Cornelius Crane Novels & Stories

There, the pin was firmly attached to her waist line. “Scarlet really needs to work on this. This could have given me an injury!” She said to herself, Scarlett was her Kenyan designer. As she removed the pin, the door opened all of a sudden and she immediately covered herself with the cloth. “Ichabod! What do you think you are doing?” ** “Oh dear Lord!” Ichabod shouted and slammed the door immediately. What the hell was that? Thank goodness he hadn’t seen her nakedness. That would have cost him his job for sure.

Corey set the glass down, his curiosity sharpening. “The beings you and I have only heard about in passing,” Greyhem continued, “were real. Tangible. Alive. And in those times… John Crane was not just from a noble family—he was the current last of the royal bloodline among wolves. Ferocious, honour-bound, and feared. And John Crane’s blood…” He paused, eyes narrowing. “It’s ancient. Very ancient. Older than most people even know.” Corey frowned slightly. “And the other name—Lilune?”

The attendant's name was Daniel. He was only twenty-three and less than a year into his first job. Eight months at Crane Global had taught him a lesson every employee learned sooner or later…… if the Crane family was involved, you followed orders, kept your head down, and never crossed the line.

She was constantly trying to get me to give her my daughter and become a reaper when I became pregnant the second time she was done with us, all of us. The night our second child was born, Crane's mother fell ill. I told him to go be with her, but he thought she was trying to pull him away from me, so he refused to leave me. In the end, she was dying. It was hard to tell with her. It was one thing after another when she did not get her way. The one time she was telling the truth, it cost Crane the ability to say goodbye.

Three days after Max and I returned home from the clinic in Switzerland, news of Rose Crane's arrest broke across every major television station, radio broadcast, and internet blog in the country. Big bold headings blared about financial fraud, money laundering, and drug trafficking linked directly to the Crane family name. I stood near the large floor-to-ceiling glass window in our main living room, holding a warm cup of herbal tea in both hands. Outside, near the tall iron security gates of the estate, dark cars were already lined up along the road. News reporters and street photographers were standing on top of their vehicles, trying to take pictures through the metal bars.

The screen showed a countdown timer, 00:15:27, ticking down slowly. Crane’s voice echoed behind him. “Fifteen minutes until your world burns.” River spun back, fury flashing in his eyes. “Why him, Crane? He didn’t ruin you. You ruined yourself.” Crane’s expression cracked for the first time, his voice rising. “He humiliated me! He made me look weak in front of the board, in front of everyone! He took everything I had and left me with nothing!” River stared at him, breathing hard. “You did that to yourself. You tried to destroy people to stay on top. And now you’re just a man standing in the dark, clinging to what’s already gone.”

“I’ll stall them. It’s what I’m good at.” “No,” Anaïs said. “They’ll kill you.” Crane gave a half-smile. “Only if I stop talking.” He stood and crossed to a wooden crate near the shelves. When he opened it, the scent of metal and oil filled the room. Inside was a compact satchel, already packed. “You’ll need supplies,” he said, handing it to Maris. “I pulled what I could. Food, flashlights, gauze, spare rounds. Keep moving. Head toward Haver. There’s a contact there. Same network. She’s quiet, but she owes me.”

“No surprise there, seein’ everyone around these parts can make such a claim, but the real eye- opener is when we found out her maiden name in the Ashby-on-Sea marriage records.” Beatrice sat fascinated. “And what was her maiden name?” Maud leaned forward so far it appeared as though she was about to stand up. “It was Crane,” she whispered. “Meanin’ that our Melville Craig is a blood relative of the captain that put Elizabeth Caldecott to death.”

"You know, I've never actually been inside this house. Eleven years of dealing with that man and he always met me at the gate. Like a farmer." "His name's Crane. He isn't a hunter, he employs hunters. He's been buying old blood for nine years, mostly from packs stupid enough to sell their own, and Dane has been working for him for the last four." Marlowe smiled at Maya. "Yes. Four. He was already Crane's man when he met you." A small pause, and he had the decency not to enjoy this part, which somehow made it worse. "You were the job." Maya's stomach dropped out of her.

Crane said quietly, "is the part I think you already know. I think you've been standing here doing the math since I said waiting and I think the math has arrived somewhere you don't want it to be." She looked at him. He looked back. The field between them was empty and bright and entirely indifferent. "Say it," she said. "Are you sure." "Say it." Crane held her gaze for one more second, and in the second was something that might have been, in a different man, in a different life, almost like regret. "His name," Crane said, "is Daniel Rourke. And before you tell me that's impossible... I know. I was there when they buried him too."