The Devil As Intentions Novels & Stories

"Stay out of my way Santiago. I don't need you playing hero. I'm no damsel in distress. I'm going to take you, the black smoke syndicate and the entire group of criminals and thugs that keep the underworld of this city fat and happy. I'm not going to stop until I get rid of every single one of your vermin." "Why?" Her eyebrows drew together and I saw the confusion on her face. "Why what?" I stepped closer, enjoying the way she sucked in a breath. I knew that somewhere in that head, she was convincing herself that her reaction to me was nothing, a fluke, but I wasn't as deluded as her. A thought suddenly began to work itself into my mind as I stared at her pillowy lips and the tiny birthmark

After a long moment, he stammered, "Y-you… you're a messenger of the Devil! Brothers and sisters, this one represents the Devil! Attack! We must kill this messenger—or the Devil will find us and kill us all!" He had always controlled people with his Devil theory. Hearing him speak now, the crowd stiffened, their eyes burning with murderous intent again. Ray smiled faintly. "Wrong… wrong… wrong. I am not the Devil's messenger. I am the Devil."

“Return to the world of men. Forget the blood. Forget the beast.” I reached for the obsidian stone. It was burning against my skin, but I didn’t pull away. I closed my eyes and stopped fighting the images. Instead, I dove into them. I didn’t look at the cellar as a prison; I looked at it as the place where I first felt the spark of the Devil. I didn’t look at the silver as pain; I looked at it as the price I paid to save my mate. I found the memory of Girard’s touch in the study—the way his hands had claimed me, the way his soul had recognized mine before his mind even knew my name.

"You gave her that money willingly. Last I checked, you were practically celebrating. So happy about this." "Things changed." She changed them. "She's in my territory now, Dmitri. That's all that matters." A beat of silence. Then — "The devil is coming down to hell, gentlemen." His voice dropped away from the phone as he announced it to the room. "Brace yourselves." I ended the call. Good mood. Excellent, in fact. Time to let the beast out.

His frame towering over her. She lowered her gaze, unable to stand those alluring eyes of his. He placed a finger beneath her chin, lifting her head and her gaze to meet with his. "Too late. You signed. You're mine little dove," Scott said, his deep voice low and menacing.

The teacher replied that this was a class about the country's history, not about Catholicism and such. "But, sir, fallen angels exist, right?" he asked. I raised my gaze since that question, for some reason, caught my interest. "Obviously, Mark, they are demons now," the somewhat exasperated teacher replied. "But are they on Earth in human form or are they spirits?" "Spirits." "How can you be so sure?" the boy insisted. "It's in the Bible, Mark, I recommend you read it; you'll find many of your questions there." "I've always thought fallen angels are like you and me, the fallen ones, of course, because the angels of light, I believe, are spirits. If the fallen ones are on Earth, why wouldn't

So people being wary of pretty people makes sense. The biblical devil was the most beautiful. Still, I cling to the Earth expression, the greatest trick the devil played was convincing the world he didn’t exist. For all the forms that evil takes, I know that true Devils lie in the details that every one seems to miss. Details, I shouldn’t have missed.

The Earl shrieked in wonder, "You call her a maiden! She is no maiden. She's a thief! A mercenary, unbelievable thief!" He continued barking while he walked backwards away from them, "She handed her drink to the Earl of Vetcom, said things too daring for any normal Scottish woman and stole food. You would not call such person a mai…" He found himself staggering suddenly, noticing he was just at the edge of a ditch, one he didn't notice because he was too busy shouting. While he found himself falling into it, a hand quickly gripped around his hard and tight. Gently, that same hand pulled him up, straight back to his balance. And it was the devil herself.

She felt Olivia before she heard her. Olivia made her way downstairs. She'd heard the car drive up over an hour ago and wondered what kept Cassandra away. Then she'd thought about it, and she'd known. Olivia's judgment. Olivia's sense of right and wrong. Olivia's naive thinking was that the world was simply black or white. She couldn't change the fact that she hated what Cassandra did, or what she stood for. And she couldn't start thinking that even though everyone around her thought they were the good guys, they weren't. But she could offer Cassandra the comfort of a friend. She'd grown up in this world, she'd seen the worst kind of people in it. Emma, Vance, Pedro, and Cassandra weren't li

They were placed high above, beyond doubt, beyond error, beyond anything that could make them seem less than divine. Devils were called villains. Corrupt. Fallen. Irredeemable. They were cast below, buried under judgment, defined entirely by their mistakes, stripped of anything that might resemble goodness. And so the story was written long before it was ever lived. Perfection was placed on a throne, distant and untouchable, admired but never understood. It was not allowed to bend, not allowed to break, not allowed to feel anything that could threaten its image. Villainy was thrown into the dark, condemned without a voice, without a chance to explain, without the space to become anything mor