R Devil Novelas e Histórias

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.

The methods he uses for killing or ‘talking’ aren't jokes. “Trust me. It’s my fucking business,” Devil says, stepping closer. Now they’re nose to nose, well, as close as they can be. The girl barely reaches his shoulders. “And how is that?” she dares him, eyes cool. “He’s my old man,” Devil says. In the corner of my eye, I see Chaos, Devil’s father. As usual, his face gives nothing away. “Ah, that’s fine then,” she says. “I’m Violet. Apparently… you’re my older brother. Steven?”

After a few seconds of eye-to-eye battle, he still maintained his silence, leaving Don Basco with no choice but to break the deafening silence between them. “Am I right? What do you think? (Am I, right? What do you think?)” Don Basco questioned; his lips painted with the image of the devil's grin. Without Don Basco's knowledge, the real devil was the young man in front of him—a devil who is hiding in human flesh with an innocent face, waiting for the right moment to attack his enemy and make them feel what hell is like.

And it's ironic because that day was the first day he ever truly called my name with compassion. Blinking away the memory, I bend over the sink and splash water on my face, a devilish grin on. Maybe Papa was right when he said I was from the devil. Else, which child would tie her father to his favorite wooden chair and set him on fire? I felt nothing that day, even though I had a beating heart. I didn't pity him, even though I had a soul that was meant to be kind. Then again, maybe I was once an angel, a mockingbird killed by the wickedness of the ones I loved the most. Maybe it was Papa that turned me into the devil I became today.

“Mandy, you can’t be serious!” “Oh, she’s serious as a heart-attack!” a booming voice with deep dulcet tones echoed in the tavern. I spun around. Behind me stood a 6ft, terrifying giant. I recognized him immediately. Dexter. One of the most terrifying bikers I’d ever seen and the leader of the Devils. He had a long scar on his face. Clad in black throughout, his gun hung from his waist. He had an aura of darkness, meanness, death followed him wherever he went. I’d heard stories of the towns he had ravished.

After a long moment, he stammered, "Y-you… you're a messenger of the Devil! Brothers and sisters, this one represents the Devil! Attack! We must kill this messenger—or the Devil will find us and kill us all!" He had always controlled people with his Devil theory. Hearing him speak now, the crowd stiffened, their eyes burning with murderous intent again. Ray smiled faintly. "Wrong… wrong… wrong. I am not the Devil's messenger. I am the Devil."

Instead of the hollow sound of wood, I hear a soft click. A compartment opens. Inside lies a black notebook. Untitled, unmarked, just the initials V.M. etched in fading ink. Vittorio Moretti. I open it slowly. No dates. No numbers. Just a list of names, some crossed out, some circled. And beside one name, scrawled in darker ink, two words that make my stomach tighten: Blood Pact. I stare at it, my pulse steady but my hands clenched. Blood Pact. The term my father used for alliances sealed by death, promises that only ended when one party was buried.

It rang, and rang, then I remembered he didn't like to pick up unknown numbers and just as I was about to hang up… "Who the hell is this?" His voice came through, deep, cold, and familiar. It rolled through my chest like thunder. I swallowed. "Dante." I called and there was instant silence, then a sharp inhale. "…Princess." He was the only one who ever called me that and to the rest of the world, he wasn’t Dante. He was Doom... The name whispered in fear, the shadow in every dark alley and the monster Mafia boss parents warned their kids about.

LAZZARO That girl. The way she stitched me, the way she looked at me while at it was fucking sexy. I had almost lost control, and it took everything within me to hold back. I never force my way with women. I might be a devil, but I wasn’t that monstrous.

“Of course he does. The Devil always does.” He blinked at her, unsure if she was joking. She leaned in slightly, adjusting the collar near his neck as she whispered, “Listen to me, cher garçon. The Devil cannot be understood, nor can he be coerced. You may think he loves, you may think he destroys, but really, it is all the same to him. It is all just… instinct.” Her eyes flicked toward Kain, who was now idly folding a page from one of his documents into neat, exact creases. “Keep your guard, mon ange. Always. You will be fine if you remember that.”