Crimson Cat Novels & Stories

The sky begins to quickly fill up with dark clouds as the last standing witches beside her finally succumb to death. “You have hunted us, made us hide in darkness, burnt our people on stakes of fire, and so I curse you and all your kind to the same fate. You shall always have to hide away in the darkness. The sun and fire will be your nemesis...” Blood spurts from Catherine’s mouth as she tries to continue her speech, her body quivering hard under the onslaught of the wind. The red mist around her disappears, and as she falls to her knees the last she sees is a red sun rising up above the dark clouds, and then darkness.

“Black Crimson has an extremely distinctive style. If you have someone else paint for him, it’s just going to be written off as a fake.” “No,” Hayden assured him. “It’s not.” When everyone merely frowned, confused, I groaned and rolled my eyes, willing him not to stick out his own neck or admit anything stupid. “No way,” I told him, slashing out a hand. “I’m not down with that plan.” But he didn’t have to say anything. Because Camille suddenly gasped. “Oh my God,” she murmured, gaping between me and Hayden with sudden realization. “Black Crimson isn’t just one person. You guys are like the Brothers Hildebrandt.” She spun to address my brother. “Aren’t you?”

Neera stood in her balcony, the skyline behind her glowing gold and steel. The letter burned quickly in the fireproof dish she kept for other purposes — evidence disposal, mostly. She watched it curl and blacken until nothing but ash remained. Kieran Renzaro’s offer — his arrogant, polished, impossible offer — was reduced to smoke. And she didn’t flinch. She wouldn’t play his game. Wouldn’t be someone’s pawn, no matter how shiny the paycheck or how seductive the power behind it. She wasn’t for sale.

"Tell me all you know of Amara." Thalia begins to explain, her voice steady and filled with conviction. "Amara is unique, King Badan. I believe she is a hybrid—half wolf or lycan, mixed with witch's blood. If my suspicions are correct, she is the last descendant of the Crimson pack, making her royalty. It seems that she was bound as a baby to hide the immense power she holds within, and her counterpart was bound to never surface."

Death draws me towards it like we have been attached with an unbreakable string. Maybe it's just a superpower in which I get the last chance to save the person in front of me or maybe it’s a curse. Particularly a Crimson curse, as I like to call it. Through the years the number of deaths I have seen is greater than my age. You would think that death doesn't affect me anymore. You are right to think that because that is what I had thought until 5 days ago.

“We confirmed it. The Revenant took the contract. The one assassin everyone was terrified of. The one no one sees coming.” I let out a sharp breath and turned away, staring out the window. Moscow glowed beneath us, golden lights hiding rotting bones. “How the hell did he get to him?” I muttered. “That place was a fucking fortress.” “She’s a ghost,” Alek said quietly. “No pattern. No signature. She picks her kills like a god picks storms.” “She?” He nodded. “Her real name’s Amara Voss. Used to work under a few aliases; Russian, Italian, Middle Eastern. Never caught. Never seen. Just bodies and flames in her wake.”

The stench of cordite and copper ink still clung to the silk wall coverings of the grand salon, but the blood had been sanitized. Two junior enforcers had scrubbed the parquet floor with industrial bleach, leaving a pale, chemical halo where Enzo Vanni’s head had rested less than twenty minutes ago. Outside, the pre-dawn sky had bruised into a dark, suffocating purple, the storm over Lake Como slowly exhausting its kinetic fury into a thick, low-hanging fog.

Moore asks. I use the link hoping that Jamie will naturally answer for me. “He says that before leaving Crimson Dawn Alpha Black gave him one milligram of sublingual Ativan. Half takes the edge off, one helps him sleep.” Jamie doesn’t fail to relay my message. “What are your names?” “I’m Jamison Williams and he’s Cole Redmen.” Jamie answers easily as we slowly make our way across the room. “What are your ranks?” It seems rank means a lot to this pack. “The seat he wants you in is right behind you. All you have to do is sit.”

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."

I left some of the wounds bandaged as I also treated the bruises on my face. I inhaled deeply, hoping it would help ease the pain for just a few minutes. My body remained stationary in the same position for a while before the pain subsided, and I was able to stand up, returning the first aid kit. Opening the second cupboard revealed an impressive collection: emerald green, black, champagne, ruby red, and pale blue dresses, each uniquely crafted with luxurious fabrics, intricate details, and dazzling embellishments.