Night Ninja Pj Mask Novels & Stories

We move to the tables to make our hair and faces match our outfits. Izzy pulls my mask from her drawer, the one rule I always had. My face had to be covered. My family could not find out I was here and they dealt plenty with sleazy men. The masks leaves my mouth open, but covers the top half of my face. "You girls ready?" Thomas asks from the door when he peeks in. "Holy fuck. I don't think I'm ready. You two are delicious."

It copied the silhouette of my dainty body perfectly—elegant yet provocative, a weapon in fabric form. I turned to the vanity and picked up the black mask. Lace edges framed my eyes, feathers curling at the temples like dark wings. It tied with silk ribbons, transforming my face into something mysterious, untamed. Enzo stood slowly, his chair scraping back. He looked at me, really looked, from the mask down to the hem brushing my ankles. His chest rose with a sharp inhale. “What the fuck, Nina,” he said, voice rough. Then he cursed in some strange language—Italian maybe, or Russian—words tumbling out in a heated rush. His eyes darkened, jaw tightening as he took a step closer.

He blinked rapidly, trying to adjust. Before him stood a man—a shadowy figure wearing a mask that obscured his face completely. The mask was expressionless, cold, almost inhuman. The air around him felt heavy, charged with menace. Without a word, the masked man stepped forward and struck. A harsh punch landed squarely on Julian’s jaw, sending a sharp shock of pain rippling through his face. His head snapped sideways, teeth grinding painfully. Julian gritted his teeth, swallowing the scream that threatened to escape. The pain was raw, burning deep into his skin and bone. The masked man’s fist came again, faster this time—a relentless barrage of blows that hammered into Julian’s ribs, stomach,

“Two days before the crash, this ghost was on Hera’s tail. Same mask every time. I pulled footage from different cameras. When I try to run facial recognition, the mask fries the signal. Some kind of active jammer built in. It looks like a custom made military mask. I’ve never seen anything like it.” My stomach drops. “He is protecting himself, guarding his identity.” “He is very intelligent and cunning.” Justin spins the chair to face me. “Zero, listen. If they survived the river, then this guy is still hunting. And if the headquarters is compromised…” He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to. I stare at the frozen image. The blank mask stares back, cold and empty. My hands curl into fists wit

I turned, my black lace mask shielding my eyes, but not the smirk that tugged at my lips. The man before me wore a simple silver mask that accentuated the sharp line of his jaw and the shadow of stubble. Tall, broad-shouldered, his black shirt clung to a chest that spoke of power, not just from suits but from real control. In this place, Nocturne, where masks hid faces and secrets fueled the night, anonymity was the only rule.

"We need to remain the 'Hidden Faces.' The myth is more effective than the celebrity." The team adopted the "Masked Protocol." When operating under the LNI banner, they wore tactical gear reinforced with Aether-dampening mesh and high-impact masks that obscured their identities while projecting the LNI emblem. They were to be seen as a force of nature - faceless, efficient, and undeniable.

My heart stops as I turn to look at the screen. At first, I think it’s Josie. My stomach twists, ready to drop. But no—it’s not her. It’s Prince. The video is grainy, green-tinted like it’s being recorded with a night-vision camera. He’s in a tiny, cramped space—so small he can’t even stretch his legs out fully, let alone lie down. My fists clench as I watch him claw at the walls, screaming and pounding on the door. He’s trapped, like an animal in a cage.

I released a breath and tugged down my black feathered mask. My mask was an essential part of my night job as DJ Butterfly. I wore it because it not only gave me some form of anonymity, it allowed me to pretend that I was someone else, at least for a while. Behind the turntable and the mask I was Butterfly, confident, sexy, not-at-all-in-debt-with-a-technically-dead-sister-in-the-hospital. As Butterfly I could pretend to love my too-sharp curves and my big mouth that didn't mind spewing whatever I was thinking when provoked.

The guys look so dapper in their tuxedos, and when they add their black and gold masks, they turn into mysterious strangers with eyes that ignite the flames deep within me. Jace wears a gold mask that is identical to my own, with black details, and Jude is wearing an all-black mask but looks similar to mine and Jace’s. Glancing at the reflection of us together in the mirror, I find that we look hot as hell. It only tells me that Jace and I are right to want Jude to join us, he’s our missing piece.

Elowen POV. The leather sofa in VIP Room Three still held the warmth of the last client. I could feel it through the thin crimson silk barely covering my body as I adjusted my position, making sure every angle was perfect. The jeweled mask sat secure against my face, catching the low amber light, hiding everything that mattered while showing everything that didn't. My red hair fell in waves over my bare shoulders. No brown wig or oversized cardigan swallowing my curves tonight. Tonight, I was Nyx, and Nyx didn't hide.