Noir Novels & Stories

[The Sang Noir Pact] The intake wing of Le Sang Noir was a masterpiece of clinical isolation. It didn't smell like a prison; it smelled like bleach, ozone, and the silent, vibrating hum of high-voltage security. Dante Moretti did not walk toward his cell—he was dragged, his boots scuffing against the seamless white floor, a sharp contrast to the black-and-blue ruin of his ribs.

I whip around to see us surrounded by rogues and a jeep comes up the old road stopping in front of us before I can comprehend what is happening Lanna is spinning on the spot whipping her walking stick through the air snapping rogue necks with each spin "Desert, run back to the group now" Lanna screams at me but before I can take a step a crack sounds in the air and as if in slow motion I see a bullet zip through the air and I change course running to Lanna but it too late the bullet has hit her in the chest, She is dead instantly, the anger inside of me wells, I can feel Sandy shaking, within seconds I'm standing on four legs ready to rip these rogues to hell, the dirt starts spinning around

But no horror movie or war news reel had prepared me for tonight. The fight I'd witnessed was played by the rules of demons. That much I knew. Merciless, ruthless, and utterly animalistic. I wondered if Jakkon was an angel of destruction. I looked into Noor's dead eyes. They stared back at me, cornflower blue. She'd faced Jakkon alone. Was she hunting him like Sam? I looked at the base of the altar. A long, slender blade curved like a cutlass shone a faint blue. The color of Noor's soul. Red blood coated its surface. “Jakkon beheaded Noor with her own blade,” I whispered, nausea kicking me in the gut.

The pale morning light crept through the letterbox sized windows of the den slowly, casting a stark glow over the rows of beds before crawling up the back wall. The scent of blood mingled with the musty scent of damp and cheap perfume as the girls silently let the night pass them by.

Despite the vibrant shine of luna, the dark sky was dominated by the looming shadows of despair. I sniffed and inhaled the addicting aroma of 1991's. Atleast, it calms my nerves for even just a little. I took a sip and savoured the rich taste as the aroma dominated my tastebud. I can feel the icy chills everytime the blow of the gushing wind touches my skin. Lonely, cold, and heavy. I drank in a straight shot the remaining liquid of the glass. The hot liquid directly burned my throat as I swallowed it through my system. I put back the empty glass on the table and went back to my favorite spot.

The dimly lit corner of Noir, the city's most exclusive lounge, provides perfect cover for clandestine meetings. Daphne Munroe sits alone, nursing a glass of cabernet, her manicured fingernails tapping impatiently against the polished surface of the table. Her eyes drift to her watch—an elegant Cartier piece that Lucas once complimented—noting that her mysterious contact is seven minutes late.

This book contains mature themes, intense romance, and adult situations. Do not Touch explores complicated desires, emotional conflicts, and darker aspects of relationships. It includes themes such as violence, strong language, power dynamics, and mature experiences. This story is intended for a mature audience. Reader discretion is advised.

Fuck. Something runs past me hiding in the shadows of the woods. I stop in my tracks, scared of death. I can almost hear my heartbeat. My blood is raging in my veins. "Show yourself," I yell angrily. I hear a low growl and see strange eyes focused on me for a second. I scream and fall to the ground. "Alice! Alice! Alice!" The voices have gotten closer. Something is definitely following me in the woods. I stand to my feet hurriedly. My cloth and shoes have mud stains on them. "Fuck," I grunt. The midnight bell rings from afar in the village. What a hell of a way to start my eighteenth-year birthday. I hear the growling clearly as it draws closer to me. My hands are shaking as I grab the dagge

He didn't even bother to glance back as he scurried out the entrance. Where had Vivian gone? She was with Kayla a second ago... A yard or so away from Kayla, Vivian was cutting down the Shadows like butter. She had taken out her dagger from the silver necklace. Our mother had our necklaces specially crafted to revealed a deadly dagger with just a thought. Her silver blade had an orange gem on the pommel which glinted in the light. The look on her face told me she meant business as her her eyes were blazing with fury.

I whispered. Langelo's eyes widened before a smile spread out his cheek. He was so easy to please. Only with me though. His eyes twinkled under the chandelier and he nodded as he gripped my hand tighter. "I promise to be good, baby." He whispered back. ~••~ We took our seats at a table dressed in black velvet and golden silk, the kind of lavish that screamed money and blood. So many blood. Don't get me wrong. I know Dormani was a killer but he had morals. He would never hurt a woman neither would he traffick children and women or any gender for that matter.