The Devil In Her Dreams By Jasmine Novels & Stories

”Nice flowers.” Wendy commended as soon as Rebecca entered the room. Rebecca on the other hand didn’t pay attention to what was said. She was lost in a world of her own thought. She didn’t see the face of the biker, but from the sound of his voice, she could tell who it was. It was a voice she would recognize anytime, any day. The voice of the devil who haunts her in her dream. A pat on the shoulder brought her back to reality. She jerked and the flower slipped from her hands, but Wendy caught it before it could fall to the floor.

It wasn't the first time she had left home that way and remembering the gold old days brought her a sense of nostalgia. She remained in her hotel room for the rest of the approaching 24 hours and on the second night, she decided to let go of herself and have some fun. Dressed in a beautiful silver dress, she found her way into the booming Devil’s Den club. A popular one known around the entire country. The bass of the music thumped against her chest as she made her way towards the bar to get herself a drink straight away. The air was thick with alcohol and cigar, a scent she was extremely familiar with and wasn't affected by it at all.

Eyes closed, head tossed back, like she’d died and come back possessed. She was young but wild, barely a woman. My kind of fucked up. She wasn’t like the others who threw themselves at me. She didn’t even know I was watching. And yet, every move screamed for someone - anyone -to finally see her. I saw her. Not the body, Not the beauty, But the crack in her soul. She seemed like the kind of girl who'd scream into pillows at night, not for pleasure, but to forget. Anyway, She looked… appetizing, . a puzzle with one jagged piece missing — and maybe, just maybe, I could be that final piece.Or better - maybe I could break her completely, then show her what it feels like to shatter the right way.

Then, slowly— “I met a goddess,” she said. “She was… terrifying. And beautiful. And she didn’t like me.” Mark tilted his head. “And you didn’t like her either?” “Not at all. We could barely stand each other, and she's so intimidating.” Aria muttered. He chuckled. “And then?” She leaned in even closer now, her voice dropping further. “I met the devil.” That made him pause. Just for a fraction of a second. Then he smiled again.

He was using my wife as a weapon to humiliate the Ravencroft name. Jasmine was just acting out because she was desperate, scared, and confused. She thought that by clinging to Delen, she could force me to grovel and beg for her love. She was throwing a childish, dangerous tantrum because I had brought Emily into the house, and all she needed was a firm hand to push her back into reality. Once the harsh wind knocked the breath out of her little fantasy, she would realize Delen was only using her body, and she would come running back to the only real protector she had ever known.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN The Devil's Fiancée ~ JASMINE VALE The saying was true. Everyone is a gangster... until the Devil comes to play. Lola's eyes remained fixed on Dormani as he walked toward us, and I couldn't blame her. The man had a way of making a room feel smaller without saying a single word. He wore a black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his hair was still slightly damp as if he'd just showered.

Jasmine grumbled. “Well you better hurry up! Look at those women eyeing Mr. Owen like a piece of meat. They say the thief who doesn’t steal is the one to be afraid of. Don’t you think it’s time for you to finally make your move?” Jasmine gritted her teeth, annoyed at Veronica's words. Her dream was to be Owen's woman, to be the lady of the Hunter's group. But every time she thought of the humiliation she suffered at Owen's hands, she felt like digging a hole and hiding in it!

She thinks she’s in control. That’s the beauty of it. I smirked to myself darkly, letting out a sinister smile. Jasmine struts across my penthouse like she owns the place, eyes sharp, mouth sharper. She pours herself a drink without asking. She never does. That’s her game. She believes she’s the fire. But even fire doesn’t know who struck the match. “You’ll hit Drake where it hurts,” she says, sipping whiskey like it’s victory. “His pride. His career. His perfect fucking image.”

What is wrong with this girl? “I don’t know who I want,” she shrugged casually and I breathed out the anger seething within me, in a bit to calm myself. She looked as if she was enjoying herself. She knew who she wanted. It was Dante. And she knew he was my mate, yet she would not let it be. Jasmine was not as innocent as she appeared. She looked as if she did not know what was going on, but she was a serpent. I hate her so much and I am going to crush her head, it was going to happen soon.

She turns the corner out of her room and she takes my breath away. Jasmine is honestly one of the most stunning she-wolves I have ever seen, and tonight she’s using every tool in her arsenal to make me pay for standing her up last night. Her long, amber hair is curled in soft waves that fall down past her breasts. Her dark eyes are practically smoking beneath long, black lashes. She’s wearing a high-necked purple dress with long sleeves, but when she turns around I see it’s backless. Her soft, supple skin is open and exposed, teasing my eyes all the way down to the site of fabric stretched tight around her large, round, ass. Toned muscle ripped across her shoulders, and the heels she’s weari