Declan Prescott Novels & Stories

Insufferably competent, underlined twice, from last Monday. "No," I said. He almost smiled the real version, I was beginning to understand, not the easy public one. Just a flicker of it, there and gone. "Sure," he said. He left. I sat alone in the motivational poster lounge with my recorder and my notebook and the very professional observation that Declan Mercer was unexpectedly, inconveniently, against all prior evidence a reasonably interesting person. I clicked the recorder off. I was absolutely not thinking about the glitter sign

"But only one version." The door at the top of the stairs opens. Declan comes down slowly. No rush. He's shed his jacket somewhere, rolled his sleeves to the elbow, and he's carrying a glass of water that he sets on the worktable with a deliberateness that is entirely theater and entirely effective. He doesn't look at Caruso. He looks at me. "How are we doing," he says. "We're just getting started," I say. "Nico was about to tell me whether he wants the easy version of this conversation or the other one."

I knew it was him, but I didn't *know* it was him. Declan had cut his hair into a sharp, modern style that showed off his bone structure. Without the grease and the shadows of the garage, he looked like a Greek god who had accidentally wandered onto a high school campus. He was breathtaking—rugged but polished, with a jawline that looked like it was carved from marble and eyes that held a dangerous, intelligent spark. I could see the girls around me literally melting. Fiona actually dropped her contract. Kelly’s mouth was hanging open. Even Ginger had straightened up, her eyes wide as she scanned the "new guy" from head to toe.

Only a strange emptiness, as if part of me had died with them. Declan rarely entered the room. When he did, it was always with Harvey or Prescott by his side. The three of them formed a sinister trio: Declan with his silent, authoritarian presence, Harvey with the sharp gaze of someone who calculated every move, and Prescott, the quietest of the three, always observing from the corners as if he could read my thoughts before I even had them. On the morning of the fourth day, the three of them entered together. Declan leaned against the door, arms crossed over his broad chest. Harvey sat in the leather armchair near the window. Prescott remained standing, leaning against the wall, spinning a s

I had better make my shock absorber more reliable. ************************ Declan had chosen the fanciest restaurant in the pack, he undeniably knows how to lavish the money he never works for. The company his stepfather left behind is only being ran by trustworthy employees of his dad, who had stayed loyal despite his absence. And Elizabeth oversees the lavish spending of her son and herself. I wonder how I got myself entangled with such self, conceited people. “I am so glad you guys made it.” Declan smiled brightly at us.

"In the meantime, my son, be with Unlce Lucifer." Declan couldn't believe he was looking at him and turned his gaze to the front, where Phoebe's lips parted. He slowly arose from the prone position, and the two men who had previously held both of his arms were now gradually deposited by Lt.col. Brayden Orman is driving. Lt.col. Brayden Orman is a skilled sniper who has a long history with Cladmus. "What did you do to me, Declan Heisenberg?" Declan's brow furrowed as his head twisted. "Shouldn't I be the one to ask?"

His personal assistant stated after knocking on Declan’s office door. “Tell them to fucking give me 5 minutes. I just got back.” Declan yelled, and his assistant nodded, then left. Luckily his assistant, Kian van Zyl, was used to Declan’s temper and, after 6 months, hadn’t resigned. Making him the longest assistant that had worked for the billionaire. He, too, was a werewolf which is probably why he was still around.

Cromwell and the master, it would probably regret showing up at all. The three masters didn't see it that way. They felt they had already done their best to persuade them. If anything really happened, it would be out of their control... At that moment, a deep voice came from the stairs on the second floor: "I must trouble the masters again today." The speaker was none other than Declan, who held a position of considerable influence in Miami. He wasn't wearing a uniform. Although he had an extraordinary presence, it was clear from his face that he hadn't rested well these past few days. There were heavy dark circles under his eyes, and even though he tried hard to hide it, a persistent fatigu

Declan mocked himself. "You should have died a long time ago? Your penalty is reduced?" "No, I still need to die. It's just that the date has been changed after something happened," Declan replied. "Wait, you're Declan Anderson? The one that almost died but didn't at last? Damn, it's you?! I've dealt with your brother, and he was quite good at what he did. I thought he would get more and more successful, I didn't expect... What a pity!"

he said to her and winked. “I was planning on surprising my uncle and aunt tonight but I might as well go home with you now,” he said to her and smiled. Declan was almost as tall as Kiran, he had light brown hair and dark brown eyes. He was also muscular, not as muscular as Kiran though, and he appeared to be very relaxed. He smiled easily and something told her that he loved mischief.