The Grin Of The Dark Novels & Stories

Mustering up the courage I look back at the most beautiful face with the most captivating eyes but I can see the darkness hidden behind those eyes. Glancing at him with my tear-filled eyes, I see him staring back at me. "Seems like you are awake-" "Please! Let me go. Don't kill me. I am thankful to you for saving my life but please let me go. I will not tell anyone-" Before I could complete my sentence, that man pulls me off by grabbing my arm in a painful grip. I am looking at his dark eyes. He grabs my jaw with such a force that I think it will break anytime.

I answer honestly and shut my eyes, too afraid to see his dreadfully handsome face become red with anger and hate. He sucks in a loud, irritated breath and brings his face down to mine and I open my eyes the slightest bit. Even in moments like these, I can't help but admire how devilishly handsome he is; his jet-black hair messily out of place. His skin so smooth, yet rugged from the little amounts of stubble over his face. And his eyes so dark and dangerous I'm scared if I stare too long into them, I'll never be able to look away. "You'd better fucking tell me why you're out here or I won't hesitate to throw you into that cell," he snarls with his grip, like a snake bite over my arms.

I hiss through clenched teeth as I close the space between us. My hand flies through the air and lands with a vicious crack across his face. The sound echoes in the room, loud and satisfying. His head snaps to the side, his dark hair falling slightly into his eyes. He blinks once and again. Then he grins. That slow, cocky, infuriating grin spreads across his face like he's fucking proud of himself. He likes this. "Mmm, you hit just as sweet as you moan, doll face," he drawls, tone laced with smug satisfaction.

He looked at me with dark, hungry eyes, breathing hard. “This is dangerous as hell,” he said quietly, forehead resting against mine. “You know that, right?” I smiled, still catching my breath, my body buzzing. “Yeah… I know.”

And then he’s there. Not fully—not yet—but I see enough. A flash of skin that isn’t skin. Black like obsidian, slick with heat. Muscles that shift and coil under the surface, too thick to be human. Eyes that glow like embers—burning through the dark like they’ve been watching me for years. And a mouth. God, that mouth—wide, fang-lined, curling into a grin that promises he’ll ruin me. "So wet," he murmurs, voice scraping against the back of my teeth like smoke. "All this for me?"

He was completely black from head to toe, with the gold tint of a nose ring and the too-bright whites of his eyes being the only thing of light in his body, coupled with the gold bands around his large wrists and ankles. “Welcome! Welcome welcome Gobar of the Dark Moon!” I bellowed, rising from my throne and throwing my hands in the air to rile the stunned courtesans and attendees standing in the aisles like fangirls lusting after the beast. The Dark descendant gave no reaction to my greetings, his shoulders flexing as he strode forward, his minotaur-like figure, the fangs I had seen so clearly that night, curved and jagged and blindingly white, too many teeth for any normal wolf to possess

She shrugged slowly, leaving her words unfinished. “Dominic,” Xander murmured under his breath, "do you remember his face?” Grace looked as confused as I was with his question, but she answered still. “Very tall, dark-skinned with bright eyes. Green maybe and uh-he had this tattoo I think on his face, I’m not sure.” Xander suddenly let out a humorous small chuckle, shaking his head somewhat, “I knew that son of a bitch was still alive.” Again with the vocabulary. “The bartender told me they hire prostitutes, but I don’t think she knew about this”

He is not making this easy. She turns sharply to look at him—her jaw tight, her expression incredulous—and there it is. That grin. That look. God. He’s smirking at her with that maniacal smile—the kind that makes him look feral and otherworldly. It's the kind of expression that belongs to someone ancient and merciless, someone dragged out of the pit of hell just to destroy her. That grin of his, stretched with wicked glee, framed by his tousled dark hair and the low light casting shadows across the hollows of his face—it makes her stomach twist in ways it shouldn’t.

73 "His eyes were the darkest shade of blood red, skin extremely pale like a dead corpse and lips... His lips had a sinister grin. I freaked out Zander, he had gripped my wrist so tight that for a moment it felt like he would twist it and break it apart from my hand." Reyne cautiously said, her hands now clutching on his collars. She was engrossed in his scent, his dark raven eyes as she narrated her experience to him.

Their black armor, etched with silver runes, shimmered beneath the lantern light. My heart thrummed with power as I stepped forward, cloak swirling like a ripple of night. The scent of my minions, this legion of darkness washed over me in waves: leather, steel, earth. I felt the familiar surge of magic coursing through my veins, the heady rush that came with absolute control. Tonight, we would unleash the first wave of my dark creatures upon the Crimson Moon pack. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, savouring the moment before the storm.