Devils Day Party Novels & Stories

“You should come tonight, Irene. Everyone's going. Even the old grannies are digging out their pearls.” “I said no.” He sighs. “It's not about him. It's about us. We finally get to stand in the hall like we belong there. We finally get to attend parties involving the Pack. We've never had this privilege.” I stop walking. “Jasper, drop it.” He opens his mouth then freezes. His gaze slides past me and widens. I smell cedar before I turn. Devon leans against a towering pine twenty feet away, arms folded, black coat open to reveal a white shirt, first five buttons left undone, despite the chill. His eyes lock on me like a sniper's scope. Cool. Patient. Terrifying.

Daylen suggested. Devon slightly laughed. It was so like his brother to make such a suggestion. He had seen the person Daylen had become in the last eight hundred years. The darkness had seized control of his heart and mind as he continued his punishment. But facing it face to face was a little heartbreaking. "I heard you finally found Sy..." "Utter his name from your lips and it will be your last words," Daylen threatened. His blood boiling at Devon's audacity to try and call out to his beloved.

The name is not Dustin, but Devlin this time, and a new desire below the name. “Remember at your highest moment, the devil makes his move,” the bartender whispers solemnly, forcing me to look back up, but he is nowhere in sight. Suddenly, an intense wave of fear washes over me and I stumble back as I look around. I’m not sure if it is the extreme intoxication, or if it is really happening in front of my eyes. The bar clears and I am left alone. The dim yellow lights change to blue, centred, making me the spotlight in a now dark room.

It thudded the blissful evening at the beach with classic party songs where many youngsters came to enjoy their summer vacation. Padre Balli park beach is known for party people who love to drive on the beach. The music and the aromatic smell of BBQ would not allow you to go anywhere. Samson, along with his men, reached the place. “So what? She wants you to be her puppy?” Antonio growled, looking at the gang. “She didn’t know we came here. Capo wanted me to check on her.” Samson slicked his hair back and barred his peer with black glares.

Mine looks like an uncultured swine is living in it. I set the tray down and glanced at him. He’s still standing by the door, watching me with narrowed eyes. “You’re acting weird,” he said. Of course, I am. Who would want to enter the devil’s den? And you call these things in the tray food for the lion? Oh, dear, I’m a walking dead prey. I laughed nervously. “I’m not acting weird. I just… thought you could use a friend. You’ve been cooped up in here since the party. ”

If the devil herself was shaken, and her minions looked like death, what the fuck was he a mere mortal going to do with the facts? Cass walked in a half hour later, showered, dressed in a pair of jeans, a white button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and looking way better than when she'd left him. "I'm sorry I left the way I did." "No problem, just tell me what the fuck is going on." "Pedro, do you have the names?" "Yes, the bastards went to a bar and bragged about what they did. One of ours was there and contacted me. Too easy if you tell me, I think they were told to be caught, force you into action."

Vimar and Brage sink into the grass, while Indra manages to stay upright. "Your friends aren't as strong as you are. You're interesting, little girl. Who are you?" Indra raises her chin, looks defiantly into the fairy queen’s bottomless black eyes and replies in a strong voice: "I am Indra, the Devil's Daughter." Melia's backing away. Her companions make hissing noises and the ashen fog retreats several meters revealing blossoming wildflowers underneath. Melia raises a hand and the fog stops. Then she turns back to Indra and studies her from top to bottom. "I didn't know Lucifer had a daughter..."

DANTE'S POV People call me the Devil of New York. They're not wrong. I've killed men for less than a dirty look. I've gutted rats who thought they could steal from me. I've fucked women who begged for mercy and made them beg for more pain instead. My empire runs on blood, loyalty, and fear. That's the only language this rotten world understands. And tonight, I reminded everyone of it. Crawford thought he could play me. Thought he could borrow money from my syndicate, promise returns, and then ghost like I'm some dumb fuck banker. No. You don't spit in my face and walk away.

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.

He would be scared. As expected, the day fell upon them without any warning. It was a beautiful day, the same day Sam and Nat wedding supposed to be. Sun bright and sky blue, Dean sipped his cocktails with Air in the balcony and they watched demons coming out of the hell gates. There were hundreds of them just in city; the heaven would be targeted first. Cleaning out the angels, no one would stop their slaughtering festival on earth. Dean hummed when he caught the message. It was from Sam and his friends, no doubt. He read and let out a laugh. Air raised her eyebrows at him.