Dante From The Devil May Cry Series Novels & Stories

Don’t get me wrong, I completely understand that we are very much a part of the business they did want in the first place so they have to keep up appearances and make themselves known. If anyone of my guys should be feared it would be Dante. He’s the jokester, the fool everyone thinks can’t be serious. Dante’s imagination and fascination with mid-evil torture divides a gore makes him one of those people who would take enjoyment out of watching someone slowly bleed out while watching them suffer until he gets his answers.

Caterina was silent. "Now we focus on your recovery first." Dante spoke softly. Caterina nodded. Dante took off the shirt that was attached to his body. He put the shirt on his daughter's body to cover Caterina's naked body. Dante's jaw tightened; he clenched his fists very tightly as he brought destruction to his daughter's world. He should never have brought Caterina to live there. He should have left La Vendetta first so he could focus on taking care of his daughter and planning a good future for her.

“I was a weapon. A punishment. A reminder of what Nox couldn’t have and he banked on it to cripple him.” Dante sets his drink down with a soft clink. His voice is low, reverent. “Cristo. You didn’t deserve that.” “No,” I say. “But I let it happen.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on mine. “Ascolta. You are not what he made you into. You’re sweet, dolce… the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. You have eyes that have seen too much pain—and still, they look like light.”

Black blood sprayed across the ground. The others attacked. But they were soft. Used to ritual and worship instead of real fighting. Dante was a warrior. Born and bred for battle. Even injured and half-dead, he was more than they could handle. His blade cut through them like wheat. Each strike perfect. Each kill brutal. "This is for that child!" he screamed as his sword found another heart. "This is for Kera!" "This is for everyone you sick fucks have hurt!" Bodies fell around him. The cultists tried to run.

My niece and nephew—Alpha-born, Luna-blessed—stare straight ahead. But something dark and massive is coming. Dante. He steps through the smoke like a devil made flesh. Taller. Darker. His aura poisonous. “You shouldn’t have left them,” he taunts. “Such beautiful children. Full of potential.” I stand in front of the twins. “You touch them, you die.” His laugh curdles the air. “I planned to die,” Dante says. “But I’ll take you first.” He lunges. Everything explodes. His claws rip into my side. I counter with silver, slicing through his shoulder. We’re a blur of blood and fury. I can’t beat him. I know that. But I can hold him off. I can buy time.

My mind swirled with countless questions. “Are you saying Dante mistreats women?” The question tumbled from my lips, eyes glinting with a mix of fear and curiosity, fixed on Pietro like the bright stars above. Pietro regarded me with pity before humming thoughtfully. Taking a step closer, he closed the gap between us. “I’m not sure how to explain this,” Pietro began, capturing my undivided attention. “Dante is a formidable warrior, a businessman, a Viking, a Viking mafia. But there’s one thing he isn’t,” he paused, meeting my inquisitive gaze. “He isn’t affectionate, especially towards women. He sees women as mere objects for men’s pleasure or as toys for their satisfaction, nothing beyond t

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.”

Into the open space between the two forces. I follow, staying just behind her like she ordered. The late afternoon sun is blinding after being inside. I squint against it. And see him. Dante. Standing in the center of his men. Arms crossed. Face carved from stone. But his eyes... Oh god. His eyes are red. Not gold like I've always seen. Not the amber-gold of his Lycan side. Red. Pure, burning red Like blood. Like fire. Like nothing I've ever seen before.

From up here, the city glowed like a wound—fires smoldering, broken glass glittering, and the cries of the desperate echoing into the dark. Behind her, Dante’s footsteps were measured, deliberate, like a predator stalking the silence. He had grown quieter in recent weeks, his rage contained but seething like a furnace beneath the surface. The attack two nights ago had proven what they both already knew: there was someone else moving pieces against them. Someone smarter, colder, and more patient than Lorenzo had ever been. Amara didn’t turn when Dante finally spoke. “They call him Il Diavolo,” Dante said, his voice like gravel. “The Devil. An old ghost. I thought he was buried years ago, but

I and Dante made a sharp pivot and my gaze fell upon a young handsome man, probably Dante's age, coming towards us. His chestnut brown hair was slick, cascading down the nape of his neck. His brows were full and his eyes carried a shade of ocean blue but I noticed an awful straight scar that was indented next to his left eye. That must have been deep. He was as tall as Dante and he was equally muscular. But overall, he was good looking. His smile was rather infectious too. "Ah Valentine Greco. If I'm the devil then what are you?" Dante asked with a brow slightly raised.