Skin Of The Night Novels & Stories

The days were beginning to blur into a new kind of rhythm. By Night , the pattern wasn’t just locked it had become their entire world. Kai arrived at Eclipse early that evening, already buzzing with anticipation. He’d spent the day in his tiny apartment with Lila, who kept shooting him knowing looks every time he checked his phone or touched the fresh bruise on his hip. “You’re glowing like a man getting railed every single night,” she’d teased. Kai had flipped her off, but he couldn’t deny the truth.

They had returned my family to me. I stepped closer. My wife's skin had changed. It was no longer the pale of a sleeping woman. It was the pale of something that had been underground—mottled, gray-green in the shadows, waxy to the point of translucence. I could see the dark branching of veins beneath her jaw. Her fingernails had loosened in their beds and shifted slightly, like loose tiles on a roof.

The banquet ended past midnight. Luke sat in the front passenger seat of his Rolls-Royce, pressing his index finger against his temple. He had long, artist's fingers. The glow of the streetlights cast just the right shadow over his face, making his nose bridge more prominent. He looked like a sculpture straight out of a museum. "It's late now. The curfew would already be in effect by the time you return to your dorm."

The appearance of the "Seraphina-Skin" was the ultimate "Mod" of the human heart. Silas stood paralyzed, his gold-veined wolf form withdrawing into a state of terminal vulnerability. He looked at the woman who had faked her death thirty years ago and then sacrificed her solar-resonance for him, only to see her now as a "Premium Restoration." She was beautiful, her skin a flawless ivory shot through with veins of mercury-silver, but she had no scent. She was a "Hollow Asset," a high-definition lie designed to bridge the gap between Silas’s grief and the Collector’s market.

Hard muscle under a thin layer of fabric, smelling like cold night air, steel, and the faintest hint of something wild—fur and old blood and something older than both. Big hands closed on my upper arms, steadying me like I weighed nothing. My breath left me in a painful exhale. My head snapped back. And I looked up. He was tall enough that I had to crane my neck. Sharp cheekbones, straight nose, mouth set in a line that was almost bored, almost cruel. Hair black enough to blend into the shadows, cut in a way that brushed his forehead and the tops of his ears. His skin was pale, not sickly but unnatural, as if sunlight hadn’t touched him in a long time. His eyes—

[ IN WHICH HE GETS HANDLED ] SIN'S POV: Daylight streams in through the windows. Streaks of light shine down on November's face. I watch her twist a little from the discomfort, so I lift my palms up, blocking the light rays, and after a few seconds, she settles back into her sleep. Her olive skin glows under the light, while mine shimmers underneath it, the painful sting causing the skin cells to awaken. Sunlight always complimented her beautiful, caramel skin, and it still beautifies it, even while she is asleep and unaware.

"Show the street exactly who owns the title to this skin." Elias obeyed with a frantic, submissive urgency, his pristine executive persona vanishing completely under the weight of his infatuation. He scrambled over the leather driver’s seat, his palms flat against the cold glass of the windshield, his back arching into a deep, vulnerable curve that pushed his hips up and out. The dark purple bruises from the Sullivan Street basement were still clearly visible on his inner thighs—the permanent brand of his corruption.

Maddox's POV "Now, if you want a decently good night tonight," I taunt, drawing the leather whip up higher beneath her shirt, coming into contact with her bra then taking my hand up her back and unsnapping it, "I recommend that you go ahead and get rid of those clothes..."

he says and looks at Delcote. "Need to speak to Skin, verify things with him," Delcote states. "He's there working on a truck." Big King points. "Skin, 'ere." I learnt Skin got his name because he used to be massively overweight and has a lot of excess skin from losing weight. For some strange reason, he suggested the nickname for himself. I watch as Skin moves away from the car and walks over. My eyes widen when I see him. That's not a hit; it's multiple, and it happened before we got back. He wasn't hit for the cover story, so what the hell happened?

Patrick had an urge to vomit but he knew if it happened his intricate plan would fall apart. “Lick it!” Jig insisted, moving a black piece of skin closer to his mouth. “It’s a privilege. I haven’t shown it to anyone before. You’re the first.” Drops of sweat appeared on Patrick’s temple. The skin had a rough texture, the ice it was preserved in started melting. It was emerging from the thin layer of frozen water, sending a welcoming creepy message: Touch me!