Cloaked Novels & Stories

I order her, she obeys right away, taking her dress off, she had no bra under, just a thong, a red lacy thong. I moved behind her, my hands caressing her firm chest, landing a few pinches, making her moan loudly, my face got closer to her ear, whispering. “Your safe word is apple,” I tell her, we always have a safe word.

her voice softened to something nearly fond, “, is the easiest thing in the world to corrupt.” The reliquary was a tomb, but not for bodies. Here, the dead were memories, and the grave was a sarcophagus crafted not to rest but to contain, built of salt and soot, bound with runes meant to mute the rage of what slept inside. The Cloak did not wait so much as linger, woven from dust soaked in the blood of visionaries and madmen, sewn with god-hair plucked from the forgotten, threaded with bones of dreamweavers who had vanished screaming into their illusions. It moved in the darkness, undulating, a thing that had never truly been inanimate.

PROJECT? It was not a person. It was a program. It was an old initiative developed by Marcus's think-tank division, intended for long-term covert influence operations, surveillance, and behavior mapping. The Cloak wasn’t born from chaos; it was engineered. And worse still, it was engineered by my father!

This was not a good sign. “Beta,” I said with a quiet voice, “Do you feel that figure looks familiar? Stature, movement or by the body structure? He looked at the screen with frustration and shook his head. “Too well hidden. The cloak can be magical, it has a faint shine on it. Whoever this is, they didn’t want to be tracked.” Magic. This is another piece of the puzzle. The wolves of our pack rarely dealt in such arts. But there are creatures from outside who certainly did.

His eyes, though shadowed, seemed to hold the cold, blue intensity of deep ice. Behind him, the four cloaked figures stood in absolute stillness, perfect sentinels, confirming the hierarchy. Why the hell is everyone in a cloak? I thought but didn't speak it. The absurd uniformity was unnerving. It was a uniform of anonymity and fear, a theatrical staging designed to remove individuality and amplify the sense of overwhelming, faceless power. The question was a brief, internal moment of defiance, a way to focus on something mundane to combat the rising tide of panic.

Yet when the moon climbed high and the forest glowed silver, Thalor stepped forward first and knelt before me. In his palms rested a cloak, woven from shadow-thread and moon-silk, dark as midnight yet shimmering faintly like starlight caught in motion. Along its edges were etched ancient runes of protection and command, symbols once reserved for queens of old. When he dropped it over my shoulders, warmth flooded through me, sinking into my skin and into my bones. “This cloak will hide you from hostile eyes and strengthen your aura,” Thalor said quietly. “It carries the loyalty of Shadowmere. Wherever you stand, they will feel that you are not alone.”

Tonight, the drivers are perfect shields, unaware that I’m darting through their shadows. Zoey would already be panicking. Filing reports, calling me endlessly. The police would wait twenty-four hours before they even started asking questions. I have time—but not much. Every step forward feels like rebellion. Every breath, a fragile victory. And then I feel it. A presence. Heavy. Too real to be imagined. Footsteps. Behind me. Too close. I don’t dare look. I sprint. Maybe it’s stupid to wear a heavy hoodie and a stuffed backpack, but I don’t care. I need to vanish. I tell myself I’m fast enough. I have a head start. That they won’t catch me.

Kaspar was not praying to the Moon Goddess or preparing bandages for the burn victims outside in the cold rain. He was speaking in hushed and urgent tones to a tall figure standing just outside the ring of candlelight. The stranger wore a heavy dark cloak that pooled on the marble floor and concealed every single detail of their face. The deep crimson fabric of the cloak looked almost black in the dim light but the distinctive silver clasp at the neck caught the candle's glow. It was the undeniable mark of the Crimson Eclipse. The horrible realization hit me and proved the conspiracy ran so much deeper than I ever knew before I died.

Now the Dark Kingdom will also know how they felt, being afraid to step out because there’s someone watching your every move. As for Hidden Cloak, he was like a god to them. To them he had done what even the Wielders Association was powerless to do. He had appeared when all thought the malignant tumor in the form of the Dark Kingdom was going to be the ruin of the land someday. This bane to the Dark Kingdom was who they needed. Whilst the Wielder Association maintained and restrained the criminals of the land, the Hidden Cloak was responsible for restraining the Dark Kingdom. With the Dark Kingdom on a leash, Zandor was definitely safer now.

So I left it, settling on exploring my new home instead. Today I found myself in a cosy study, still a considerably large room, but smaller than most that I had come across. It reminded me of Lilith’s living room, dark red wood seemed to domineer the room in here. A large inglenook fireplace flanked by a large suit of armour on each side. Over the mantel was a battered shield that had seen better days and two swords, mostly likely longer that I was, crossed at the back of it. A coat of arms could be made out under the battered metal, to me in looked like a half goat half man creature, holding a large raven in one hand and a snake in the other. I assumed it must belong to the Caine family.