The Angel Of Death Book Novels & Stories

His eyes are locked on mine. "You want me to drink from you?" His voice is laced with mockery now. "Are you that desperate to die, Angel?" My stomach drops. He leans forward suddenly, the bottle dangling loosely between his fingers. "I've wanted to die for years," he says, his words soft, but they pierce deep into my soul. "I tried everything. Pills. Blades. Jumping from buildings high enough to crush every bone in my body. Nothing worked. The spirits won't let me go. They like the house they built inside me too much."

The word tore from my throat as I slid down the counter, my legs unable to hold me. I’d butcher men without remorse and paint their blood on the walls as if it was some fucking piece of art. But this...this was different. My soul laid bare, utterly consumed by rage and anguish. My men stayed with me and watched their mafia king break apart, waiting for the explosion. My wrath would awaken the demon inside me, summon hell, and unleash my demons to wreak havoc on Earth to avenge my Angel. “How did they get to her?” My voice was hoarse, the words muffled as I spoke into my hands.

The tension between him and Riya was palpable and the tension in the room was so thick it could be cut by a butter knife. When they were out of sight, she stole to where the babies are knelt beside them, cooing like a dove. “You guys take care of yourself, I’m sticking with these angels, and yes, they are sleeping in my bed tonight.” Georgia raised up an eyebrow, “Trust me, you don’t want do that. Especially when there is a life sized Annabelle doll in the mix.” Riya looked at her in confusion, “what do you mean?” “The female,” Anna responded, forking the last bite of pancakes down her throat, “she packs a punch.”

Then he got close to him, bent down, and placed his lips against his ear. “Mr. Gonzalez is dead. He is gone because you failed to protect him. But you know what's more tragic, the one you love, who you left all alone,” he then smiled and continued, “what if it is too late by the time you get back? Wouldn't that mean another lost life?” Martin gave out a devilish laugh and walked out of the room stuffing the penknife in his pocket. Don's thoughts were racing by the time Marcello entered. What did Martin mean by “another lost life”.

the devil whispered. Just one finger. Then two. Then three. Angel was panting, writhing, trying to hold on to his sanity like it was a receipt in the wind. Every nerve in his body screamed in confusion—and somewhere deeper, a quiet ache stirred. This bastard didn't even exchange names with him! It felt so… wrong. Obscene. Something he’ll burn in hell for. But beneath it all, something coiled. Something shameful. Something hot. He moaned. Loudly.

The night prior had seen me tossing and turning, a turbulent sea of thoughts churning within me as I contemplated the impending encounter with Antonio, my betrothed. Antonio Luca, a name that carried with it an aura of dread and an air of mystique. Over the months leading up to this juncture, I had delved into the depths of research concerning this enigmatic figure. My findings, culled from various sources including newspapers, painted a haunting portrait of a man rumored to have single-handedly taken the lives of fifteen individuals, earning him the chilling moniker "The Death Angel of Doom." Though official channels may have debunked these claims, my intuition whispered a truth that refuse

“What’s so bad about her? She looks sweet.” “...Looks can be deceiving,” Felix replied, still refusing to take her eyes off the girl. “Especially when they belong to someone who’s meant to be dead.” And I froze next to her, unsure if I’d just heard her right. “What…?” “‘The Angel of Death’, is what they call her,” she continued. “She died at sixteen. Buried, funeral, crying, the whole ordeal. I heard it was a rogue that killed her, the Silver Saintess being the one to find her body.”

I didn’t kill any of those people. “This is someone who knows my family well enough. Way too well…” My gaze fell on Angelica, who was reading one of the articles opposite me, having pulled her hair into a bun to keep it from distracting her. “Are you the Angel of Death?” She looked up at me and blinked a few times as if waiting for me to burst into laughter and call it a prank. When I didn’t, she huffed. “I wish.” “What do you mean you wish?” That was an odd response.

' I was buzzing, but not in the same way as any high I'd ever experienced. 'Fuck, Ethan,' I whispered. 'What the Hell is this thing they've got locked up in there?' 'Hell might just be the right word for it. At least as far as the Angels are concerned.' His eyes were drawn back over my shoulder as if he couldn't help but search it out. 'It's a book,' he said. 'A book so powerful they need to bury it in a vault to keep it hidden from the world.' 'How can a book be that powerful?'

“You know what I hate the most? Humans with foul mouths.” Human? Did he just call me a human? What the hell was happening? How the fuck did I wake up in the middle of the streets? Without any injury. Vehicles were passing through me like… like I was invisible. Then there's this guy. He just suddenly appeared out of nowhere and introduced himself as a death angel. My fucking death angel. I don’t even know what a death angel is! “A death angel. Angels who are assigned to collect souls and bring them to after life. And what is after life? It's either heaven or hell,” he answered me.