Devil's Table Novels & Stories

In a few seconds, he was towering over me, pressing a finger on my lips to threaten me, " Sshh! Watch before you speak, Princepessa. I am not your prince charming anymore. I am the devil who is here to suck your soul. If I made you just my fuck body, what will the world call my child? An illegitimate one? In no way, I was going to allow it. Get on the bed and wait for me. I want your back to remember because I really don't wish to kiss your poisonous lips ever which fed me lies for years."

To hell. At the landing, we take a corner that leads to the underground cells. Right now, only one of them is occupied. The guys placed a table next to it laden with torture weapons. Stopping in front of him, I squint down at the man lying on the floor. "Papa" He scrambles to his feet and runs towards the bars. Salazar jerks me back, preventing him from touching me. "Catalina is that you? You fucking bitch! Release me" "Or what?"

Maybe start planning my next escape for real this time. And then—he did something that caught me off guard. Ronan Blackwood, the Devil himself, squatted in front of me. Not stood. Not loomed. Squatted. Eye level. Holding two glasses of wine in his large hands. “What’s the problem?” he asked, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. I looked away. “I’m fine,” I muttered.

LAZZARO That girl. The way she stitched me, the way she looked at me while at it was fucking sexy. I had almost lost control, and it took everything within me to hold back. I never force my way with women. I might be a devil, but I wasn’t that monstrous.

My tail curled lazily behind me, brushing the floor like a predator deciding where to strike first. “Discretion, darling? I took your coin. I never swore loyalty.” I stopped inches away, close enough that the heat of my body kissed the chill rolling off his. “And I changed my mind. The little moon is far more interesting wearing the Devil’s bite than she ever would have been in your cage.” His claws flexed. The tablet glowed again. Traitorous whore. Return the gold or finish the job. I tilted my head, violet eyes flaring bright.

“I've helped you get the immortality you desire, and now I'm helping you again, controlling Barbara so that she can kill the victims that you will make sacrifices for me.” Reksa stepped forward, approaching Hugo with a breath that smelled like a mixture of sulfur and wet tar. The devil gripped the Cursed's shoulder, making him grit his teeth in the pain and heat from Reksa's hands. Within seconds, Reksa's form was no longer human, but like a real devil, flaming red and black. Hugo's shoulders slowly smoked, but not the slightest sign of fire could come out.

I whisper in fear. Tsking, and biting his lip, he shakes his head. “Oh, no. Don’t think of it like that,” he says sweetly, his nefarious smile shifting to sweet and beautiful. “I’m just a fragment of dust of what you may term as the devil. So small and useless until I’m given instructions by my boss. In this case, Mr. Memphis, otherwise known as Devlin, and the water of power he pours to me in form of instructions, stirs my little particles into a pile of mud and I get my power from him. But for now, I’m nothing more than a human just like you and everyone else in your little world.”

10:08AM The Devil’s Table, Blackwell Command Bunker, Milan The Devil’s Table was no metaphor. It was real—twelve feet of reinforced steel laced with molten obsidian, forged in darkness and silence. It was the kind of table that had never known mercy—only power, only punishment. It sat like a predator in the heart of Blackwell’s underground bunker in Milan, radiating an oppressive stillness that dared anyone to speak without consequence. Charlotte Wren stood at the far end, her heels clicking against polished granite as she approached. The cold air didn’t touch her spine. The threat in the silence didn’t bend her knees. She had walked into the belly of a beast—and she’d done it alone.

And now, the strings tighten. Damitri slumped, sword clattering from numb fingers, his breaths ragged wheezes. The queen sobbed, clutching the infant tighter, while the boy stared with wide, tear-streaked eyes, fists balled at his sides. The devil's gaze shifted, those crimson slits narrowing with predatory hunger. He released Damitri with a casual flick, the shadows recoiling like whipped serpents, and strode toward the child. His hooves clicked ominously on the flagstones, tail lashing behind him, barbed tip carving shallow furrows in the stone. He paused before the boy, then crouched low, wings folding with a leathery rustle, bringing his grotesque face level with the child's. Sulfurous b