Scoundrel Sans Novels & Stories

Theria raised her hands and lightly touched sasquatch, who didn't seem to mind the attention, "Take it, easy girl," She moved her free hand and chanted, "Dèan na faclan againn mar an ceudna," A soft glow emitted from her hand. Sure hope this works. Warren stepped forward, "Can you understand me?" he held out his hand, "I am Warren Vandal," he kept arms lengths and made himself look as friendly as he possibly could.

"Xena, look! Isn't that guy touching another guy?" My coworker's voice snapped me out of my stupor. Sure enough, in front of us was a man running his hand all over another man's rear. They had their arms slung around each other and were heading for a car. The scene hit me like a cold wave. I had been reborn. The man fondling the other man was none other than my brother-in-law, Julian. My coworker, just like in my past life, was all wide-eyed with curiosity and immediately pulled out her phone to take a photo. After she got shots of the two of them kissing, she urged me to follow them.

This man almost doubled his muscle mass. His dark brown hair had subtle streaks of red throughout. His eyes were green with hints of gold. They were the most amazing things I had ever seen. Looking at him made my heart pound. His eyes were focused on mine as he held my gaze. The scar on the left side of his neck was faded, the sight of it enraged me. I didn’t know why I was so upset about him being hurt. I felt myself begin to get lost in his eyes when my mind snapped me out of it.

Was I really going to do this just to avenge my old self? . . . I was relaxing by the pool when a convoy of exotic cars arrived in my father’s compound. I took off my sun shades to see properly who the visitor was. Gabriel Damasco. “How dare you, Imelda!?” He growled as soon as he was out of his car and walked angrily to me. He was in one of his expensive Prada business suits—the devil wears Prada and Gabriel Damasco was a handsome Devil at that. “I assume you have received the papers from Hernandez.”

"Yeah. But you're killing the cat in me right now." Jessy flashed a ghost of a smile. "Nah. I don't think so." Jessy then pulled out a necklace with a butterfly pendant made of gem, probably an amethyst, out of her hoodie's pooch. In the middle of the pendant was a reddish liquid in a tiny vial. "Here's a gift from me," Jessy said, placing the necklace in my hand. "Oh, no I can't accept that. I got nothing to give you anyway—"

She glanced at Stanley again, who was still limp beneath the weight of four goblins sitting on top of him. Then Scar, at last, looked up at Stanley. He was still naked after his shift, his perfectly sculpted body on full display. But unlike her, there was no modesty in him. His powerful muscles radiated strength and surety, all the way from his broad shoulders to his powerful thighs. While he met her gaze unflinchingly, his eyes like chips of ice. "Scar," he said, his voice dripping with venom, "why did you run?" She averted her gaze, trying hard not to look at his nakedness or even think about it. She and Hazel were in grave danger, having sorely miscalculated just how powerful and capable

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the red coin that kind driver had given me before. I rubbed the tiny thing in my palm and called out in a small voice. “Cassian.” The man paused, turning to me with wide eyes. “You…” He marched back to me and stopped just a few inches away, grabbing my hand and pulling my sleeve up my arm. Right there was the birthmark I shared only with my late mother, a star-shaped mark with tiny rings of starlight around it. “It is you.” He said, his voice low and dripping with reverence.

Low, deliberate, and carrying the particular texture of amusement that immediately adds to my irritation. "A bit... exssstravagant, don't you think, Alpha?" I spin around. Scyla is leaning against the doorframe, her golden eyes glittering with a dark, dancing amusement. She flickers her tongue over her teeth, the sound a dry, reptilian hiss. “Scyla.” I snarl.

“Before you dismembered the demon, did you happen to get a good look at it?” He nods. “Maybe five feet tall if I’m being generous. Claws, flat teeth, smelled like the inside of an asshole, with skin resembling an elderly man’s ball sack.” “Scrapper demon. Great. When there’s one there’s usually more. They follow behind more powerful demons, eating their scraps. Hence the nickname. I’m surprised it took them this long to follow behind that Third Hierarchy twatwaffle.” I tip my head. “How many old man ball sacks have you seen?”

Indeed, it was the symbol—a black scorpion outlined with a touch of gold, placed atop two flaming swords crossing each other, the flames an ethereal red. "Huh? Why did he draw this? Is he a member of the Red Scorpions?" She wondered aloud, examining the drawing closely. Her eyes then shifted to the name written in italic font. "Francisco Stephan." The name seemed oddly familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. "Where have I heard that name before?" She asked herself.