Dante Blood Angels Novels & Stories

Torches burned along the stone walls, casting long shadows across the chamber. Dante and Amara stood at the center, blades in hand. Around them, their allies formed a circle—men and women who had already given their lives to the crown, now called to seal their loyalty in blood. Dante raised his blade, slicing his palm open, crimson dripping onto the stone. “By blood, I am bound,” he declared, voice echoing like thunder. Amara did the same, her blood falling beside his. Her voice was colder, sharper, but just as unyielding. “By blood, I rule.”

These shadow creatures had taken away someone he cared about. They would pay. Dante stood up slowly. Blood covered his clothes. His hands. His face. He looked like death itself. "You want me?" he said to the shadow wolves. "Come and get me." He threw his bow aside. Drew his sword and fighting knives. The shadow wolves circled closer. Dante's eyes went wild with grief and fury. He didn't care about living anymore. He just wanted to hurt them. To make them bleed like Kera had bled.

Dante went first, slashing his wrist with a claw and pressing it to Mara’s lips. Her throat worked weakly as she swallowed, his dark blood dribbled down her chin, its reach scent making red threads seep into my eyes. Laziel followed, his silver-tinged blood bright against her pallor. Ronan cut his palm, letting the droplets fall onto her tongue like sacramental wine. Then it was my turn. I expected hesitation. Distrust. But Dante just stepped aside, his jaw clenched with composed fury in a way that surprised me.

A black SUV pulls up, dust billowing around it as it comes to a stop. The door opens, and sure enough, but it’s Dante, his expression grim as he steps out. He’s followed by Axton for some reason. Of course, I fucking forgot Dante is based here. Fuck, that demon did a number on me. “Ah, I think I might like the calvary,” I greet him, my voice a low growl. “Took you long enough, asshole.”

Silence filled the building, thick and suffocating. Then the door opened slowly, the hinges groaning in protest. And through the smoke, through the fading gunpowder and blood—he appeared. Dante. He stepped into the room like a storm in human form. His entire body was soaked in blood—some of it his, most of it not. His shirt was torn, his knuckles bruised, and yet his expression was calm. Too calm. His eyes burned with a quiet rage that made the hairs on my arms stand up.

Him talking about Adelia just added to my fuel. No one speaks as Dante drives us home. I am covered in blood. “He screamed, you know?” I turn and look at Gunner, confused. “When you flew for him, he screamed and apologised. He realised at that moment what he had caused. People may fear me because I like to torture them slowly, but you…they fear you because you’re the Angel of Death when you flip.” He’s surprisingly happy, considering I just killed his play toy. We walk into the house, and I sit down at the table. Dante hands me a glass. My knuckles tingle a bit; I feel like I broke one.

“Dante tried to ruin our last firearm shipment. Our men managed to kill half of the people he sent, but they still left off with plenty and now our client is pissed.” Sergio told him as he grabbed the billiard stick roughly and stomped it on the ground. The smile slightly faded from Angelo’s face. “Now that’s troublesome.” He responded. “That’s why I cannot have you slack off like this! That bastard Dante has strengthened his organization these past five years. He’s no longer that weakling he was from five years ago and it’s pissing me off!” Sergio’s face was as hard as stone. “Now, now, we need to keep a cool head, Sergio.” Angelo poured another glass of whiskey and walked toward Sergio bef

Damien’s P.O.V. I looked around at the hundreds of dead angels littering the floor around me. I was covered in blood.. My blood soaked shirt clung to my heaving chest. The metallic taste of blood sat heavy in my mouth. Their white wings had been stained red. Blood was dripping down the walls and off the ceiling. I stepped over the bodies on my way out of the building. I took in the sights around, savoring the scent of blood in the air and the squishing sound with every step I took. I smiled, admiring the scene in front of me. It was official, the old me was back and it felt so good.

Yet when she gave a discreet sniff, she realized that the scent of blood was lessening and it had begun to smell rusty, as though the wound on the back of his head was already clotting and healing. “I can’t exactly get into Italy without you,” Angel said as nonchalantly as possible with a shrug of her shoulders. She leaned back in her chair in an attempt to look as relaxed as she could even though her insides were churning. Flying hadn’t exactly been kind to her unsuspecting nerves, and Layon’s accident had left them entirely frayed.

And now this emptiness sapped my strength. A branch snapped. Something moved ahead. I shifted, sensing the darkness coalesce. “Reya.” The whisper twisted my blood cold. Raw, familiar power laced it. Dante stepped from the shadows. Cloaked in rage and burn scars. His single eye gleamed like obsidian. “You should have stayed in the camp,” he growled. “Safe.” I barely registered the dagger in his hand. “What do you want?” I whispered, exhaustion in my voice. “Your blood. Your line.”