Ghost Rider Novels & Stories

“Ghost.” My body stiffens immediately.

I hate myself for considering that some part of me is relishing the prospect of igniting that board… even if it burns him up too. "What's in the coin?" I insist. A pause. "Truth," they answer brusquely. And they're off—gliding into the darkness so fast my eyes can't track the motion. I turn back to Pandora. "Can you track them?" "Already trying," she snarls, tapping at her comm. "But whoever they are? They are Ghosts.". I look back at Cassian. His lids are half-closed, yet his gaze remains fixed on me.

His white blond hair could very well be all grey by now, it was impossible to tell. But Sia could read his eyes, and they were now grey with rage and lust. He was wearing a dark blue uniform that she’d seen on one of the cleaners, and it hung loose around his shoulders. He had lost weight (a lot of it) but he also seemed to have gained a few muscles. There were dark circles around his eyes, and his skin was so pale from the lack of exposure to sunlight.

"Your flying magical weapon is very unique." Riding on the black motorcycle, Golden Cicada propped up the unconscious Sweet Sound, with one hand on Ding Hao's shoulder. Fathomless darkness whistled past them on their sides. There was a strange vrooming noise as Ding Hao revved up his magic motorcycle, the Black Whirlwind. It really appeared like a black whirlwind, advancing at top speed into the vast wilderness.

Her eyes are looking distant as she spoke. " Hera...tte" . . . . " The goddess of Death." And that's when the realisation hits Zander like a truck and suddenly his legs feel too weak to carry his weight. Dropping on his knees, he stared at the dead bodies and blood around him to shake his head a no. His lips trembled as he spoke. " No...this is not possible..nooo...." " Nooooooooooooooo!"

“What are you doing?” She growled. “Release me now or I will make sure I kill every one of you!” The Ghost Rider paused. “But you gave all of your powers away.” He replied and then the others streamed forward, circling around her and taking off their hats. Rather than looking as dead and skeletal as their horses, they were all flesh and bones, all with straight black hair that fell into their eyes and a rigid severe look about their face. She was surrounded.

He was tense earlier because of the stares, but I'm sure he was enjoying their adoration of him. Ghosts don't favor crowded spaces. Their real name is Myles McCormick, aka Ghost. He's only a few years younger than me before he joined the team. He has been given the name Ghost because of his code name. He is good at not being spotted. He's a great master of disguise, and you wouldn't think twice to know who or where he is. He's like a wandering ghost who came to fuck you.

Christopher and Zyter exchanged a fierce glance, their determination unshakeable. Suddenly, the tranquility shattered as the Blood Ghosts emerged from the darkness. They materialized before the hunters, their red eyes glowing with malice. The sight sent shivers down Christopher's spine, but he steadied himself, gripping his sword tightly. The Ghosts were relentless, their numbers seemingly endless.

Matteo's eyes raked through the compound, counting the men littered around the compound, holding their guns around their hoisters not so discreetly, Greg had security no doubt but they weren't exactly five star He could take these guys out in a minute without even breaking a sweat. His eyes moved again and he recognized the white Aston Martin parked just close to Spade's car, he'd seen it so many times he would recognize it anywhere. It belonged to the kid. His eyes moved back to look at Spade and from the looks in his eyes, he hadn't seen the car, which in a way was good, because he couldn't be distracted now and anything that concerned that Miller kid was a distraction for Spade.

She couldn’t deny how his muscular body and pure masculine magnetism drew her to him. If he regained movement she’d die. She knew that and he probably wished he could get his hands on her. She glanced across the room to stare at the cracked and peeling white paint that ran the length of the room on the floor by the door. The staff called it the kill line. All test subjects were shackled by each limb. Though they were strong enough to break chains occasionally, none had ever broken all four at once. They only needed one free limb to kill. She sat inside the kill zone with an enraged, huge male whose two arms were chained but they weren’t connected to anything anymore. That realization made he