Crimson Hunters Novels & Stories

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.

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?’

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.

“Then it’s not just showing me what’s happened. It’s showing me what will.” Theo reached beside the table again and pulled out a second item from the leather folder. It was slim, bound in deep red linen, the corners worn with time. He hesitated before handing it to her. Her breath caught the moment she saw the title: The Crimson Letter By Isla Ward She stared at it, her hand hovering. “Where did you get this?” “I found it last year,” Theo said quietly. “Tucked behind the books in the library’s upper shelf. I didn’t know what it was at first. Just that it felt… wrong.”

"An assassin." "There are more," Vida's voice rang out. "Three at least. They're glamoured to look like Pack members." As if summoned by her words, three figures dropped their disguises. Where ordinary wolves had stood, now there were Hunters—dressed in black, armed with silver weapons. "Protect the Luna!" Marcus roared. Warriors shifted into wolf form. The Hunters attacked. And I stood at the center of it all, covered in my first victim's blood, knowing with absolute certainty that someone inside the Pack had let them in.

Lucien stood before his warriors beneath a sky stripped bare of stars. No banners marked their ranks. No lamplights burned to announce their presence. The Crimson Blood Pack did not need light to see what waited ahead. They were the darkness. Hundreds stood in perfect, unnerving silence… wolves and soldiers shaped by endless war, bodies armored in blackened steel scarred by old slaughters. Red eyes glimmered faintly in the gloom, not with fear… but with hunger patiently restrained.

A high-definition camera and a glaring LED light hung beneath each drone that was flying into the factory. They were from the "Hunters" who had accepted the fifty-thousand-dollar quest. Almost at the same time, police sirens sounded from the outside. Red and blue lights flooded the factory. Flashes from the reporters' cameras captured the panicked faces of Frank and his bodyguards. I looked at Frank, who had been pinned hard to the ground by several police officers. He was still roaring like a madman.

The chemical blue of the vanguard’s torches cast long, skeletal shadows against the wet rock face, turning the narrow mountain trail into a trap. The sleet froze as it hit the black armor of Cassian's hunters, who stood in a flawless geometric line, their execution crossbows leveled directly at Marcus's chest.

Born of three bloods, raised in disguise, The forgotten one will rise. Four princes will hunt, four hearts will claim, But only one will speak her true name. In the academy where lambs are led, The hunter shall become the hunted instead.* My hands trembled as I pushed the journal away. "This is crazy." "This is your destiny," Nana corrected. "And now that you've been selected for Crimson Moon Academy, it's begun." "I won't go," I said firmly. "I'll refuse. I'll run away."

Jeremy frightenedly looked from Jack to Mike and Nick, who, hushed on the couch, were afraid to make any movement now, so as not to attract the attention of the leader. - Do you even realize what you've done? Jack asked, lowering his voice to a low but menacing growl. Jeremy was silent. But his brother answered for him. - Crimson dawn means not only that the wolf died. But also the fact that he was killed by the Hunter! Now put the facts together, Jer! How many years has the Hunter been gone? A little over a century. And now, more than a day ago, you are talking to him, reminding him who he is and showing him your essence. After that, you slightly "crumpled" him and left, leaving him alive.