Hell Is A Dance Floor Novels & Stories

Misha’s POV We found Ava in a small, chic art gallery in SoHo. The place was all white walls, polished concrete floors, and the faint, pleasant scent of oil paint and old wood. Muted classical music drifted from hidden speakers. Mortals milled about, sipping wine from delicate glasses and making thoughtful noises at canvases covered in chaotic splashes of color. It was a world away from the silent, star-spun infinity of the Fates’ Realm. It was a world that had no idea how close it was to fraying apart at the seams.

I said with a smile and already started enjoying this. I heard Neev groaning and I smirked internally. I went out from his hold and went on the dance floor with Mr. Akshit Lalwani. We both took our position with healthy distance between us and soon we started dancing. I was dancing with Akshit, but my eyes were locked with his. He was looking at us without even blinking his eyes with a galss of champagne in his hand. I can see his hold on the galss was deadly and his eyes were literally killing Mr. Akshit In a very brutal way.

Grace The pounding music blasting from the inbuilt speakers gave me a headache. It pulsed through my veins, vibrated in my blood stream and slammed straight to my heart until it beat with the same intensity, a merciless tattoo against my ribs. But who was I to complain? It is, after all, the reason why I'm inside Hell Hole, not the literal one, but my favorite bar to hang out on Friday night's with my girlfriends....one of whom.... is nowhere to be found. Ah! There's Ken, slender blonde with killer legs and an extremely short black dress, on the dance floor, devouring the face of a guy in an orange jacket. A very Orange jacket. Trust Kendra Millar to have other-worldly tastes.

Lyra Strobe lights cut through a haze of cigarette smoke and steel from dry ice, casting an otherworldly glow over the crowded bar. The air vibrated with a pounding bassline that I felt in my teeth, the thumping beat making my body want to move. Bodies were packed on the dance floor, a sea of undulating silhouettes where people lost themselves, their movements uninhibited and desperate. It was a collective exhalation of monthly stress, a release of pent-up energy and frustration.

The drums pounded a rhythm that felt like a headache made of sound. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. On the edge of the dance floor, far from the Alpha’s dais, Beta Kael was trapped in his own personal hell. "Dance with me, husband," Holly cooed, pulling on his arm. Kael resisted, his boots planting firmly on the stone. "I am on duty, Holly. The crowd is too thick. Security is compromised."

I’ll always be the girl who blew chunks on the dance floor. Mick looks down at me as if we’re the only ones in the whole place. My stomach does about ten flips and the music fades out like someone turned down the volume. My ears and throat burn with either near-vomit or my new Hellion- addiction. Neither one is good.

(THE DANCE IN HELL) “SHALL WE?” Farah whispers in a sinister tone like she is asking for a dance. And if she really is asking for it, it is not a simple casual dance, but a death dance on top of the flaming ground in the ideal world of hell that one can imagine for it. “Tsk!” She smirks and then click her tongue three times which a bit angered Haru. Thinking that she is playing and toying with him for the moment.

ELIRA This is the wildest thing I have ever done in my life. My jaw is nearly hitting the floor as I scan the incredibly packed expanse of this room. If I ever need an imagery for sin, this is definitely it. “What do you think?” There’s a smile in Brie’s voice as she asks, standing beside me on the edge of the dancefloor as our eyes scan the exuberant space. The dancefloor—already completely packed with writhing drunk bodies—is a circle, one that glitters with light we cannot see, light I can only assume marks the space from underneath the marbled floor.

I downed it in one burning gulp. "Another." By the third pour, the world had softened at the edges. Bodies moved in hypnotic rhythms on the dance floor—females in backless dresses arching against warriors bare-chested beneath their suit jackets. The air thickened with pheromones and broken inhibitions. Then I saw him.

I glanced around for Layla, hoping for rescue or at least moral support, but she had well and truly disappeared into the crowd, probably already charming her way into free drinks and interesting conversations with men who wore watches that cost more than a regular car. I looked at his outstretched hand, then back at the crowd on the dance floor. The bass dropped, sending vibrations through the floor and up into my chest. The lights dimmed to violet and red, transforming the space into something that looked more like a dream than reality. The dance floor pulsed like a living thing, bodies moving in rhythm with music that seemed designed to bypass rational thought and speak directly to somethi