Devil Night Clothes Novels & Stories

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.

Romeo's deep voice pulls at my attention, and I don't restrain my eyes from searching for him. The way my heart stirs excitedly as I behold his gorgeous face can't even be overemphasized, and soon enough, the boredom is long forgotten for another while. He is spotting dark blue pants paired with a white dress shirt. Two or three of his upper buttons are subtly popped open to give a little peek of the dragon tattoo that crawls up his chest and disappears behind his neck. His onyx hair is polished and styled into a perfect tousle, jaws in a sharp line, while his full lips shimmer under the gentle ray of the blue light from his iMac. It takes everything not to slither over the long table right

Maybe the clothes from last night were still there. The girl's eyes could finally see the clothes that were not hers. But no problem, Regi knew that it belonged to a madman who had taken her virginity. No problem, Regi must wear clothes no matter what. Because the clothes last night didn't know where they were. Maybe Gerand had thrown the dress away or something. The trash basket, Regi found his dress already in the place. Its form was still intact but Regi could not possibly wear the clothes anymore. Because yes, it was in a place it shouldn't be.

The devil was waiting patiently for her with his hand tucked in the jean pant he wore. Making sure she avoided making eye contact with him, she checked his dress out, first time she was not seeing him in a three-piece suit and all formal wear. A simple black turtle neck and a jean, his feet were covered in simple slippers, even though the dress was meant to be casual and less fearful. He made the dress look so dangerous. The smirk that lingered on his face became more visible when she got close to him. She swallowed her lump, her heart was thudding loudly in her chest and she clasped her sweaty palm together behind her.

I glance down at myself. The short skirt, socks, the tiny hoodie. “I look nice,” I argue, twirling around playfully. “I’m just hungry.” Jude laughs, his hoodie bobbing with every step. “You clean down nice, too. You spent five thousand dollars on those clothes. I doubt the market value’s even a hundred.” I continue. “I spent five grand on a silent night with you, Marion,” Jude interrupts, grabbing my shoulder and pulling me toward him. I move without resistance.

Damien’s P.O.V. The night was finally here, October 30, Devil’s night. It was also Synestra’s 18th birthday. I desperately wanted to spend the day with her, but it had become somewhat of a tradition for the band to host a concert and party in Detroit on this night. Detroit was the city that made the day what it had become, and fans travelled from all over the world to be there for this one night. It was a night of wickedness and perversion, mischief, and mayhem. It was the night I was born for the night I waited all year for. We called it the Hallowicked Masquerade, everyone came in costumes and masks. We found humans feel much more comfortable engaging in evil doings when others could not s

I spent the night pacing the guest room (I couldn't bring myself to sleep in Julian's bed after the revelation), rehearsing my role. Smile. Dance. Look vulnerable. When the stylist arrived the next afternoon, she brought a rack of gowns, but Julian had already made the choice. It hung on the door of the wardrobe like a second skin. It was a crimson silk gown, backless, with a neckline that plunged dangerously low. It was the kind of dress that started wars. I put it on. I looked in the mirror. The woman staring back wasn't Vivian the librarian. She was Vivian Thorne, the wife of the Devil. The diamond choker glittered at her throat, a leash and a shield all in one.

She was seated on one of the chairs, one of her legs crossed over the other as she flipped through a book that she must've gotten from either the library, or from one of the shelves in Nightshade's office. Devina looked…just fine. She looked perfect even, and her skin was glowing as if she just came back from a massage or something like that. She had a small smile on her face, and I raked my eyes down her body as discreetly as I could The outfit she was wearing was new — I could tell. It was a plain black gown that was above her knee, right where she had a birth mark on her thigh. The gown hugged her body really well, and the neck line was cut in a V-shape pretty lowly. Her cleavage was very

But, his ghost continued to haunt me. Viktor was like a demon, a devil, a monster. He was pure evil. And how he had survived that was beyond me I got out of the shower, and started getting ready. I dressed in a black dress, and a black jacket. I put on a black hat, and black sun glasses.

Devon has always preferred dark colors, while I was always colorful. Devon was currently dressed in head to toe black, from his leather jacket, t-shirt, dark jeans and combat boots, which only proved my point from earlier, but unlike him, I was clad in a baby blue spaghetti strap dress, matched with a white denim jacket and equally white wedge sandals. I was screaming warm summer skies and he was all storm filled clouds, which was in a way funny. “We are here.” Devon announced suddenly, pulling me from my jolly thoughts. Just like that, my anxiety from earlier was fully back on. I was tempted to ask him to drive me back, but then decided against it.