Novel & Cerita Crimson Lace

“Move, Verena. Attend to your wound.” “But Lorcan…” I slouch to him. “You-” “Please, my love.” He closes his eyes tightly, gasping like a fish out of water. “Please attend to your wound. Please move to your room.” “But what’s happening to you?” Now I feel bad for pulling this entire stunt. He is trembling like a newborn fawn. “You do not seem alright. We should go to the hospital-” Before I can complete my sentence, the scene that unfolds in front of me leaves me breathless. He opens his eyes. His usual iris is now blood red. His chest heaves in short breaths. The look in his eyes is completely replaced by that of a bloodthirsty predator.

Joshua thinks that he wouldn't be that surprised if he starts to form wrinkles on his forehead and be deaf from listening to Leo's endless bleating like a goat. "I'm sorry, I don't follow. Who is Crystal Mayhem?" Joshua Brenner is quite a liar. He knows who is Crystal Mayhem, and it was only a coincidence that she happen to rent a room in his building for a week because of her work. And as Joshua Brenner see it as an opportunity for his "annoying" friend, he sent him to do the room service and this happened, just another normal day of being a good listener to his "worker's" fuss.

Camela’s dress, still adorned with silk threads, began to absorb her blood, turning the white lace into a red hue that faintly glowed. She stood frozen in terror as she felt a wave of fear wash over her, realizing that the threads weren't merely pieces of fabric; they were alive. They tightened around her chest and crept up toward her throat. “No…no, not again…” she murmured. Her father’s voice drifted through the air. “Daughter, don’t fight it. Lace is a memory. Lace is a gift. With enough blood, it will keep you strong.” The lace pulsed in response. For a brief moment, the bindings around her wrists loosened slightly while the flowers hissed in disapproval.

"Too modest. It hides the shape of your legs. Next." The second was a backless crimson lace. It was stunning, vibrant, and made me look like a queen. But when I turned around, I saw Adrian’s jaw tighten. He rose from the chair and walked toward me, his hand reaching out to hook into the lace of the neckline. He pulled it just enough to see the fading mark on my collarbone. "The color is right," he whispered, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. "But it's too busy. The lace distracts from what’s underneath. I want something that looks like it's barely there. Something that reminds me of the desk."

Icran bent down, picked up the gown and stretched it out for Rhae to look at. The gown had a lace bodice that stretched over the shoulders and curled down into long, tight sleeves. The gown stretched out in multiple layers from the waist down, spanning from a deep red colour to a washed-out white at the bottom. It was a soft and silky fabric, seemingly like waterfalls cascading down from the waist. The lace was a deep red, inlaid with golden jewels. “It’s revolting.” Rhae growled, attempting to hide her awe at the beauty of the dress. Rhae would never wear something that restricting. No escape would be made in a gown like this.

Her hair was a river of shadows — black with hints of violet and wine - red gloss, curling like dark lava alive with promise and warning. She created chaos and destruction in the mortal world like a shadow slipping through cracks — silent, unseen until everything shattered around her. She whispered promises to greedy hearts, her beauty a weapon sharper than any blade. Mortals fell for it every time. Their eyes locked onto her like moths to a flame, drawn by the impossible allure of her face — too perfect, too captivating to be real. They didn't see the poison beneath the skin, didn't sense the hunger twisting in her smile.

Her gaze dropped to her neck. At first, she didn’t recognize what she was seeing. The pale skin around her collarbone was marked by something that hadn’t been there before. A small, almost imperceptible birthmark—a crescent-shaped pattern—sat nestled just above her skin, hidden under the folds of her shirt. She rubbed it with her thumb, trying to make sense of it, but the sensation only intensified. Her skin seemed to burn where the mark touched, sending a cold shiver of unease down her spine. Lysandra quickly covered the mark, her heart racing in her chest. It was impossible. She had no memory of ever seeing it before, and yet, it felt oddly familiar—like a piece of her had been lost and wa

I said coldly. A lie. A stupid, self-protecting lie. Because I could still feel the ghost of his touch from last night. His hands on my hips like he owned them, his mouth dragging power from mine. And I’d hated how my body responded. How it remembered. How it burned. Ms. Sterling raised an eyebrow. “This black lace is hand-embroidered. Italian. Symbolic. Timeless.” "Take it away and bring me something in a different color" I stared at the gowns not speaking. The stylist hovered nerby, sensing blood in the water, but not sure whose it would be.

A single raise of an eyebrow had me dropping them again and even though I was a vampire, I could feel my self shivering. He nodded at my gown. ''You should get dressed.'' I tried to pull up the gown but Clarrisa had made me wear a gown that was two sizes too small she had brought from heaven-knows-where. He dragged a hand through his hair, the first sign of fraustration I had seen from him. ''If you can't put on the damn gown then leave it and come and sit over here. You and I are going to have a long talk -- nothing I haven't already seen.'' He added, his eyes raking through my bare skin and making my face heat once again as he locked the door and pocketed the key.