Tristan 7 Deadly Sins Novels & Stories

“I understand if you don't believe me. Because of that, I know I never received a letter from Tristan. Besides, it would have been safe in my hands. I didn't distribute the love letters I received from any man.” Sinclair sat and stared blankly at the tablet screen. He took a breath and closed his eyes. I saw a scar on his right chest. There was another cut on his left one. Poor guy. “You have a point,” Sinclair muttered. “Tristan died when he was a university student while you were in high school. He jumped off the roof of his college building. There was no way you were the last person to talk to him.” “Why do you think he jumped off the roof?” I asked. Sinclair stared at me. “Didn't you eve

“I have never met someone like you before. You know, with powers.” Tristan strokes her arm. “She is usually very friendly, but the last few days have been hard on her. Can you, perhaps, let us spend the night in the pack? I would have made other arrangements, but I did not plan on Sinn and the feral rogues attacking us.” “You know of Sinn?” Tristan tugs on the collar of his jacket, exposing his neck to me. Even with only the ghostly light coming from the moon, I can see a scar on it, like someone had tried to cut off his head. “Unfortunately, I was unlucky enough to meet Sinn.”

There were some that even proclaimed; how weak the seven were that they choose to rule hand in hand, if it where them they would have ruled the underworld alone and unchallenged. But the funny part was that many of those hot blooded talents didn't even manage to live long as just as they shine for a moment they were either openly killed or assassinated by the veterans mafias that experienced the era of the seven sins as they are still fearful and making sure that another such era never appear again. They don't dare confront the seven brothers but it does not mean they can't take care of weaker threats before they could grow.

Stefan rolled up his sleeves as he said, “I can’t believe we had a snitch among us!” Do Yoon cast his gaze downward, his hands trembling. He knew Sebastian wouldn’t forgive him. Over the past two years, he has been exposed to the brutal killings of those who betray his trust. He was certain that today would be his last day. The only way Sebastian will forgive him is if he puts a bullet in his head. Do Yoon’s heart raced as the door swung open. Nervously, he lifted his gaze and saw Sebastian approaching him, his expression full of gloom. Taking a seat, he positioned himself in front of him, locking eyes with him.

Tristan said in a prim and posh accent that would make someone think that he was a good person, but he wasn't, he was the devil in the flesh. His smile was evil and then he turned to me and his eyes glistened with excitement. “Now Eleanor, unlike other cartel's we in Las Vegas are different, over here, women get a choice… He trails off, his voice is back to it's normal evil and threatening tone. “You bastard, don't you dare.” I heard Mateo scream. Tristan ignored him but I could see a shift in his face. He brought out the same knife that he used to kill Simon. “They can pay for their sins in pain or pleasure.” He tells me.

She wiped my tears and gave me a tender smile, “I have seen the way he looks at you, I know he’s into you… trust me, you can revenge on him by making him believe that you can fall in love with him too,” "B...But, I can't... I can't love a man who kills, rapes, sins without acknowledging, I can't ever love him," I hiccupped again, my chest blocked with anxiety. If he could kill anyone, he would kill me too, as easily as blowing the dust away from the tip of his fingers.

I'd gone to his study to surprise him, only to find him bent over the design schematics for our rings. The original "Amor Aeternus" was crossed out. Replaced by that new line of Latin: Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. My sin, my greatest sin. Five years. The guilt had never left him. Her shadow still loomed over everything between us. "Isabella?" the priest prompted gently. I lifted my head and looked out at the crowd. My father, Don Rossi, his eyes filled with expectation. The Moretti council, sitting ramrod straight, waiting for the answer that would end a decades-long war between our two families.

Perfect. “See you soon.” He’d written it himself, fog blooming from his mouth in the cold like smoke from a sermon. She’d see it when she came home, her pretty mouth falling open in that little O of shock he used to love so much. She thought she was safe with that big bastard in her house. Cute. She thought she was strong now. Even cuter. Eden Cross had carried his sins once without even knowing it. Signed her name to accounts she’d never opened. Smiled beside him in church while his assistant—God bless Tiffany—warmed his bed after evening service.

The scent of leather, steel, and something dark and dangerous fills the air. A figure is sat in a chair near the fire with broad shoulders, long legs and silver eyes that gleams like ice. Tristan Sinclair. I recognize him immediately. The man I bumped into in the Alpha's chamber. The warrior heir. The cold-blooded son of the Alpha. He does not look like a man in mourning, instead he looks like a predator lying in wait. His eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, neither of us speaks. Then, his voice cut through the silence.

She only tossed the boy’s soul to the side as though it wasn’t made of celestial gold. Curious, Azazel had taken a closer look, his eyes slanted like that of a serpent narrowing into thin slits. and peering into Matthew’s glowing blue eyes, Azazel’s thin eyes had snapped open, his head forcefully thrown back as a revelation flooded his mind. The boy had drowned himself. Suicide. A mortal sin. That was all it took to damn someone, even a boy who had been as good and bright as Matthew.