Goth Knee High Boots Novels & Stories

“I agree, King Sven can be cruel and unforgiving. But even the most wicked hearts have a flicker of humanity. Just… accept it.” “I can’t even wear a boot with these chains on my legs,” I mutter, lifting one leg for emphasis. “The boot is adjustable. Once fitted, the chain will sit just above it.” I fall silent, staring at the stuff again. The boots look expensive. It looks like it's made of real crocodile skin, and I’m certain they’re worth at least a quarter of what Lord Emmett and his wife, Lady Gwendolyn, once offered to pay for me. The gown is simple, similar to what the palace maids wear, but it's of much finer quality.

He knelt in front of her like Prince Charming with a glass slipper, only the slipper was a heavy-duty, black tactical boot with aggressive tread. "Try this," he said, sliding it onto her foot. It felt heavy, but solid. Indestructible. "It feels like I could kick a door down," Leela said wiggling her toes. They bought the boots. Then the sneakers (two pairs, per Elana's orders). Then the house slippers.

The silver weave catches the torchlight, emphasizing the lean, powerful contours of my chest and the clean line of my collarbones, sharp as hunting blades. "Did you honestly think I wouldn't recognize royal tailoring, little sister?" I whisper to the empty room, sliding my feet into the towering silver-rimmed boots. They are ridiculously high, designed to force a wolf into a tense, ready-to-strike posture, but my balance is absolute. I take three silent paces across the stone floor. Perfect.

​My heart skipped a beat, a strange, frantic hammering echoing in my chest. ​The car door opened, and a pair of polished black boots stepped onto the carpet. When Kael Draven emerged, the room felt devoid of oxygen. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed entirely in black. His sharp, striking features were completely unreadable—calm, dangerous, and radiating an ancient, lethal authority. ​The crowd parted seamlessly before him; no one dared to cross his path. ​Tanya’s face illuminated with a brilliant smile as she walked toward him. "You came," she said softly.

I turned around and scanned the shoes on the display, pointing at a pair in the middle, "Please get this pair, black, size 6.5." It was a pair of over-the-knee boots with a three-inch heel and lively fringe on the side. Her attention wasn't on these beautiful boots, but on me standing in front of her. I semi-elegantly crouched in front of her, took off her shoes, and slipped the boots from the attendant onto her feet. Even in such a humble act, I performed it so gracefully and naturally. In that moment, Natash Yael could almost hear her own heartbeat, irregularly thumping.

I look up at the back door with wide eyes, shocked to see Kent standing there, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. “Put those on,” he says. “We have somewhere to be.” Frowning, I lift the box into my lap and open the top, gasping a little as I see a pair of the most gorgeous boots. They’re tall, nearly knee-high, and made of supple black leather with a delicate little buckle around the ankle. “Where are we going?” I ask, my face lighting up. Honestly, I don’t care – out of the house it sounds like, so I’m thrilled either way.

"Zayne, pick me up. I'm getting dressed." I ran to my room and showered again. Finding out what to wear on my own had never been a problem. I picked the first thing that caught my interest and the one I chose was a goth double-layer ruffled mini bandage skirt. The skirt was high waist and black with an orange lace panel. The top was a black lace-up front crop tee with orange rhinestones adorning the neckline and the hem. I contemplated on what shoes to wear for a few minutes before painfully agreeing to back away from the cowboy boots and choosing to wear orange knee-high boots with black rhinestones and black heart accents.

most of the time. I'm digging through my fanny pack for the keys to my car when I hear big, large, heavy footsteps racing after me. "Wait!" I turn to see a young man wearing all black from his ripped Ramones T-shirt to his large knee-high boots strapped tightly to his calves with about a dozen strappy belts. His height, enhanced by both his platform boots and his spiked blonde hair, towers above me as he stands just above 6ft tall without all of his ornamentation, but seems closer to 7ft tall with all of his extras. His black eyeliner was blurring down his face and his black lipstick was smudged down to his chin.

Zoey didn't think that this was what they would be doing the next time she saw him on one knee. "What about the shoes? These aren't appropriate for this death trap any time of the year." "Just couldn't help myself, I guess," he said, slipping the first stiletto off. "You wear the hell out of a pair of black heels."