Whispering Devil Tattoo Novels & Stories

Sasha’s POV. “What’s your name?” the devil asked, breaking the long silence that reigned after my demand. I pretended not to hear him. “You’re not deaf, are you?” “What do you need my name for?” I spat, unfolding my arms. “I do not answer to you, remember? You’re just my possession.” Right. You should yank it out of my mouth, then. “So do you have a name or not? Don’t test my patience,” he growled.

" Devon was still in disbelief, his eyes as wide as they could be. The fact that Bienley had gone and gotten himself a tattoo was mind-blowing enough, but it was no ordinary tattoo. There, on Bienley's back, was a masterpiece. Their names, "Bienley" and "Devon", were intricately etched, as if they were part of a beautiful, ethereal story. And woven around them was a delicate string of feathers, each one seemingly fluttering in a gentle breeze, as if carrying their love on its wings.

Wolves collided with the shadows of those wings, thrown across the room as blood and instant death erupted. Vivica froze, eyes wide, her chest rising as she watched the devil himself descend upon them. The dark blue aura surrounding him pressed against her burning skin, sending a thrill along her heated skin, and desire, through her. All the rumors about him turned out to be true. He was the Devil. The real Devil. Finn stepped forward deliberately, each movement slow, lethal, deliberate. He stopped just in front of her, the room now deathly silent except for the beat of her pulsing heat.

My eyes stared out into the bright afternoon sunlight, watching with a racing mind as Stone walked calmly down the porch steps to meet the rival club. The new President of the Devils was a very tall, heavily scarred man with a dark, ugly tattoo of a bleeding devil stretching all the way across his thick neck. He sat casually on the leather seat of his custom chopper bike right at the very front of their tight riding formation, surrounded by ten of his enforcers. He looked absolutely furious, his eyes scanning our compound with a deep, burning hatred.

She felt his love, his devotion, his fierce, protective hunger, pouring into her through that single point of contact. The stone flared brightly, and when it faded, it was gone. In its place, on her wrist, was a mark—a delicate, silver tattoo of interlocking wolves, their forms spiraling into an infinity symbol. It glowed faintly for a moment, then settled into her skin, a permanent, beautiful declaration. Dante lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the mark. When he looked up, his eyes were bright with something that might have been tears. "Mine," he breathed, the word no longer a claim, but a prayer.

I say softly, “you still wear it.” “Of course,” she whispers. “It means something to me.” My thumb traces the pendant. It feels heavier tonight, colder. I press gently—and something clicks. A faint metallic sound. Her eyes widen. I look closer. Inside the pendant, hidden beneath the tiny silver frame, is a small device—no bigger than a coin. A tracker. The silence between us stretches until it feels suffocating. Rain taps against the windows. My pulse pounds in my ears. “Who gave you this?” I ask quietly.

As the heavy doors swung open with a loud creak, the scene inside the throne room made her blood turn to ice. In the middle of the room knelt a man whose body was already covered with blood. His clothes were torn and soaked red, and he was shaking violently from pain and fear. Standing in front of the broken man was the devil himself - King Malakar. He was holding a whip embedded with thorns, drops of blood still clinging to the cruel metal spikes. His dark hair fell across his forehead, and his clothes were splattered with crimson.

he asks while nodding toward Linch, one of the Soul-Eaters, who’s currently choking on David’s cock. “Fuck no,” I say, taking a huge gulp of my lukewarm beer. “Another,” I tell the bartender, Whiskey. The huge man lifts his chin and slides me a new bottle. “You need to get over that shit, man. Nothing’s better than the sweet feel of wet, tight pussy,” Devil grins, wiggling his eyebrows.

All the shadows that swirl in the wind gets sucked into the stone circle, and the symbols on the stone rim start to glow silverish. From the gelatinous material, the devil emerges. He looks the same as before, but I can feel power exude from him as if it’s a tangible thing. The wind doesn’t stop, but it whips through his long, coal-colored hair, making the locks dance around his face as if he’s a goth version of Medusa.

Finding his gaze unnerving, she instantly flickered her gaze down. Her cheeks flushed when she realized he wasn’t wearing any shirt. His rugged body resembled a canvas. A number of tattoos spread across his tanned chest. There was a tattoo of a serpent designed on his upper left chest and the other side had roman numbers written on it. Her eyes traveled down his bulging biceps and paused at a tattoo that caused her a tinge of discomfort. Her eyes widened slightly when she noticed the evil symbol, a sigil of Baphomet branded on his bicep. Being a devotee of god, the discovery scandalised her. Why would anyone get that? Not a moment later, she realized it wasn’t the only one, he also had an un