Michael Myers X Ghostface Novels & Stories

Michael was staring at me with his lips parted, and his face looked pale under the shadow of salt pepper stubble that covered his jaw, like it had been drained of every single drop of blood. It was like he had seen a ghost, and while this was already odd enough, the sense of familiarity that washed over me was even stranger. It was a disconcerting mix of déjà vu, along with a certainty that gripped me somehow that I knew him. But that couldn’t be possible. I had never had any reason to come face-to-face with the Alpha of the Blue Moon Pack. More than that though, a quick walk through memory lane brought nothing up. This was my first time seeing Michael McKenzie, so why did he feel so familia

She spoke elegantly and winked at her sister. All the dreams you had went to waste, but I will make sure Amanda accomplish them for you. Angela beamed ‘don’t look at me like that,’ Angela spoke to her picture with love “Sis do you like him?” Maria asked, Angela recalled her words ‘I do,’ she replied shyly. Well, I did then but now all I feel is rebuff for him “Good, because tomorrow you two will be meeting, at the guest rooms near the corner, and yes guys will have s**.” She joked as she took off the mug from Angela’s hand

Complementing it were his high nose bridge. This ghost looked every bit like a businessman. His attire fuelled that suspicion. Maybe he was one before his death. His poker face expression was an A plus. Maybe it was the fact that he was a ghost or it was just his deadly pale lips or his ashen body that made his whole face which lacked expression, deadly.

He beat his bird chest with his fist, mocking the crowds mixture of cheers and boos. The ground seemed to vibrate as a mountain of a man came into view. He was easily six foot tall, his arms covered in thick muscle. His head was the shape of a boulder, his expression a warped grimace that appeared beaten onto his face. He lumbered up to the announcer, taking a stance that had me clenching my bladder. I inched back with the crowd, but stopped when the announcer lifted the microphone to his lips and continued. “His opponent is a newcomer here, someone as mysterious and dangerous as she is beautiful. Her name is…THE PALE GHOST!”

I keep walking. My plan is simple. Get one of the three targets alone. I'm halfway across the main floor when a voice behind me whispers my name. "Hayden?" I turn slowly. The man standing there is someone I've only seen on FaceTime calls. Michael. He's wearing a mask too, but I recognize the beard and the build. We both speak at the same time. "What are you doing here?" For a long second, neither of us moves. The club bustles around us, but it all feels distant.

Toby followed moments later, burying himself deep and growling as he filled Micah’s ass. There's no way, right? There's no way Toby is Ghostface guy.

His chiseled face was so close to mine that I felt his cold breath fanning over my face and squirmed, gasping when the thick girth of his cock pressed against the heat of my sex and the rogue groaned. “Christ Michael, you're not even out of the coffin yet, and you already want to fuck-” Markov grumbled and I squealed in embarrassment, flipping him off graciously. “Fuck Elena, scream any louder and my bloody head’s going to explode-” Michael groaned, scrunching up his face in a scowl just as warmth flooded my heart and I chortled excitedly. Michael Gotham was back alright. I could still tell he was in pain, with his bone-deep bruises turned into ghastly purple and blue swatches under the whit

The rage inside me snapped. Smack! My hand struck Richard across the face. "Chloe was your daughter. One baseless accusation, and you decide she's that kind of kid? I'm so disappointed in you." Richard stood there, stunned. For once, he had nothing to say. I looked at all three of them. "I'm not letting this go. All of you are going to pay." This time, Grace actually looked scared. She shrank closer to Richard and pulled David behind her. After the funeral, I hired the best private investigator in Almeda City.

I just sat there, watching the shadows. A few minutes later, a black sedan pulled in and parked two spots away. A man stepped out, his movements quick and efficient. He was middle-aged, wearing a nondescript windbreaker and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. This was Miller, the man Adrian called The Ghost. He was one of the best in the business—until he ran into me. I stepped out of my car, the sound of my shoes on the concrete echoing in the stillness. He didn't look surprised to see me. In his line of work, surprises were usually fatal.