Devil Dancer Novels & Stories

Darryl said quickly. "Well, let's hear it!" the Nine Heaven Emperor said coldly with a frown. Darryl took a deep breath in preparation for the next part of his playacting. "The person who stole the Devil Sealed Mirror is called Skylar. He is a fiend descendant, and he has a fiend soul in his body.

The body fell—hard, lifeless. Luca stared at me. “What the hell was that? He was already dead—Adrian, what—” But I didn’t hear him. Not really. Because something on Rinaldi’s body was glowing faintly. A small device strapped to his wrist. A projector Showing his face. I grow up with that voice so I remember his voice. It wasn’t him, It was a message. A message someone wanted me to hear. Someone who knew exactly how to play with my mind.

“Well I've never seen beauty quite like that. The deal is yours, Diavolo. I'll even add an extra five hundred million dollars for it to become a billion dollar deal.” “Whats the catch?” “I want the girl.” My stomach flipped as I saw the devil cosplayer rise to his feet. He said something I wasn't fast enough to catch, but on closer inspection, I realized he was talking into the plug he had on. The curtain began to close. I was helped out of the glass. Before I could blink, everyone backstage had disappeared. I heard footsteps behind me and on turning, I saw the devil. “Well played.’’ He clapped. “You can’t sell me!’’ I blurted in panic.

“Mandy, you can’t be serious!” “Oh, she’s serious as a heart-attack!” a booming voice with deep dulcet tones echoed in the tavern. I spun around. Behind me stood a 6ft, terrifying giant. I recognized him immediately. Dexter. One of the most terrifying bikers I’d ever seen and the leader of the Devils. He had a long scar on his face. Clad in black throughout, his gun hung from his waist. He had an aura of darkness, meanness, death followed him wherever he went. I’d heard stories of the towns he had ravished.

he murmured against her lips, his fingers brushing the slick evidence of her arousal. Tessa’s cheeks burned, shame and desire battling within her. What was wrong with her? She didn’t know. She didn’t care. All she knew was that she wanted him—wanted him to ruin her, to make her forget every ounce of control she thought she had. Her plan was simple—seduce the devil. But as his lips trailed down her neck, his teeth grazing her sensitive skin, a dark realization crept in. The devil was already in control. As his lips moved against hers, his hand slid lower, teasing the sensitive skin between her thighs. A single tap against her clit sent a violent shudder through her, her breath hitching as a j

The devil's own melody. Soul Snatcher.

“Then you will watch your kingdom burn from the inside. Every ally will turn, every soldier defect, every coin rot in your hand. Because I already own them. You are kings and queens only so long as I allow it.” For a long moment, silence reigned. Dante’s fists clenched, his fury palpable. But before he could speak, Amara leaned forward, her gaze locked on the Devil’s. “And what do you gain by offering us mercy?” she asked. His eyes gleamed. “Entertainment. Even devils like their games.” --- The Private Dance Later, when the music shifted to something slower, Il Diavolo extended his hand toward Amara. “Dance with me,” he said.

While it’s clumsy and uncoordinated, its movements are still powerful. “I told you not to get in my way, Hezekiah,” Amos growls. It doesn’t seem in any rush to chase after Julia. What game is it playing? Whatever it is, I don’t want to find out. “I won’t let you hurt her.” I stand firm, unwavering beneath its midnight stare. “I will destroy you,” the demon threatens as it stalks forward. “I will devour your very soul.” I parry to the side as it attempts to dart around me, blocking it from pursuing Julia’s retreating form. “You can’t kill somebody who’s already dead,” I snarl.

After a few seconds of eye-to-eye battle, he still maintained his silence, leaving Don Basco with no choice but to break the deafening silence between them. “Am I right? What do you think? (Am I, right? What do you think?)” Don Basco questioned; his lips painted with the image of the devil's grin. Without Don Basco's knowledge, the real devil was the young man in front of him—a devil who is hiding in human flesh with an innocent face, waiting for the right moment to attack his enemy and make them feel what hell is like.

And it's ironic because that day was the first day he ever truly called my name with compassion. Blinking away the memory, I bend over the sink and splash water on my face, a devilish grin on. Maybe Papa was right when he said I was from the devil. Else, which child would tie her father to his favorite wooden chair and set him on fire? I felt nothing that day, even though I had a beating heart. I didn't pity him, even though I had a soul that was meant to be kind. Then again, maybe I was once an angel, a mockingbird killed by the wickedness of the ones I loved the most. Maybe it was Papa that turned me into the devil I became today.