Devil's Table Novels & Stories

“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.

Serrano. Lucian stood at the head of the table, his jacket discarded across the back of his chair. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms, veins standing out beneath the skin as his hand pressed down on the table. His presence filled the room, steady and iron-hard. He looked less like a man and more like a shadow cut out of steel—one who had already buried kings and was now preparing to dethrone gods.

“Remember this, Dev: you don’t know how deep I can sink into someone’s life. You’re not a threat. You’re just a pawn on a much bigger board.” Deviana’s blood boiled. She yanked her arm free and slammed her hand on the table, rattling the glasses. “Stop!” her voice shook with emotion. “I am not a pawn! I am human! If you have even a shred of conscience, stop this. I demand you stop—stop dragging others into your pit.”

Five other men were sitting around the table, but they all turned to look at me. "The hell is this?" one of them growled. I cleared my throat, my grip on the silver tray tightening until my knuckles turned white. "I… I have the 1945 Macallan. For Mr.…" I trailed off. I didn't know who ordered it. The man at the head of the table—The Devil—leaned back slowly. He didn't speak. He just watched me with a predator’s focus. He swirled a glass of dark liquid in his hand, the ice clinking softly, the only sound in the silent room.

"You gave her that money willingly. Last I checked, you were practically celebrating. So happy about this." "Things changed." She changed them. "She's in my territory now, Dmitri. That's all that matters." A beat of silence. Then — "The devil is coming down to hell, gentlemen." His voice dropped away from the phone as he announced it to the room. "Brace yourselves." I ended the call. Good mood. Excellent, in fact. Time to let the beast out.

The High Solar did not smell like a royal chamber; it smelled of cold rain, crushed charcoal, and the dry, iron tang of an old vault. Devon stood in the center of the vast expanse of black volcanic glass, his hands bound by heavy steel cuffs that dragged down his wrists. He did not look at the four Royal Guards standing at his flank with ready execution spears. He kept his eyes fixed on the man sitting behind the petrified white wood table.

she almost stopped in her tracks if it wasn't for Betting dragging her. Devville? The Devville she has heard of? The one created by a rogue Alpha for his fellow rogues? Ruled by the most vicious, heartless Alpha the werewolf clan has ever seen? She might as well just kiss the world goodbye because there was no mercy in Devville. At least she gets to die in a beautiful castle. She fought back tears as they pulled her through a series of stairs and finally led her into a room. There a man stood, black shirts and pants, eyes focused on the large animal on the table, knife passing through it like it was nothing.

Wolves collided with the shadows of those wings, thrown across the room as blood and instant death erupted. Vivica froze, eyes wide, her chest rising as she watched the devil himself descend upon them. The dark blue aura surrounding him pressed against her burning skin, sending a thrill along her heated skin, and desire, through her. All the rumors about him turned out to be true. He was the Devil. The real Devil. Finn stepped forward deliberately, each movement slow, lethal, deliberate. He stopped just in front of her, the room now deathly silent except for the beat of her pulsing heat.