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78. The Ripper of Verona
Last Updated:
2025-11-10 18:05:20
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Alpha Kael And The Crimson Bloodline 80. The Hunt Begins
The night stretched long and silent over Ashwood, broken only by the purr of engines.Violet sat beside Kael inside the black Rolls-Royce Cullinan, her reflection caught in the tinted glass — pale face, faint glow of her violet eyes flickering each time lightning danced across the distant peaks. Two matte-black G-Wagons followed — one ahead, one behind — carrying Draven wolves, their presence grim and wordless, as if carved from the night itself.The convoy rolled down the forest highway, tires whispering over wet asphalt. The moon hung low, bruised red, casting shadows that seemed to crawl.“Where are we heading?” Violet asked at last, breaking the heavy silence.Kael’s hand tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles pale against black leather.“South of the ruins,” he said, voice low, almost drowned beneath the rumble of the engine. “The Blackmere Cavern — near the edge of Frostveil Marsh. And after that, the Ridge of Graves. If the Book of the Damned isn’t at one, it’ll be at th
Alpha Kael And The Crimson Bloodline 79. Moonlight Lies
The warehouse stood silent under the bruised Verona dawn.Broken glass glittered across the floor, the air thick with the scent of blood and gunpowder. A few flies had already gathered near the bodies, drawn by the copper tang that lingered.Two black jeeps rolled up outside, their engines cutting off in unison.The new group of hunters stepped out, weapons ready — cautious, alert. They had received the distress signal hours ago.But the sight before them froze even the most hardened.Four bodies. Torn, twisted, drained of color. The floor looked like something had exploded through it — claw marks etched deep into the concrete, the steel beams bent inward like melted wax.One man still breathed. Barely.He lay near the wrecked Cadillac, chest caved in, lips trembling as if whispering a prayer.The leader knelt beside him. “Who did this?”The man’s eyes rolled, wild and glassy. He coughed, blood spilling down his chin. “We… had him… chained…”He tried to raise a hand, but his arm hung
Alpha Kael And The Crimson Bloodline 78. The Ripper of Verona
The stench of rust and oil filled the warehouse.Fenrak sat chained to a metal beam, his body bruised and burned, the sharp scent of scorched flesh lingering where the electricity bit into his skin. Sparks popped from the generator nearby, bathing the shadows in brief, ugly light.Four men circled him. Their long black coats brushed the dusty floor; their faces hid behind sunglasses, even in the dim. Hunters. He could smell the gunpowder, the iron, the faint trace of wolfsbane clinging to their gloves.One of them jabbed him with the electric prod again. Fenrak’s body jolted—muscles seizing, veins rising like cords of steel.“Still breathing,” one muttered.“Not for long,” another replied.Fenrak raised his head slowly. His lip bled, but the smirk never faded.“You’re new to this, aren’t you?” His voice came low, amused, the words tasting of iron. “You don’t even know who you’ve caught.”The leader crouched beside him, his breath stale with cigarettes.“Oh, we know exactly what you ar
Alpha Kael And The Crimson Bloodline 77. The Quiet Hunt
The night in Verona unfolded like silk—quiet, serene, and deceptively gentle. The hum of distant traffic faded beneath the whisper of crickets, while the faint glow from the city haloed the horizon. Rhea’s cottage stood still in that calm, the ivy-clad walls wrapped in shadows and moonlight.Inside, the faint sound of the sea breeze rustled through the open windows. Rhea had long since fallen asleep, her hair fanned across the pillow, the corners of her lips lifted in a faint, peaceful smile. Fenrak, however, lay awake.He stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, the quiet tick of the clock dragging him deeper into thought. His instincts refused to rest. Something was wrong—terribly wrong. It wasn’t the kind of unease that came from memory or guilt; it was sharper, primal. His wolf stirred beneath his skin, restless.He sat up, running a hand through his hair. “Get a grip,” he muttered to himself, swinging his legs off the bed. Yet, the feeling didn’t fade. It grew heavier.He
Alpha Kael And The Crimson Bloodline 76. Echoes Between Worlds
The first light of dawn poured through the gothic windows of the Draven Estate, spilling gold over the old oak shelves and the scattered papers on Kael’s desk. The Study smelled faintly of smoke and parchment — pages torn from ancient journals, maps of forgotten lands, and notes scribbled in Kael’s own jagged handwriting. He’d been awake since before sunrise. Sleep had become a stranger lately.His wolf stirred beneath his skin, restless and impatient.Find it, the voice rumbled. The Book of the Damned must not fall again.“I’m trying,” Kael muttered under his breath, eyes scanning another line from the worn journal. The handwriting was Eloria’s — her words centuries old, sharp as blades even now: ‘The witches built their sanctums near sorrow. Where death remembers names, their power thrives.’Kael’s gaze drifted to the window, where mist rolled across the Ashwood fields. Every corner of this land whispered memories — too many wars, too much blood.Down the hall, a faint thud echoed.
Alpha Kael And The Crimson Bloodline 75. My Heart In Verona
The morning sunlight spilled gently through the half-drawn curtains, painting soft gold across the cottage walls. Rhea stirred beneath the thin linen sheets, her body sinking deeper into the calm silence that wrapped the house. For once, there was no echo of screams, no thunder of claws in her mind—just a dream she wished had never ended.She saw herself on a stage, cap and gown pressed neat, her mother waving wildly from the crowd, her father beaming with pride. Elara had been there too, laughing, her hand clutching a bouquet of white lilies. For a fleeting moment, life had been simple again—before blood and moonlight had rewritten her destiny.When Rhea woke, the faint smile still lingered. The air smelled of salt and morning dew, the hum of Verona distant and alive beyond the hills. She slipped from bed, threw her hair into a messy braid, and padded barefoot to the kitchen.The old coffee pot hissed on the stove, releasing that comforting bitterness she’d grown to love. She poured
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