Within These Wicked Walls Novels & Stories

I mean the bitch shirt wasn’t even dirty and it was white. The rest of the warriors shifted, and surrounded her. This bitch just smiled, pulled her hair back into a ponytail, backed against a part of the wall she didn’t put a hole in, and leaned back relaxed waiting for them to attack. “Oh, see this bitch, is something out of a scary movie and yall already know why black folks aren't in scary movies, if not yall about to find out why as soon as we can get to that exit.” I said, to myself trying to see if the exit was blocked or if I need to make a window out of this wall behind me. I was thankful that poppa Toni had our babies back at the house. “I don’t know what that is, but I know damn w

And those emerald eyes, so captivating and mesmerizing, were the windows to a soul steeped in darkness. Their voices, a duet of wickedness, resonated in the room. Each word carried a weight, a potent force that wove through the very fabric of their surroundings. The air crackled with an energy that was palpable, charged with anticipation, as if the very walls themselves listened intently to their sinister exchange.

I mocked, squeezing his hand in mine. We passed our first room. It had a single wall separating the middle. Holes opened up the wall and a few women were laying on their backs, pussies open to the holes. Glory hole. Hard dicks fucked them furiously, whilst another woman was sucking someone off. I moaned and Maverick spun on his heels.

inside her womb throb with a sickening, mechanical rhythm. Dante stood between her and the glass wall of the docking bay, his real-world body trembling with a mixture of withdrawal and a feral, protective instinct. The "White Room" was glitching. For a split second, the clinical walls would vanish, replaced by the damp, moss-covered stones of the Venetian cellar. The scent of disinfectant fought with the smell of rotting lilies.

No, it's not a good look, gain some self-control And deep down I know this never works But you can lay with me so it doesn't hurt The ancient stone walls of the werewolf stronghold echoed with the rhythmic beat of Alicia’s heart as she stepped into the dimly lit hall. The scent of pine and smoldering firewood hung heavy in the air, a familiar blend that reminded her of home, the one she, Fidelis and his friends had become accustomed to whenever they went haunting. But this was no ordinary home; it was the heart of the Pack, where secrets slithered through the shadows like serpents.

KEENA Tingles and electricity spread across my skin and I know that I am in the arms of my mate. My eyes flutter open and I see Ward staring down at me with a concerned look on his face. “None of these doors lead to the outside,” I hear someone yell from behind Ward. “Perhaps we need to go to another level.” “There isn’t any time,” Ward yells over his shoulder. “This place is going to fall down around us.” I lift my head up and see the walls around us cracking. The sunlight is beginning to peak through the cracks that are forming in the walls.

Shadows writhed on the walls, twisting in sinister contortions that seemed to mock their intrusion. Erick's rage simmered beneath the surface, a tempest held at bay by his clenched jaw and rigid stance. He knew, without doubt, that this room held the answers he sought, the revelation of a truth that had remained obscured for far too long. The room seemed to exhale a stale breath, releasing a scent of decay and secrets long buried. The flickering fire cast grotesque shapes upon the walls, their dance a macabre reflection of the uncertainty that gripped their hearts. Erick knows what's coming ...

Hakkon and Aslaugh Apollo’s Wolves - Murder, cold, written like fingernails that splintered off under weirwood, through fairy stones, see witch's mark. Only a deal with the Devil speaks truth. Death's gall she wrote, death's sword she spoke. And the haints were close, and the bells closed in, and that wicked pianoman with his smuggler's fingers plinked out a melody like a shatterglass rain of pain. Wicked is she who writes, wicked is she who speaks. He would have her tongue cut out and mouth sewn with filth.

Chapter 1: Dysfunctional family. The darkness is nothing more than a test that God gives us, many times to overcome things and learn from it, but in the end we all carry that darkness in our hearts, we just have to decide whether to expel it or let it dwell within you. Charlotte is a girl who has been in the dark since she was born, her parents were shitty to her, she was beaten and mistreated unjustifiably simply because her parents wanted it that way, but to understand a little of this story we must return to the past.

The steward spat into the rushes on the floor, muttering curses as he stormed back into the Apex Suite. Behind the heavy velvet screen of the first room, a woman with a lithe, striking figure reclined. Her voice, sweet but edged with the sharpness of a jagged claw, cut through the incense. "Who does that silent bitch outside think she is? How dare she attempt to claim my seat?" The steward sighed, his scent sour with exasperation. "She did not howl her name, yet the staff bow as if she were the Moon itself. From the way she carried her spirit, had she insisted on this room, you would have been forced to retreat to the courtyard."