Dark Novels & Stories

“You can never defeat me.” Without giving Darkness a chance to react, he turned into his wolf, pushing Darkness back a few feet away. His wolf was huge, eyes glowing white with obsidian fur that could consume any light. He bent into a fighting position, menacing as he growled at Darkness. Darkness cracked his neck to the side, releasing his shadows so they could play.

A look of regret crosses his face and tears run down my face cause I know what he means “No please it hurts” I murmur. He's been training me to control ‘obsidian’ in case she comes out but when he says my trigger word it’s hard for me to fight it "I'm so sorry tsvetok, I promise I’ll make it up to you” he kisses my hand whilst keeping his eyes on the road “Please” I beg in a whisper "Shadow" he whispers and then everything goes black Obsidian POV: Finally, it's my time to shine ladies and gentlemen. Being Amari’s alter ego and personality disorder is just boring. She’s too sweet. Too weak she could learn from me

Because you will only see three colours on the entire sheet of this unit. The black, grey, and chocolate colours that have no life indicate sadness. Every curtain is grey; the sofas, chairs, and tables are chocolate; and the appliances are black. The unit is also very dark; maybe that's normal if you think about it because the sun has set and the sky is dark. Only the light of the moon serves as the light of the world. Why does it seem so sad here? But now that the world has technology, there is a light bulb that serves as light in homes, and there is also a light bulb here, but you can still see the sadness in the light bulb, a

“She said to bring the black one.” “I did,” I replied, trying not to laugh. “But sweetheart, none of these are black.” She looked down at them again. “I know. But they look black,” she muttered defensively. “They do not look Black,” Dante corrected gently, walking to where she was and crouching down to her level. “This one is a dark shade of blue. This one is brown. This isn't black; it doesn't even look close to it. And this one…” he picked up the fallen bag, “is definitely not black.”

Forty-five minutes later, Dante was still awake. He had been tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable, but no position brought him and his still-raging boner any sense of relief. “Is something wrong?” Hesara whispered through the darkness, when he sighed out loud. “I just... it’s just...it’s still there.” “Your friend?” she said, her voice sounded like she was almost excited. “Yeah.” “Really? Wow. He’s a stubborn one! Try taking some deep breaths and focusing on something else.”

Rileys eyes blinked open. She felt groggy and unsure of her surroundings, just like every other time she woke this past week. She couldn't remember where she was, she felt dirty and cold, she couldn't even feel her wolf Ava anymore. Her flesh burned with every movement she took. Was this a dream? Had it all been a dream? She looked around and noticed it was a dark room with no windows, like she was in a basement. The room felt wet and cold. She lay on a bed and noticed a metal chain attached to her ankle. There was a bedside table next to her with a glass of water and a bucket next to the bed.

❦•: ZARA :•❦ His eyes were the colour of a storm cloud. A very dark and angry storm cloud. They were the most beautiful shade of dark grey I’d ever seen. Dark and piercing, like they could see through your soul. The subtle glow caught in his eyes gave depth to those beautiful charcoal grey, stealing every single breath from deep within my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. Yet, I couldn’t look away.

My office door yields to my key card with a soft click that sounds thunderous to my sensitive ears. Inside, the space feels different—contaminated by betrayal, every familiar object now suspect. I don't bother with lights; darkness is an ally tonight, and my vision adjusts instantly, the world shifting to shades of gray and silver that human eyes would struggle to distinguish.

Outside, the city was a wash of cold gray mist, but inside, the temperature was stifling. Damien Blackwood stood shirtless in front of a bank of humming, liquid-cooled servers, the harsh blue light of the monitors cutting across the hard, scarred planes of his chest and back. Drops of water still clung to his dark hair from their frantic, wet escape through the municipal drainage shafts, tracking slowly down his collarbone and disappearing beneath the waistband of his low-slung, dark trousers. His skin was still flushed, radiating a violent, restless energy that he couldn't quite shake.

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