My books are like my future grayeard. Quiet and silent.

#newseriesalert ‼️🚨 Dannesya brings you a thrilling tale of human girl x Lucifer. Read free sample of Book 1 below!

on
Wednesday, November 26, 2025



PROLOGUE: DEATH #3

Chapter 1

Ruby woke up drowning.

Not in water—not in anything that wanted to cradle or refresh. She woke up drowning in screaming.

The River Styx wasn't a river. It was a living paste of compressed agony, thick as tar and twice as hungry. Every soul that had ever drowned since the Beginning of Time had been rendered down into this viscous nightmare, and now it clung to Ruby like it recognized her.

Thousands of cold hands grabbed her ankles. Her wrists. Her throat.

She kicked. Something bit her calf—teeth or memory, she couldn't tell. Something else hissed her name in seven distinct, overlapping voices, each one slightly off-pitch.

Her head broke the surface for one precious second.

Long enough to hear a voice—exhausted, familiar, and deeply annoyed—shout from the bone-white shore:

"OH FOR THE LOVE OF—NOT AGAIN!"

Then she went under.

Ruby clawed upward with everything she had. Her fingers finally scraped against the riverbank, and she hauled herself onto a shore made of ground bones, smooth and warm like polished ivory.

She collapsed on her knees, coughing up thick black sludge. It sizzled when it hit the ground, smelling of sulfur and rusted iron.

The sky above her was the color of a fresh bruise—purple, black, streaked with lightning that never actually struck anything. Faces moved inside the clouds, opening toothless mouths in silent, eternal screams.

A clipboard slapped down beside her.

Hard.

Demanding.

Gary stood over her, looking like he'd aged a hundred years in the last ten minutes. He wore his usual short-sleeved button-up, clip-on tie, and an expression of existential exhaustion perfected over six centuries of Hell's customer service.

His burnt-orange skin cracked when he frowned.

He frowned constantly.

He didn't offer her a hand. He never did. He was Hell's Support Staff, not a bloody angel.

"Ruby," Gary said, his voice flat as a corpse. "This is the third time this month."

Ruby spat more sludge onto the bone shore. Her large, bright eyes—like ruby candies framed by thick lashes—stared up at Gary without a trace of remorse.

"Hi, Gary," she said sweetly. "Coffee?"

"This is Hell, Ruby. No amount of coffee can handle this."

Gary sighed—a breath that weighed as much as the fall of a civilization. He flipped through his clipboard, each page rustling like dying leaves.

"Listen to me carefully," he said. "I've processed millions of souls over millennia. They die. They come here. That's the First Death. They never come back."

He shook his clipboard at her, pointing to the entries with a trembling finger.

"Three times. You died, and Hell spat you back up. Do you understand what that means? That's a miracle. A cosmic chance of grace. It's an opportunity for redemption, to earn Heaven. A chance to start over."

Gary's voice dropped to a hollow whisper.

"I've never seen it. Nobody has. Being ejected from Hell is divine intervention. And the ones who get that mercy?" He shook his head slowly. "They run to the nearest church. They hug monks. They dedicate their lives to charity. They do anything to stay away from here."

He pointed at Ruby, his withered finger trembling with barely contained frustration.

"But you? You return to the rooftop. You return to the rope. You return to the livestream. You actively try to get back here. You are phenomenally good at suicide, Ruby."

Ruby merely tilted her head, her sweet, guileless smile contrasting sharply with the hellscape around them. Her full, red lips looked too vibrant for this place.

"Well," she said in that cute voice that was horribly misplaced, "I missed Daddy."

Gary closed his eyes. He massaged his temples so hard that small flecks of ash dusted off his cracked skin.

"I'm going to ignore that," he muttered. "Cause of death?"

"Jumped off a building," Ruby replied, wringing Styx water from her hair. "I livestreamed it. Very tasteful lighting. Good angle. The followers said they loved the 'falling-from-perfection' aesthetic."

Gary's pen hovered over his clipboard.

"Last words?"

Ruby grinned, manic and proud. Her candy-like eyes shone with pure mischief.

"'See you soon, Daddy!'"

Gary's pen snapped in half.

He took a slow, deep breath—the kind someone takes before resigning themselves to fate. His spectacles fogged.

This was his breaking point.

"He's going to incinerate you," Gary muttered.

"Hot."

Gary pulled out Ruby's punch card. It said FREQUENT DIER – BUY 9, GET 1 FREE in cheerful red font. He punched it with a hole shaped like a tiny flame.

"One more and you get a free lava latte," Gary said mechanically.

Ruby perked up. "Do I get marshmallows this time?"

"No."

"Cinnamon?"

"No."

"Then why would I—"

"Ruby." Gary pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please. For once in your short, chaotic existence, do NOT make this harder."

She sat cross-legged on the bones, wringing out her hair—dark at the tips and starting to streak white from the stress Hell kept gifting her.

"Well?" she asked brightly. "Can I see him?"

Gary flipped a page on his clipboard. He looked like he'd aged ten years in three seconds.

"He's in a meeting with the Sins," he said carefully. "They're discussing your... TikTok account."

Ruby lit up like a firecracker. "It finally blew up?!"

"It didn't blow up," Gary corrected. "It melted the servers. Twice. Mammon had a panic attack. Pride is still screaming about copyright infringement. Sloth fell asleep in the middle of the outrage. And Lucifer is—"

CRACK.

The ground split beneath them.

A deep, earth-shaking roar echoed through all Nine Circles at once, rattling the bones beneath their feet.


Chapter 2

Ruby's hair stood on end.

She simply smiled.

Gary squeaked like a dying mouse.

Then—

LUCIFER'S VOICE rolled through the air like thunder wearing expensive cologne. The sound was destruction draped in velvet, beauty wrapped around annihilation.

"BRING. HER. TO. THE. THRONE. ROOM."

The River Styx bubbled violently. Sulfur geysers exploded behind them. The sky flickered. A dozen tortured faces in the clouds turned toward Ruby as if they were watching a disaster movie in real time.

Ruby hopped to her feet, dusting herself off.

Amidst the chaos, she looked like an ordinary human girl—cute, witty, and brave. A rare gem in the mortal realm, let alone Hell. She had wide, beautiful candy eyes, a porcelain doll face, and a courage that bordered on pure insanity.

"Well," she said, beaming, "at least he still wants to see me."

Gary stared at her, hollow and afraid.

"No," he whispered, clutching his clipboard like a life preserver. "He wants to kill you."

Ruby shrugged, her attitude one of total acceptance.

This was the most unsettling aspect for Gary.

He had seen millions of souls. They all fought. They all struggled. They all begged, cried, or cursed.

Ruby?

She just smiled.

She seemed fused with Hell. She appeared to welcome every torment without resistance, without self-defense.

This brought Gary back to the old legends, the whispers only uttered in the darkest corners of the Infernal Archives:

Hellborn.

Hellborn.

Neither Demon nor mere Human. One whose soul, whether due to the brutality of life or a cosmic flaw, found its true home in Hell. One who accepted fire as a blanket and suffering as a lullaby.

Legend had it that only a soul so fundamentally accepting of Hell's darkness—one who instinctively refused to fight the torment—would be spat back up, only so Hell could enjoy their repeated, eternal struggle to return.

Ruby was this anomaly.

She was the first modern Hellborn—a bitter joke played on Heaven itself.

"Even better," Ruby replied cheerfully.

And grinning like a cute gremlin, she followed the glowing cracks toward Pandemonium.

Hell groaned.

The Morningstar waited.

And Ruby skipped.


INTERLUDE: CIRCLE 7 – VIOLENCE WING, THE BLOOD RIVER TORTURE DEPARTMENT, MIDSHIFT

The blood river gurgled like a clogged drain, thick and bubbling with the consistency of hot tar. Souls writhed beneath the surface, arms flailing desperately, trying to grab anything solid.

No one was actively drowning them.

Because the demons assigned to the task were standing around gossiping.

Kragith leaned on his trident—all eight feet of horned muscle and bad decisions. "I'm telling you, what if she's his type?"

Vexa hissed, her forked tongue catching a clot of dried blood in the air. Her scales didn't sit right on her face—like someone had applied reptile-print makeup with a sandblaster.

"Lucifer doesn't have a type," she said. "He hasn't slept with anything since the Fall."

Kragith shrugged, his massive shoulders rippling. "Maybe that's why she's interesting. She's broken. He loves broken things."

Thalgrim shifted uncomfortably. He was still new—only three hundred years dead—so much of his human face remained. His eyes still held the kind of moral discomfort that didn't last long in Hell.

"You're telling me," Thalgrim said slowly, "we're delaying torture because we're discussing Lucifer's potential sex life?"

Kragith jabbed him gently with the trident. "You're young. You don't understand. Nothing ever happens in Hell. Torture is boring. The screaming? The begging? The writhing? It's the same playlist every single day. But this—" He pointed upward, toward Lucifer's tower. "—this is drama."

Vexa nodded enthusiastically. "The big man's pacing. His aura's glitching. Belial looks like he's shedding a whole decade off his lifespan every ten minutes. Something's up."

Thalgrim frowned. "And we think the reason is... a dead girl making viral videos?"

Kragith grinned, revealing teeth like crushed pearls. "This is Hell, kid. Reputational damage is worse than any sin. Think of the metrics."

Before Thalgrim could answer, the supervisor arrived—Agares, who looked like a crocodile skull wearing a cheap work shirt. His tail flicked like a boss who already regretted coming over.

Agares surveyed the river, then the three demons, then the river again. His eye sockets narrowed.

"Why," he said quietly, dangerously, "are there forty-seven souls still conscious in the river?"

Vexa straightened. "We were just—"

"I don't care." Agares pointed a bony claw at the souls thrashing around like desperate spaghetti. "Drown them. Now. Or I reassign all three of you to Circle Three."

Kragith paled. "Circle Three... the maggot shoveling?"

Agares clicked his teeth—a sound like dry bone breaking. "Try me."

The demons scrambled—literally scrambled—back to work. The river erupted with screaming again as they shoved souls under one by one, complaining the whole time.

Agares watched them go, tail twitching irritably.

He waited until they were out of earshot.

Then muttered to himself, his voice dry as ancient parchment:

"...I bet he hooks up with her though. She's pretty hot."

He scratched his crocodile-snouted chin thoughtfully.

"Fifty souls says by Arc Three."

He made a mental note to start a betting pool.

Hell was boring.

This was better than cable.


Read full series here: click here

The Vampire Saga Romance Book 3 “THE GODLESS PRINCE” Vol 1-7 has arrived! Read free samples here!

on
Saturday, November 22, 2025

Read sample book 1: here
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Chapter 23

Flashback

The negotiation hall gleamed—walls of crystalline glass that reflected nothing but revealed everything. 

Glass floors, glass ceilings, glass chairs that seemed designed to make their occupants feel exposed, vulnerable, breakable

Everything transparent in structure, nothing sincere in purpose.

General Velis Drayke lounged with deliberate insolence, one powerful thigh draped over the armrest of his obsidian throne. 

His crimson military cloak spilled down like arterial blood against crystal, each fold arranged with the casual precision of a man who turned violence into art. 

He hadn't spoken since the session began—didn't need to. His presence pressed against the room like the kiss of a blade held just shy of flesh.

Prince Caelum stood at the chamber's heart, flanked by advisors whose trembling barely stayed within diplomatic bounds. 

He was dressed in ceremonial ash-grey silk, every line of the fabric screaming military discipline and royal authority. 

When his voice finally cut through the suffocating tension, it sliced clean as piano wire through bone:

"Ashan will not provide additional offerings beyond what the Shadowvale Accord demands. The blood moon ceremony was fulfilled to the letter. This request transcends diplomacy—it is naked greed, dressed in ritual's borrowed robes."

A sharp intake of breath rippled through his own delegation. One advisor's hand moved instinctively toward his ceremonial blade before catching himself.

Across the crystalline divide, Senator Orelle Vaine released a sound like champagne bubbles breaking against cut glass. 

Her fingers traced the rim of her goblet with obscene delicacy, as if savoring memories of whose veins had filled it.

"My dear prince," she purred, voice thick as honey over poison, "there are whispers throughout the Crimson Court that our appetites grow... restless. The recent offerings have proven so terribly predictable. There exists, shall we say, a craving for something with more... fire."

She didn't need to glance at Velis to make clear whose particular hunger had inspired this diplomatic overreach.

Caelum's jaw tightened like a steel trap. "Then let them starve on their own gluttony."

That's when Velis moved.

A slow, deliberate unfurling of predatory limbs—like a great cat stretching before the hunt. He rose to his full, commanding height, built like a cathedral of punishment made flesh. When he spoke, his voice was velvet wrapped around a blade's edge:

"Spoken like a prince who's never bled on a real battlefield."

"I have bled," Caelum replied without a tremor, winter-pale eyes never wavering. "Just not on yours."

Velis's lips curved in something that might charitably be called a smile—if smiles could promise such exquisite ruin. 

His gaze traveled down Caelum's form with shameless appreciation, cataloguing every vulnerability.

"No. Not mine. Not yet."

The room crystallized into perfect, breathless silence.

An Ashan advisor leaned close to Caelum's ear, his whisper harsh with barely controlled terror: "Your Highness, this is the Butcher of Westmarch. He broke the Iron Alliance with his bare hands. Flayed the Erenthal heir alive before his father's gates. We cannot afford to provoke him."

But Caelum's spine remained unbroken, shoulders squared against the weight of fear.

"Not all his bloodline," he said, his voice carrying across the glass chamber with crystalline clarity. "He left one child breathing. A newborn boy who vanished like smoke before dawn. Me. Perhaps your soldiers weren't as thorough as your reputation suggests, General."

The information had come from his mother's lips during one of their private strategy sessions—whispered like a bedtime story over wine and candlelight. "There are always survivors, darling. Always someone who slips through the cracks. Remember that.”

Velis stepped closer—not a threat, but something far more dangerous. An invitation wrapped in silk and shadow.

The air between them tightened like a rope stretched to breaking.

"Careful, little prince," he murmured, beginning a slow, predatory circle around Caelum's position. "Suggesting I've left work unfinished might make me... curious. I have such an inconvenient obsession with loose ends."

Caelum turned to track his movement, bringing them chest-to-chest in a moment charged with electricity. "Then perhaps you should learn to tie better knots."

Velis paused mid-step. Blinked once, slowly, like a cat savoring cream. A grin unfurled across his mouth like a wound opening to reveal sharp teeth. His voice dropped to a register meant only for Caelum's ears:

"I wonder, my beautiful prince... just how well you hold under pressure?"

"Tighter than you'd ever expect," Caelum shot back, but the faintest flush blooming across his throat betrayed the effect of that intimate whisper.

Orelle's laughter rang through the tension like silver bells over broken glass. "Oh, how absolutely delightful! You two make warfare sound like foreplay. I'm positively trembling with anticipation."

Velis turned from Caelum with deliberate slowness, his gaze dragging like silk scarves over the prince's exposed neck, lingering at the rapid pulse visible beneath pale skin.

"He'll shatter beautifully when the time comes," he said with casual certainty, as if discussing the weather. "They all do, eventually. But this one... might weep first. Such pretty tears he'd shed."

Caelum's breath caught, but he refused to speak. Couldn't—his rage and something infinitely more dangerous had tangled behind his teeth like barbed wire. 

He despised how the General's voice curved like a whip-crack. 

How those words felt like phantom fingers at his throat, pressure that was almost gentle, almost caring.


Later, in the shadow of the Tribunal's vaulted halls, one of Caelum's advisors finally dared to break the silence:

"Your Highness... you risked the entire Treaty speaking to him that way. If he reports this as provocation—"

Caelum lifted his gaze to the moon visible through stained-glass windows, its light fracturing into bloody fragments across his face.

"I wasn't speaking to him," he said quietly, voice carrying undertones of something his advisor couldn't quite name. "I was warning him."

But his fingers trembled against his sides, and the ghost of Velis's voice still lingered against his skin like heat from a brand not yet pressed to flesh.

*

Chapter 24


Present

His arms gave out with a sickening finality.

Elbows slammed against cold marble—not with a bang, but a dull, intimate thud that somehow rang louder than screams. The kind of sound flesh makes when surrender wins.

His back arched—not from strength, not from pride, but from something far more primal. A body's last, frantic attempt to flee itself. A spine bowing to something it could no longer fight.

No—don’t—

The thought scraped through his skull like a nail dragged over wet glass. Weightless. Fragile. Useless. It slipped from his mind before it ever had a chance to root—disappearing like breath on winter glass.

And the collar knew.

It throbbed with terrible precision, a low, humming growl that pulsed against the skin of his throat. Not punishing now, but something worse—affirming. It responded not to rebellion, but to collapse. It drank in his defeat like nectar.

The pulse slithered down his spine in steady waves, crawling into hollows and seams he didn’t know his body had. 

It coiled around the base of his lungs, poured down into the creases behind his knees, seeped into the skin between his fingers.

Everything touched him. Everything hurt.

The air itself stung—ice-cold against fevered flesh, a thousand invisible needles dancing across slick, trembling skin. 

Every breath scraped like glass through his throat. Every gaze cut deeper than blades. 

He could feel them—those eyes, dozens of them, devouring him in silence. Their hunger pressed against his bare skin like heat from an open furnace.

His muscles spasmed. His teeth clicked. A noise slipped out—choked and thin.

A whimper.

Small. Broken. Real.

That second sound—barely louder than breath—shattered something sacred.

It rippled through the chamber like a tremor through still water. Not a crash. A revelation.

Chairs creaked. Velvet rustled. Fingernails tapped carved wood. Someone exhaled too fast, another drew in a breath that sounded suspiciously close to a moan. 

One vampire dragged a tongue across his bottom lip, slow and instinctive. Another bit into her own wrist to muffle the sound of her rising need.

And through it all—Velis didn’t move.

He watched, motionless, carved from stillness itself. 

The amber of his eyes burned with cold fire, tracking every twitch of muscle, every breathless shudder. 

Not merely observing—cataloguing. Committing Caelum’s unraveling to memory, stroke by shaking stroke.

Caelum was falling apart.

Sweat ran in rivulets down his spine, caught the torchlight like spilled mercury. 

His ribs heaved with shallow gasps, too fast, too shallow. His thighs trembled violently—sagging forward into the chain’s unyielding pull.

And then—his legs gave out.

Completely.

The leash yanked taut for a heartbeat, then went slack with a terrible kind of finality. Gravity did the rest.

He collapsed.

Not like royalty. Not like someone who’d ever known power. He crumpled like something discarded. 

A puppet with every string cut at once. A prince reduced to skin and breath and nerves misfiring in the open.

His cheek struck marble. Skin flushed and glazed with sweat, hair plastered to his temple. 

His mouth parted, but no sound came. His eyes fluttered, rolled back. A low tremor still ran through his limbs like aftershocks.

The collar’s glow dulled—but it didn’t release him. It pulsed softly now. A whisper, not a roar. Not to punish. To remind.

This is what you are now.

This is how you begin.

Only then did Velis move.

One step. Then another. Unhurried. Measured. A predator after the kill, not to feed—but to admire.

He knelt, the long line of his coat sweeping over the floor in a hush of fabric. His gloved hand extended—not to comfort. Not even to claim.

To inspect.

Fingers curled beneath Caelum’s chin, lifting his face from stone—wet, flushed, slack. 

His other hand moved with unbearable slowness. The sound of leather pulled tight as he removed his glove. 

One finger, bare and cold, slid just inside the curve of Caelum’s lower lip.

Not forcing. Not probing. Marking.

Caelum didn’t flinch. He couldn’t. His eyes twitched beneath the lids, a final spasm running through his thighs. 

His body was a map of raw nerves and shattered pride. He couldn’t lift his head, couldn’t even close his mouth. He could only lie there and be felt.

Velis leaned in—so close that only Caelum could hear the words that followed.

“Look what your body remembers,” he whispered, his voice more breath than sound. “Even when your mind begs to forget.”

There was no heat in it. No mockery. Only a quiet wonder. The reverence of a collector admiring something rare. Unrepeatable.

Behind him, the handler finally spoke. “Enough.” His voice was rough. Thick with something closer to awe than authority. “He can’t take more. His mind’s beginning to fracture.”

Velis ignored him.

He reached again—this time not to brand, but to touch.

Fingers brushed Caelum’s temple, pushing back damp hair with the tenderness of a lover. Not out of care. But for the sake of clarity. To see him. All of him.

“This was only the prelude,” he murmured, low and final. “And already, you’re trembling like a leaf in winter wind.”

Caelum didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Not a whisper of defiance remained. No strength to even pretend.

The collar pulsed one last time—soft, like a heartbeat slowing. Its glow faded as if sated, for now.

And at last—blessedly—his eyes closed.

Not in surrender. Not in consent. But in the absolute erasure of everything that had made him Caelum.

Unconsciousness claimed him with the cold arms of mercy, dragging him beneath the surface, into blackness.

And in the silence that followed, even the vampires didn’t dare breathe too loud.


Timeline: The night Queen Isabella Salutregui sent her son—no, her weapon—back to the mother who had forgotten him.

The sky above Ashan bled scarlet that night, though not from warfare. The crimson came from ceremony, from ritual, from the kind of sacrifice that stained souls rather than battlefields.

In the royal solar, Queen Isabella stood sentinel by the arched windows, watching the gilded procession disappear beyond the horizon like a funeral march dressed in silk and lies. 

The offering carriage—beautiful and grotesque in equal measure—carried Caelum away beneath layers of ceremonial finery, a lamb disguised as a prince, or perhaps a prince disguised as prey.

She did not weep. She had done that once, twenty years ago when she'd first stolen him from his true mother's arms. It had been sufficient then. It would have to be sufficient now.

"It's done," she whispered to the darkness gathering in the window's reflection. "Let them taste what she abandoned."

Her image in the glass remained steady, composed, regal. But deep in those reflected eyes, the ghost of ancient rage flickered like candlelight in a tomb.

The irony was exquisite—sending Ysoria's own blood back to her as tribute, wrapped in ignorance and ceremony. 

Isabella had raised him to be the perfect weapon against his birth mother, never knowing he would one day become the perfect offering instead.

The wheel had come full circle, and Isabella Salutregui finally had her revenge.