, and strong, dressed in black and cloaked so that his hood comes down over his head, casting what's beneath into complete pitch-black shadow. He’s like some magical being right out of one of Leyanne's grimoires and brings an air of utter desolation with him. Facing me, towering over and silently taking in the intruder he has come to deal with, I can see the wolves on the perimeter backing away with slow, careful moves, as though hoping my distraction lets them get away scot-free.