Devil Of Dublin Novels & Stories

The vampire was looking at the devil as if to a psychopath " well let's see how much more cuter my dear daughter can get" says the devil and got his wings out and started flying toward Celea

It was just a way for him to have control and power over me. But I’m the one with the power here. To get my revenge, I would do anything, I would give anything, and right now, I was selling my soul to the devil. But in this story, there are two devils. One doesn’t just know it yet.

she asked inquisitively. “Devils Night is our favorite night of the year, a night of mischief. It started in Detroit but has spread so far beyond all of that. It is a night to celebrate being young and free, a night to have a little fun. I don’t see anything wrong with that.” she was hanging on my every word. It was all true but there was another reason for the name. Devil’s night was also Synestra’s birthday. “One final question, what do you think about the protests and people saying you somehow brainwash your fans with your music?” she asked and I could tell she thought this was a hard hitting question. I decided to have a little fun with her.

“She never ca-cared about the s-screams.” Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes. “I am so sorry.” “S-she is evil i-incarnate.” “She is.” A movement at the corner made my eyes open. The duke was folding his arms, still leaning against the door. He watched us with a peculiar mix of curiosity and wariness. “She is devil per-personified,” Revandrel muttered, nose brushing my neck. My nails dug into my own sides. “You are not wrong.” “People-eating, s-soul-sucking being without a soul.”

He was the man who possessed charm with an evil soul that brought down the fire if he laid his fingers on you and the body would comply with the burn to further until only ashes were left. “You are the devil,” Elsa mumbled with cloudy eyes as his shaft moved up and down in her entrance. It was the momentum that could create a volcano that builds on solid soil, but a slight shake would cause an exultant spurt. “Yes, I am the devil who is going to devour Snow White,” Gabriel muttered in a raspy voice as he hovered over her face while grabbing the shaft tip in her entrance. He comforted, “It will give you pain a little. Bear it.”

The Bastard Devil was on the brink of transformation. It once been a Bloody Eye, that at the time passed, becoming a young man who looks like a snow in white. He was also cold, vicius-looking, yet every woman who lead their eyes at him would fall for sure. His good looks seemed his threatening aura to be his charm, every woman who admire good-looking young man sure to never resist the temptation. And that's would be their bloody end. This young man that was a Devil never love, he has a deep hatred to living people of this world. So how could he love someone raised in this place? He wouldn't do such a thing so he only killed his way to his revenge.

VALENTINA’S POV “Tie her up and take her to the Dungeon, she will be one of my whores.” Diego Fernandez said in an authoritative voice. His mere presence seems to send chills down everybody’s spine, he is known to be ruthless and emotionless, not minding who he hurts as long as he gets what he wants. Diego Fernandez is literally the Devil in a human form.

“She’s bluffing! Liam, don’t let her keep spinning these stories. She’s dangerous. You should break her hands and feet and exile her from the pack like the traitor she is—!” “Shut your mouth,” Natalie said. “You think I’m bluffing?” She turned to the crowd. “Everyone knows Devils have a dark aura. They carry a unique odor. It’s why they were able to identify that it was a Devil who took Ned. And that scent... doesn’t just vanish. Anyone who has close contact with a Devil—like embracing them, say—will be infected.” She walked slowly toward the table beside the guards, picking up a small clear bottle of water from her jacket.

Killian Schmidt, she whispered in her heart, a name that dripped with darkness and despair. Flashes of the past flooded her mind as she recalled the first time she had laid eyes on him. The memory of his pale eyes sent shivers down her spine, revealing a darkness that seemed to penetrate straight into the depths of his soul. In that instant, he bore the resemblance of a true spawn of the devil, his mere presence exuding an aura of malevolence. It was as if he took pleasure in the suffering of others, revelling in their agony and humiliation. There was no trace of remorse or guilt in his gaze, just an eerie sense of pure amusement as he watched his victims, helpless and on their knees, desper

The way he checked behind him, just a glance, just a flick of his eyes, to make sure I was still there. He was covered in blood. He had cut off a man's head. He had killed and killed and killed and he had not stopped because stopping meant something might reach me. And then I remembered who he was. The Devil of Vercelli. A man so feared that criminals stepped aside when he walked in. A man with blood on his hands and darkness in his soul. A man who had bought me at an auction and called me a ward and told me not to settle into his house.