Demonic Crown Novels & Stories

All of his hype comes from his brothers, how good-looking he is or horny people who like smut-filled books. His brothers are just as famous as him. His eldest brother, Christian Crown runs a few strands of clubs and hotels. The middle brother, Khalil Crown is the maker and designer of the Crown. A car luxury brand, which became as popular as BMWs, Teslas, Lamborghinis, Mercedes and other car brands in just its first year of being produced. Soon enough they became on the same level as Rolls Royce, Lambos and other luxury cars. I do have to admit Crown cars are sexy as fuck.

The bowl sang a high note that set the candle flames trembling. Frost bloomed around the base of the altar, delicate and clear. Each crystal formed in order, like a script in a language no one had written in centuries. The cold crept along the edge of Seraphina’s gown and stopped, as if something inside of her had told it where to rest. The High Cleric lifted his staff higher. “Cease,” he said. “Cease this counterfeit.” Lucien stepped forward. “Nothing is being done but what the flame decides.”

"He took my life, my identity, and now he's living with my name, my degrees. How can I just let that go?" I gave his back a comforting pat and met his gaze. "In a few days, when the weird end of days rolls in, we'll make him pay." Jim gave a small nod, his skin cooling down, no longer fired by my blood. Right then, I noticed something odd, the weak Haunts that had barely any strength were suddenly frantically feasting on my leftover blood. Their once translucent bodies filled with vigor as they started to circle and swoop around me. "I've got a plan!"

“I know.” “You can tell me to stop.” Jamie looked at him. Really looked. The scar. The control. The restraint that felt like it was holding something dangerous in check. “I don’t want you to stop,” Jamie said, then winced. “I mean….” Adrian didn’t smile. He didn’t gloat. He just nodded, like that answer fit into something he’d already decided. “Good,” he said. Behind them, unseen but aware, La Corona Nera watched. And after midnight, Bar Della Luna closed its doors, keeping its secrets, for now.

“You smiled while threatening them.” Fair. Unfortunately fair. I folded my arms while glaring at him suspiciously. “You’re becoming annoying in your old age.” “I’m immortal here, remember?” “That sounds fake.” “It’s not.” “You still look twenty eight.” “Thank you.” “That wasn’t a compliment.” Jayden laughed again before pulling me toward the giant couch near the fireplace. The entire room looked ridiculous honestly. Massive crystal chandeliers. Black marble floors. Paintings everywhere. Golden walls. This man was living like a supernatural billionaire king straight out of fantasy romance novels and somehow nobody thought to warn me.

he says, "for the very unwelcome wisdom." Marcus shrugs, already losing interest now that the adults have stopped doing the loud-quiet thing, and reaches for the bowl Nessa has just set in front of him. I reach across the table. Find Kael's hand. "I need the full ritual," I say. "The true coronation. Not the political crown. The power of the First Queen." I hold his eyes. "Whatever it costs."

Damon drifts toward center ice and stops at the logo. I follow. For a moment, we stand where the game began. Where so much between us almost ended. “Funny,” he says. “All that fighting over who gets the crown.” “And?” He looks at me fully. “There was only ever one.” The words hang there. Not competitive. Not sharp. Certain. Only one crown. And it doesn’t belong to one king. The arena lights dim slightly as the crew prepares to clean up. I feel his hand brush mine. Not by accident.

Lucian looked at Amara. “We can’t fight all of them.” She smiled. “We don’t have to.” He frowned. “What?” She looked at the Eternal Crown. “We just have to end the war.” Lucian understood. He stepped forward. Amara stood beside him. Their hands joined. The Crown began descending. Azrael’s eyes widened. “NO!” Lucian looked at him. “You wanted the Origin.” The Crown touched his head. “You wanted my power.” Amara’s eyes became silver. “You wanted to separate us.”

“Careful, Moretti. The last man who threatened me ended up in a cathedral full of bones.” The air between them crackled — not just hatred, but blood memory. Then Damien’s gaze fell to the crown in her hands. “So it’s true,” he murmured. “The Godless Crown.” He reached out. “Let me see it.” Amara’s grip tightened. “You’ll die if you touch it.” “Then maybe I want to.” He moved too fast. His hand brushed the thorns — and in an instant, light exploded. He screamed, collapsing to his knees. The smell of burning flesh filled the air.

At the center stood a structure that made the breath catch in Aria’s throat. A crown. Not a symbol. Not ceremonial. Real. Forged of black metal veined with gold, suspended above a stone pedestal by nothing at all. It hovered, unmoving, humming with restrained power. Damien swore quietly. “That’s not possible,” Serel whispered. “The Crown is above us.” Aria shook her head. “That’s a shadow. An anchor.” She stepped forward before anyone could stop her. The air shifted immediately. The hum deepened. The symbols flared brighter, casting jagged light across the chamber walls. Aria’s skin prickled, every instinct screaming both warning and recognition.