Crimson Corsair Novels & Stories

"Call Christmas, tell him his presents are on it's way." Time flew so fast while they are driving. Rig was in charge of driving the truck and Duke insisted to be his wingman, they never trust Duke to drive any kind of vehicle, he'll either get caught by not following the road laws or crash it in someone's diner. While him, he drove himself with his favorite black Mercedes, followed by 4 more black Ford cars behind them. His men, just making sure that if Christmas doesn't go with their agreement, he'll make a war between them.

Behind them sailed the Crimson Court’s ancient, reinforced war galleons, their black sails bearing the silver crest of the bleeding bat, looking like ghost ships emerging from the endless fog. The masquerade was fully dead. The wolves and the leeches were marching to war, and the world was watching in terrified silence. I stood on the bow of the lead icebreaker, the Blackwood Harbinger. The sub-zero wind lashed against my face, smelling of pure ozone and dead sea. I didn't need a heavy coat; the First Crown hummed within my veins, recognizing the extreme cold not as a threat, but as an ally.

The royal cutters weren't the only ones who played at costume. "Corsair," Jas said. "Bought papers, sold morals." "Good manners, bad ideas," Kade agreed. "Let him think Nightjar's the only coin in his pocket." We flattened our silhouette into less than nothing. Nightjar luffed a hair, letting the corsair take her scent. The corsair obliged, easing into Nightjar's wake as if invited to supper. "Greed'll do our work," Jas said. "Greed gets hungry," Kade said. "We feed it later."

The high-pitched shriek of the proximity alarms was so piercing it felt like it was carving through the ear drums of everyone present. On the primary radar array, twelve distinct silhouettes emerged from the depths, closing in with a speed that defied conventional naval physics. As the high-definition imaging systems locked onto the lead vessel, the logo painted across its conning tower became visible—a massive, charcoal-black rose. In the sharp, clinical clarity of the cameras, the rose looked almost alive; its petals seemed to drip with fresh blood, and the thorny stems wrapped around the hull like a constricting serpent.

The Sun’s Fury was a warship built for speed and violence. Its hull was plated in gold-flecked steel, and its sails caught the relentless tropical wind, driving us deeper into the Dragon's Tooth Archipelago. I stood at the prow, the salt spray stinging my face. I was back in uniform, not my Onyx General’s blacks, but a lightweight linen tunic and trousers Kaelen had provided, dyed a deep crimson. A borrowed sword hung at my hip.

she added seriously and I did a mock salute “aye captain” After my shower, I went back to my office for some work. I had to send out messages to the three packs ahead of my visitation. And not only that what was the Crimson Order? Sounds to me like a group of rogues trying to form some semblance of a pack. That could not be good. Rogues were abominations, cast out of the pack as a result of heinous crimes committed. When they join together they would do nothing bu lead to a ruckus. But first one thing at a time, I had to fucking find the light or whatever, as the seer had said.

But at the moment, I’d much rather be involved with bringing down a werewolf-run drug running operation instead of a vampire-inflicted human homicide bordering pack lands. “Detective Fergeson, it’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry it has to be under these conditions.” I say, turning to shake his hand. “I’m Alpha Scarlett, the Alpha of the Crimson Snow Pack and these,” I point to Bree and Dax, “these are my Gamma and Lead Warrior, Bree and Dax.” Motioning to the others, I tell him, “this is Blake, Serafina, Theo and Conan, four more of my warriors. And this is Tasha and Channing, two of my trackers. Channing is the one who found the deceased.” I hear someone clearing their throat near me. “Oh, for

Her fingers traced the deep crimson silk with something like reverence, and I found myself holding my breath as she examined details I'd spent hours perfecting with the seamstress. "It's beautiful," she said quietly, lifting the dress to catch the light. "But crimson... that's significant, isn't it? In your world, colors mean things." Your world. As if she still saw herself as separate from it, a visitor rather than someone who might choose to stay. But the fact that she understood the symbolic weight of what I was offering sent hope racing through my veins. "Crimson is the pack's color," I admitted, my voice rougher than intended. "It represents... belonging. Family. Those who are claimed a

Years without our mate was enough to drive him crazy, and now she was here. This is gonna be one complicated mess... I've spent years protecting my identity as my parents warned me to. Not letting anyone know about me. My kind had been hunted down hundred years ago by the royal families and you were the last of them. We were their mortal enemies because a werewolf was said to be the only being strong enough to strong a royal blood in Aysgarth. What would the boys think when they realized that their best friend was indeed their family's mortal enemy? And worse what would they do when they find out that I'm mated to their precious sister? ...

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.