Crimson Blood Red Novels & Stories

Crimson. He came for me. Will he claim me? I’m sure he will. I hope he will. In my hazy and drugged state, my heat surges through me. Heating my body to a point where I crave the need to be touched, and to be satisfied. I see him fight his way to me. His cat - a deep shade of red with eyes that glow like demon dogs – mercilessly maims and kills until he stands above me hissing and snarling at the other males whose hands had touched me.

Then humanity needed to change with it. At first, Husen worked alongside them willingly. He believed they were searching for a cure. For months they studied ancient blood samples preserved beneath the station. The samples behaved unlike anything known. They regenerated damaged tissue. They repaired cells. They adapted to foreign organisms instead of rejecting them. The researchers named it...Crimson Blood. Husen warned them repeatedly. "We don't understand it." Their answer never changed. "We'll never understand it if we're afraid to touch it."

Oh, you never fail to amaze me, Crimson. ⚘ little ⊹ lies ··································································································································

The brand glows red in the fire, waiting. Tears already burning my eyes. He walks around the bed slow. His eyes never leave me. “Tonight you stop being Volkov,” he says. His voice is calm and cruel. “Tonight you wear my name on your skin forever. Inside your thigh. Where only I will see. Where only I will touch.” I shake my head hard. “No. Please. No.” My voice cracks. As my tears fall hot. He pulls the iron from the fire. The wolf crest glows bright red. He kneels between my open legs. The heat reaches my skin before the metal does. He brings it close, I smell hot iron so I scream before it touches.

My heart fluttered and my breath caught in my lungs at the thought of how his ‘were’ form was just as handsome as his human form. His claws dug into the rogue's neck and, with one swipe, tore it wide open. The rogue went limp and I watched in awe as Crimson leaned over the dead rogue, his fur shimmered to a bright yellow and back to the deep hue of red right as the rogue gasped for his last breath before dying. “Crimson!” I called out to him, coming to my senses, wondering what it was I had just seen. This night was full of strangeness.

Looking at the sun blooming slowly while scattering its rays all over, it feels as if the darkness has surrendered itself to it and the horror of the previous night has been relieved bare for all to witness. Blake slowly moves his eyes across the hall. The blood is seen being splattered all over the wooden floor. The white walls, the original white couch, everything has been dyed in red and dried a long time ago. In some areas, the original color of the carpet can’t be seen at all. It is all in bloody red. Pieces of wolves being torn to shreds, bodies of what seem to be human as well as non-human and pieces of what used to be the door, all has been scattered all over the house.

The point was… The street artist known as Black Crimson seemed to speak straight to my soul with every showpiece he delivered. He only worked in the spray paint medium and kept it strictly to three colors: black, white, and red. The image-half of his two-part murals always showcased some modern-day fairy-tale retelling, and the text-half had a famous quote that was somehow tied into the picture. The quotes he chose could be silly or deep, but they were always meaningful and enlightening, and I somehow felt as if he’d written them directly for me. Every time.

I carefully pick it up to return it to the bookshelf when I notice a paper fall out of the book. I place the book down and pick up what is a picture of a blood red wolf. There is nothing written on the picture so I don’t know who the she-wolf is. Now I know why they call the she wolf a blood red wolf. The main coat color is the color of blood with black socks and a patch of black on it’s chest. It’s actually quite beautiful. “If our mate is the blood red wolf she is going to be so beautiful,” says Spartan.

⸻ The sky above split apart. ⸻ And for a moment— Amara saw a third presence. ⸻ Not black like the Fallen Celestial. ⸻ Not gold like the ancient wolf. ⸻ Crimson. ⸻ Deep crimson. ⸻ Like blood beneath moonlight. ⸻ The image vanished instantly. ⸻ Yet everyone had seen it. ⸻ Everyone. ⸻ The corrupted heir smiled. ⸻ And whispered: ⸻ “The prophecy was never about two.”

A recognition that lived below thought. The woman's eyes opened fully. Crimson. Not human. Deep glowing red lit from somewhere inside, burning steady and old and alive. Tyra stepped back. "Who are you." "You already know," the woman said. Her voice was warm and cracked at the edges like something that had been through fire and come out the other side. She moved forward, each step soundless on the black soil. Her crimson eyes moved over Tyra's face with a desperation that was almost physical. Like someone who had been kept from something for so long that seeing it again hurt. "You have always known."