Tenebris Asylum

I confess—I killed him, the jerk who thought he could violate me. But I never anticipated being hurled through a portal into the Tenebris Asylum for the Criminally Insane. Welcome to hell, where escaping seems impossible... until I encounter the most captivating monsters I could ever dream of.

There's Beau, my charming Southern ghost who knows just how to make my heart race. Then there's Zephyr, the incubus whose mere glance sends shivers down my spine. Let's not overlook Nix, a monstrous being with a tongue that leaves me breathless. And then there's Jack—yes, THE Jack, as in the infamous Ripper. Not to mention the legendary Mr. Hyde, a creature I thought was simply a myth.

We believed we were trapped… until a demon lord thrust us into a treacherous game of submission. It's going to be a challenge, but hell isn’t for the feeble, and we refuse to surrender.

Join Aurelia and her monstrous mates on this exhilarating journey through temptation, peril, and dark seduction. Are you ready to dive into madness?

Pubisher's Note: Tenebris Asylum is a 40,000 word novella, making it more than twice the length of the average Eva DeMoan story. This is a monster Why Choose erotica with darker themes.

❖ ── ✦ ─ SNEAK PEEK ─ ✦ ── ❖

I glared at the looming edifice as charred ash rained from a bloodied sky—Tenebris Asylum for the Criminally Insane. A wretched place meant for those discarded by the world, the forsaken sent here as if exiled to a portal straight to hell. A searing chill raced down my spine. Every cursed whisper warned of the atrocities within: walls that contained not just serial killers but abominations beyond human comprehension. Even from the crumbling cobblestones below, I could discern the dark silhouette of a hulking minotaur in one flickering window, a demonic figure in another, and many more unrecognizable horrors lurking in the shadows.

A guard’s jolt, delivered with a merciless shock stick, exploded through my back. My knees buckled under the brutal surge of electricity as I staggered, barely remaining upright by sheer will. I gritted my teeth against the torrent of instincts, fighting not to unleash my own fury. Perhaps I had earned my place in hellish place. It wasn’t like I’d ever be allowed through the pearly gates of Heaven. I’d defended myself, yes—but the haunting truth was inescapable: I’d taken a life. It was never meant to be this way; if only the man I killed hadn’t been the judge’s son, maybe fate would have been kinder.

I trudged up the stone steps and entered through massive doors reeking of bleach and despair. The guard pressed me through a tortuous labyrinth of hallways until we halted before an office labeled Dr. Mason Stone—a name cold and unyielding. A resounding knock announced our arrival, and a cavernous voice bellowed, “Enter!”

The door was flung open and I was shoved inside, the latch clicking shut behind me like the final seal of my damnation. I gulped, scanning the room and the man at the desk—a figure marked by silver at his temples, which made him seem both ageless and ruthlessly precise. His broad shoulders and chiseled jaw, though disturbingly handsome, betrayed an icy detachment—a predator in clinical disguise.

“Miss Crenshaw, have a seat,” he commanded, his pen a cold pointer toward the chair opposite him. I obeyed, dread gnawing at me as I wondered if this was to be my new life—a life dictated by unyielding rules, where every moment of freedom was a distant memory. The barred windows offered only a glimpse into nightmares, reminding me with every glance that I was imprisoned in a living hell.

“We confine violent murderers on the top floor,” he said in a tone that was both matter-of-fact and chilling. “You will have your own room, secured at night for your safety. The floor shelters both male and female predators, with guards and a lone nurse present at all hours.”

Violent murderers? The irony was savage—a subtle reminder that even in depravity, there were degrees. I almost sneered at the absurdity: Were there cases where murder wasn’t violent? I supposed you could gently kill someone by feeding them pills that put them to sleep.

“Are the patients on that floor all human?” I asked, voice trembling with a mingling of horror and dark curiosity.

“No.” He met my gaze with eyes as empty as a blackened void. In that moment, I felt like I was plummeting into an abyss where nothing—no warmth, no empathy—existed. His chill was no mere impression; it was a palpable void that stole the very essence of life.

“Do I need to worry that I’ll die while I’m here?”

Leaning back deliberately in his chair, he replied with icy finality, “Miss Crenshaw, you’re never leaving. Whether you succumb to old age, have your throat slit, or get violated by an inmate, it matters little. You’re here because the world has cast you aside—a person now seen as unworthy of its light.”

Every word was a death knell, dispelling any remnants of hope. In this forsaken place, chaos reigned, the inmates free to enact their barbaric fates, leaving vacancies for yet more killers.

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