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The Art Of Dying

The Art Of Dying

Willow added. The intercom crackled. "Welcome to The Crimson Hunt! Our most challenging world yet! Specially designed for our favorite troublemakers!" The cheerful voice took on a darker edge. "The Hunters have been tracking deadies for millennia. They've never failed. You'll be their first failure... or their next meal. Either way, it'll be entertaining! Now RUN!" The bus doors exploded outward. We were thrown into the darkness, hitting wet ground that smelled like blood and decay. I scrambled to my feet. The bus was already gone, disappeared into the fog. Around us, the red eyes were moving. Getting closer.
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GAME OF ALPHAS

GAME OF ALPHAS

“The Crimson wolves have always been in the FireHeart pack, because their flames and uniqueness comes from the same flames that emanate from the crimson throne.” “Can I ask a question, Doctor?” Minister Blackthorn asked suddenly. “You may.” “You spoke about survival of the fittest, how sure are you that the crimson rogue we showed you is not actually a crimson wolf but a generated one?” “The eyes,” Doctor Monroe said, his smile stretching. “The eyes never lie. A crimson wolf is made crimson because of its distinctive red color. This distinctive color is shown both on the fur, the eyes and hair. They have a characteristic pale white skin like snow. That is the characteristic of a crimson. If
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A Love Worth Fighting For

A Love Worth Fighting For

The joint patrols, once a source of friction, now moved with a practiced ease, each warrior anticipating the actions of their partner, regardless of pack affiliation. One particularly harrowing encounter involved a Crimson Fang ambush during a nighttime foraging expedition. A group of Silvermoon hunters, venturing beyond the established perimeter, stumbled upon a concealed Crimson Fang patrol. The ensuing battle was brutal, the air thick with the stench of blood and the screams of the dying. Initially, panic threatened to overwhelm the Silvermoon warriors, their superior numbers seeming insignificant against the Crimson Fang’s vicious ferocity. But then, a ShadowClan patrol, alerted by the s
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The Hunter's Trial

The Hunter's Trial

Ramsy boasted. Delta Ramsy mustered little heed to Higgins' pitiful state as the spat to the soon to-be corpse in his wake. Hunters were members of the resistance, who were mostly humans that had their only goal to be liberating their people and domineering the greater mass of carnivorous beast that desired to usurp any attempts they made to establish a system like theirs or breed enough to try. Higgins' life was dangling on a thin thread, his hands laid across the two ends of the baracade by chains anchored to his wrists and a weakened resolve from that death that just insisted on taking its time before truly drawing the life out of him.
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Hunter's Mark

Hunter's Mark

Addie said. The demon laughed "Well she has some guts now doesn’t she." Rainn pushed Addie behind him and said, “Well, I thought I'd get to explain everything to you before you would see me in my hunter form, but I can't take these guys on like this." Addie watched in amazement as both Rainn and Liam changed into what looked like skeletons shimmering over them, their coats now looked tattered. Rainn had a purple glow around him, but Liams was blue. "Now we are talking", the leader says. “Hunters let me tell you the name of the demon that is finally going to kill you both."
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Breeder or Mate: The Crimson Threshold

Breeder or Mate: The Crimson Threshold

A collective gasp rippled through the study, the weight of impending doom pressing down on us all with renewed force. “Damn that Jermain!” King Brad bellowed, the force of his fury making the very table tremble beneath his clenched fist. “He has now kidnapped fifteen more she-wolves! Fifteen! From Silver Bow and Blue Moon. Alpha Zenic is beyond himself with grief and unbridled rage, that scumbag has also taken his daughter. Alpha Jack has already mobilized his forces. He stands ready at the border, waiting for Zenic’s command to strike Woodcrest beside him, prepared to unleash a storm of vengeance that will leave nothing untouched.
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The Wolf Hunters

The Wolf Hunters

“Look, I don’t want to have to hurt you. It’s clear we have some knowledge of what’s going on which means that some of you have already talked (Lie) and since you haven’t seen any of your fellow rogues back in your pack, it means the ones that didn’t talk were killed and the ones that did have been protected enough to be safe from the rest of you. So I ask again, who is leading you and why are you here?” “You’re lying!” he shouted back. “Nobody could talk,” he says as he starts to slightly tremble. “What has got you so afraid that you would risk all of this pain and torture just to keep someone else’s secret?” “Who says there’s a secret? I was just talking to a hunter before he flipped out a
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The Crimson Curse

The Crimson Curse

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.
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Hunting Her Hunters

Hunting Her Hunters

I hollered as I shifted to hunt down the bastards. Carson quickly caught the first two and eliminated them. The stupid assholes had thought coming back together half a mile from the clearing was going to help them. We crept through the forest silently, searching for the last rogue. We scouted the forest for hours and had just picked up its scent when a frantic call echoed through the forest. We froze misstep, trying to pick it up again if it was uttered again. Moments later a low-pitched bird call followed by a rapid, stressful one. Fuck. We looked around anxiously. ‘Falcon, hunters are here. What do we do?’
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The Hunted Hunter

The Hunted Hunter

They’ll want to check the wreckage to confirm I’m not inside. Keeping low to the ground, I hurried away from the crash as the hunters pulled up, hooting and hollering like the demented Americans they are. Now I don’t mean to say all Americans are demented. But the American hunters are an uncouth sort that takes a weird joy in killing, things being on fire, and vehicles getting into accidents. Whatever the case, their joyful hoots and hollers that I might be dead and arguments about who gets to take credit gave me time to get away. I hurried to the nearest neighborhood to search for a car to take.
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Lagz
I love how your books are connected with each other and yet can be read as a stand alone. Your stories make me either laugh out loud or cry and I'm all for it. Really looking forward to the next chapters PS: almost dropped my phone when I realised that Her Second Chance Mate may be about Holly
Minuit
When I first heard about this story I really wasn’t sure if it was going to be up my alley. However as Author Bryant does I was hooked with in the first few chapters. With each new chapter I fell more and more in love with this story. Dani and Khalid’s story is Beautifully Unexpected! A must Read!
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Frequently Asked Questions

The Crimson Hunters are one of those factions in Warhammer 40k that just ooze style and mystery. They're an Aeldari Corsair fleet, but not your typical pirates—these guys are all about the hunt, the thrill of the chase, and the artistry of combat. What really sets them apart is their connection to Khaine, the Aeldari god of war. Unlike Craftworld Aeldari, who try to keep their emotions in check to avoid Slaanesh, the Crimson Hunters lean into their violent passions, seeing battle as a form of worship. Their ships are painted blood-red, and they’re known for swooping in like predators, picking off isolated Imperial vessels or raiding vulnerable worlds.

What fascinates me most is their philosophy. They don’t just fight for survival or conquest; they see war as a sacred dance. Every kill is an offering to Khaine, and they take trophies from their battles—sometimes whole ships, stripped and repurposed. There’s a poetic brutality to them that feels very different from the cold efficiency of the Drukhari or the rigid discipline of the Craftworlds. They’re like the Aeldari equivalent of berserkers, but with this eerie, almost romantic flair. I love how Games Workshop gives these smaller factions such rich lore—it makes the 40k universe feel vast and alive.

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