Crimson Claws Novels & Stories

Clop. From the crimson depths of the forest, three silhouettes emerged, silhouetted against the dying embers of my magma fire. They were massive, clad in ornate, blood-stained silver armor that seemed to pulse with a heartbeat of its own. They rode nightmarish steeds—beasts of shadow and exposed bone, their eyes glowing with the same corrupted red light as the Progenitors. "The Crimson Knights," Valerius hissed, his voice trembling as he leaned against a charred pine. "The Sires' personal executioners. They don't track by scent, Killian. They track by the resonance of your soul."

She quickly fixed herself, and then they got out of the car together. A dozen armed men and women appeared before them. Each had the Crimson Clan symbol branded on the part of their clothing or tattooed on their body. It was two letter C's surrounded by a thorny and bleeding rose. Even though the guns were not pointed at them, she did not lower her defense. Her eyes were alert, warily scanning the surroundings. They looked like they were in a huge, spacious underground tunnel. There wasn't enough light to see the corners, but she could tell the thick walls were concrete and fortified.

The one who quietly protected our Lycan Clan from attacks or outsiders. I was a fighter. No, not was. Am. I am a fighter, and I don’t give up. I was given a gift, a gift so dark and powerful I had been afraid to use it for fear that it would consume me. Peering over Crimson's shoulder, I see Tobias and Lyric fight against the Zombified dark soldiers, I look past them to see my mate. My heart stops and I hold my breath, gripping Crimson's forearms I watch, almost in slow motion, Lamia hit back at the towering god. Kellen works with her striking blow after blow as they move around him, attempting to distract his attention and leave him open and vulnerable.

Crimson let out a sharp, pathetic grunt, stumbling backward into a row of wooden chairs as thick crimson blood instantly sprayed from his nostrils, covering his mouth and chin. He snarled, his eyes flashing a dangerous, bright amber as his inner wolf violently pushed to the surface, and he lunged back at me in a blind rage. We crashed hard into the solid stone wall, a brutal, chaotic scuffle breaking out as the other Alphas jumped out of their chairs to get out of the way. Crimson managed to get a tight grip on the lapels of my jacket, trying to use his weight to throw me down to the floor, but I quickly caught him by the throat, using my momentum to slam him hard against the massive stone p

Hundreds. They slithered and clawed their way out of the crimson sea, their dead, milk-white eyes fixed on the cliffside above. They didn't carry weapons. Their hands ended in jagged, ossified blades of black bone, and the sound of their claws scraping against the wet shale sounded like a thousand knives being sharpened in the dark. "Jesus Christ," one of the mercenaries whimpered, backing up a step, his finger trembling violently against the trigger of his rifle. "Those aren't men. Those are monsters..."

I could tell they were the makeup artists Aunt Malisa had mentioned, as they entered my room and set several sleek cases beside me. With a soft click, they opened one case, revealing rows of shimmering eyeshadows, blushes in warm and cool tones, and lipstick tubes in shades ranging from soft pinks to daring reds. Brushes of all shapes and sizes lay nestled in their compartments, each one looking as if it could transform someone with a single stroke.

But that didn’t make it any easier. Pain ripped through me in waves, fire scorching my veins. My spine twisted, lengthening with a sickening crack. My ribs expanded, pressing against my lungs, forcing a guttural snarl from my throat. My fingers contorted, nails splitting, reforming into sharp claws. I clawed at the ground, but my hands—no, my paws—tore through the dirt. My jaw stretched, snapping into place with fangs aching to tear, to hunt, to own the night.

With a thought, the infromation organized itself and, in her minds eye, now appeared a digital window; [SUMMARY] Name: Nya Crimson Age: 19 Condition: Standard Alias: N/A Titles: N/A Classification: Omen Species: High Vampire Rank: N/A Phantasm: Blood Reaper; ability to assimilate abilities from the blood matter of other beings. [Notice: You have been designated a 'Special Existence; REGIS' whose choices may shape the fate of the cosmos. More information will be available at a later point.] She read the details on the window intently, she didn't know how, but she knew that this window was now part of a much grander network that she had access to.

When she finally felt the root frequency lock she sat back and realized her hands were shaking slightly. Edric watched her. "The Claw is the most volatile of the four." "Is it always like that or is it responding to me specifically." "Shadow artifacts respond to shadow magic practitioners with either resonance or resistance depending on the practitioner's alignment." He paused carefully. "The Claw is resisting you because it was made to hold shadow magic in, not let it run through." "And the Crimson Tooth." Edric was quiet for a moment too long again. "Edric." "The Crimson Tooth is Bloodfang's artifact," he said. "It responds to Alpha blood and bonded Luna blood. For you specifically it will

A color that only belong to Bloodmoon wolfs. The red of the Blood Moon. And then my claws, white, gleaming, almost silver, glowing faintly with a quiet divine light. The unmistakable mark of the Moonveil. Ancient. Pure. Lost. A hybrid wolf of two royal lines. I didn’t have time to think.