Noir Novels & Stories

Beta Connor began to order before he felt as if he were choking. "All these people willing to die for you while you remain grounded," Black continued. The Mad One had remained perfectly still, but his predatory eyes were now staring at the Red Moon Beta. Connor felt as if he'd been crushed to the ground by the enormous pressure of the power unleashed by Alpha Black. He trembled with fear as he saw everyone around him start to howl and writhe under the pain of this legendary wolf's black aura.

Their deadly looks are only outdone by the deadly Neron weapons they point at the two of us. But there in the middle is a woman. Her eyes are full of wonder and fear, but she’s trying very hard to mask both right now. She’s petite, average height. She has soft, curly brown hair, and warm brown eyes. Her cheekbones are sharp and her hands small and delicate. But I know the power behind her voice. “Valen Nero, Nova Ainsley,” she says, stepping forward. “I’m Arden Black.”

Yet, she remained undeterred, her gaze fixed upon the unseen horizon that beckoned her towards a destiny forged in the crucible of her choices. "I will embrace the shadows if that's what it takes to see them suffer," she declared, her voice resolute as if challenging the very heavens to deny her the justice she sought. As Carla continued her solitary journey, her silhouette against the night became a symbol—an embodiment of the inexorable force that sought to reshape the narrative of her existence. The moon, an impartial spectator to the unfolding drama, cast its light upon her form, as if acknowledging the gravity of her quest.

CONTENT WARNING This is a dark psychological story featuring a deeply disturbed and obsessive protagonist. The narrative explores violence, manipulation, moral corruption, emotional detachment, and unsettling behavior. The main character’s actions are not justified or romanticized, and this story is not intended to represent real world mental health conditions accurately. This book contains disturbing themes, including murder and exploitative relationships. If you are looking for a moral hero, a healthy romance, or comfort reading, this story is not for you. Reader discretion is strongly advised. —— Azxel never imagined that a simple transfer to a mental disorder school w

The connected call only carried the sounds of Jaime Walter and Derek Surrey’s pleasure. She did not seem to hear what I said. After an impatient click of her tongue, she hung up. I lowered my arms and stared at my mother’s decomposed body. My strength felt completely drained. Derek then sent me a series of messages. When I opened them, I saw videos of the two of them having sex that night. Their intimate sounds filled the room. Derek smiled in the video and asked Jaime, “You really are not giving him the miracle drug?”

As they stepped into the cool, damp air of the night, the rain had transformed into a light drizzle, misting the surroundings in a haze. The world outside felt lush and alive, yet ominous with an undercurrent of uncertainty. George led the way, Elora and Maya close behind, each step bringing them closer to a sanctuary that felt both like a refuge and a line crossed. "Stay close," George advised, casting a watchful glance over his shoulder. "We don't know who might be watching."

I sighed deeply, relaxing into Damon's bed as a familiar scent filled my nose. I jerked up from the bed and faced the door before it opened. My eyes turned into daggers at the intruder. Noir walked in carefully and gracefully. She swayed her hips slightly as she looked around the room before they found mine. She was wearing a black dress and a pair of silver heels, her dark makeup added with the evil gleam in her eyes and the wide smirk made her appear like a devil that I knew she was. "You seem to have a free now to Damon's room, huh?" She said, taking a step towards me and I stayed put.

A ritual sealed with rules. No real names. No backstory. No contact after checkout. And the man waiting behind the door tonight? He wasn’t my lover. He was a mystery I had ordered with a codeword. "Noir." When the door swung open, he was already in character black dress shirt unbuttoned to the sternum, a tie hanging loose like a noose of temptation. His hair was damp, tousled, like he’d been pacing before I arrived. He didn’t smile. He looked at me like hunger personified.

Only one unfazed was Luciano. Bang~ Bang~ With each shot, tires burst. Rubber shredded. Cars dipped low and lifeless. In under a minute, the sleek Richardson fleet stood ruined, disabled one by one until not a single vehicle was drivable. Smoke hung in the air like her rage had materialized. And then—silence. Noora stood still, revolver in hand, breath sharp, fire raging in her eyes as she stared him down. Her chest rose and fell with each breath. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak.

That sound scrapes right through me. Up the wide stairs, Noah’s grip stays steady beneath my fingers. Not like the flashy scene around us - he stands apart, dressed in strict black. Only hints of metal mark him: an old spy’s ring, a plain silver clip holding his coat closed. Picture a knife resting on a golden plate, that is how he appears among the bright chaos. "Hold on," he says, voice low, eyes shifting toward two people bending forward. "Watch first. Then wait. Say nothing."