Planet Dolan Hellbent Novels & Stories

Connell I push through the hallway toward our safe room, my boots echoing against the wooden floors. The familiar smell of perfume and cigarettes hits me as I open the door. Inside, five of our usual hangers-on crowd around Dolores, who stands tall despite their circling. "Who the hell do you think you are?" A bottle blonde in too-tight faux leather sneers. "Waltzing in here like you own the damn place, like you're better than us." "I don't think anything," Dolores says, crossing her arms. "I know exactly who I am. And I don't owe you whore's a goddamn thing."

Elena's POV I stirred in my sleep and felt something very soft under me. It felt like I am sleeping on clouds, so soft and comfortable. I don't want to wake up. I snuggled more into the clouds to feel heaven. But then I realized that I am not into heaven but in hell. I opened my eyes to see the devil sitting on the couch with a cigarette in between his fingers. His expressions were neutral and his eyes were unreadable as always. He was looking at nothing in particular. It seems like he is planning the murder of someone.

"Dante noticed you two take off and wanted to follow." "Aiden senses a threat. Something about the scent of Hell." Amira informed them. "Can you sense anything, Dante?" She asked him. His eyes hardened. "Hellfire. Clear as day. He has the right to be worried." Dante told her. "Hellfire?" Willow asked, confused for a moment. Realization dawned on her. "Wait! I think I know who it is!" She shouted, almost with excitement. "Who?" Amira asked, sharing the confusion with Aiden.

I said to Delanie. "Fine." Delanie said. "But don't try to hide such information from me ever again." she added. "I promise I won't." I said to her. Delanie turned to Denver and I nudged him with my elbow. "Yes yes. I won't keep any details about Kyle from you." Denver agreed. "Good. Now where can I find that goo for nothing scum of a witch?!" Delanie shouted her question. One could clearly see her anger. "Woah. Just calm down a bit okay? Control your anger. It's one of the things Helen uses to her advantage."Denver said to Delanie.

Sandra wanted to fight against his hold, her nerves, slowly relaxing at the calm mid night silence. A dim light shone in the bottom of the pit. Luna tightly gripping on her sprained ankle. Her eyes trailed the round walls of the pit. Dread building up in the back of her mind. Different sizes of holes where carved in like an exit. And she could only wonder what kind of creatures live in them. More like creatures. She advert her gaze over to Salvador who seemed to be asking her something. "I am fine." She made out. Hoping it's what he asked. "It's just my ankle."

Love him or hate him – but nobody got a message through like Dargan Hellson! The Guardian swallowed thickly, clearly scared and uncomfortable. “Could you-could you please get your alphas for us?” The other Guardian corrected meekly, looking like he wanted to sink into the floor. “Sure, no problem,” Dargan replied cheerily, and without a backward glance, he jogged up the stairs. Hell, all the way up he kept cooing and taking gibberish at his son as if he hadn’t just threatened someone’s life... The wolf let out a shaky breath he looked like he’d been holding--- and then gave me a “what the fuck?!”-glance.

Six men in black surrounded us, silenced pistols raised. Damon moved like lightning, shoving Bianca behind him. His other hand went to his waist, only to find the holster empty. For the first time, I saw shock on his face. "Looking for this, Damon Vitale?" the leader's voice was a low growl. He held up Damon's gun. I knew that voice. Viktor. Old man Kozlov's son. The East Side's biggest psycho. Damon’s gaze snapped to Bianca, his eyes sharp with suspicion and cold fury.

But this time alone, he doesn't think he's going to make it. Rolling over and over during the night, waking up finally in a cold sweat of nightmares with his parents and KYOLINE. Choking out of the bed, he tries to rid his mind of the image of slaughtered KYOLINE dying under Carmine's boot. Fucking Carmine Cicconi. Waking with bleary eyes, he knows he must get up, and with leaden feet, he makes his way downstairs. The scent of hot pancakes fills the air as DAMON and L'OREAL discuss breakfast at the table and DEBORAH prods at her phone with determined vehemence.

“You look perfect like this. My perfect mess.” I pulled back with a wet gasp, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “You’re—horrible.” He smirked. “And you’re trembling.” “Shut up,” I hissed, and took him back into my mouth before I could second-guess myself. This time, his breath broke. “Dio onnipotente.” (Almighty God.)

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