Book Red Zone Novels & Stories

Barbara would kill me if I do that. Now that the word is out of a heiress to the throne and to the pack---my daughter is no longer safe. She had to come home and face her fate. To fulfill her birthright and claim her rightful place.I know she is untrained, but we Red’s are strong and our wolves are superb both in strength and in size.

I got the water and thanked her again. "Kira, I should go ahead. I still need to do something and also, please beware of Biatchrice. She's the number one enemy of the people in here." "Biatchrice?" "Biatrice is her real name but most of the people call her that since she's said to be a hooker." "Ohh, no problem Ate Buba. Thanks for the caution! and, thank you for the water again!" She waved her hand goodbye. I started walking my way towards the exit when I've hit someone. The woman in front of me gave me a death glare. Her hair was dyed in red color, her nails were red, her contact lenses were also red and the uniform she is wearing is also red.

I turned and walked out of the banquet hall. Behind me, the applause and cheers were sealed away by the doors. I felt heat rush from my nose. When I wiped it, my palm came away crimson. Blood dripped onto the carpet and spread quickly. I followed the emergency stairwell to the terrace. My vision began to blur. The city neon stretched into twisted lines. My phone vibrated. It was a message from Vivian Harkins. [Stop throwing a tantrum. After this ends, I'll take you for a late-night meal at that diner you like.]

The same affect she had on him. Rose gulped at the proximity. Suddenly she was feeling hot. Very hot. Their proximity was doing things to her. She could feel butterflies in her stomach. Her cheeks were tinted bright red. So much that the color even crawled down her neck. She silently prayed for someone to help her out of the situation. As if her prayers were answered, someone interrupted their moment with clearing their throat. Their eyes flew to the door and saw Ben, one of the gang members, standing there in awkwardness. Rose immediately shoved Dante off her with her small palms and got up. He groaned before getting on his feet as well.

She was teasing me, bouncing just a bit, taking me back to the halfway point. She leaned over, her hands outstretched. "Perfectly executed pass down the middle for another first down," she announced, pressing down a little more, as I watched another inch disappear. "They're in the red zone." "Yes, but can they score?" "They've overloaded the left side, three wide-outs streaking for the end zone, it looks like one is wide open, the pass is in the air..." She rose up, drawing almost all the way off, then slid back down, stopping just short of taking me all the way. "NO! He's overthrown. Such a shame."

It settled on me like a new weight. And, disturbingly, fit. “All right,” I said. “Red Streets Run first. Then we reassess.” I stepped toward that stall. The attendant behind its counter—a mannequin with a spray‑painted red stripe where its eyes should have been—raised its featureless head as my band came within range. “RED STREETS RUN,” it intoned. “TEAM ENTRY. 8–16 PLAYERS PER SESSION. ROUND VALUE: MEDIUM. CROWD FAVORABILITY: RISING.”