Crimson Mask Novels & Stories

“The colors are orange and black, which would indicate Halloween, but there are hearts on it with ‘I LUV U’ and ‘BE MINE’ on them, which are Valentine’s Day candies.” Zane frowned and nodded. “And that mask over there, it’s got playing cards on it, which would indicate it’s for a gambling or casino theme, but it’s also got a Red Cross on it, which makes no sense.” “I’ve donated to the Red Cross,” he said absently. “Not the Moon Cross?” I asked, which basically did the same thing as the Red Cross, but for werewolves. “Them too.” I looked at another mask and laughed. “Oh dear.”

“She even tried to take her own life.” She struggles in my arms, baring her teeth. “You monster!” I tighten my hold around her neck and she gasps for breath. The elders around yell my name, urging me ‘not kill her' because she definitely knows something, but there's this rage, this insane urge to claw her thumping heart from her small chest. Her eyes start to close. I loosen my hold, my voice extremely calm. “Tell me what you know about the Crimson Masquerade.” Lancelot’s calm voice cuts through the air. “It’s nothing new, Alpha. It's a cursed banquet or celebration they have every decade. Due to how secretive they are, no one knows much about it.”

Her smile was carved in cold precision, lips painted the color of blood remembered. “You always did underestimate me,” Valentina said softly. “You thought fire would cleanse. But fire only transforms.” Bianca’s dagger trembled once then steadied. “You’re a ghost wearing flesh.” “Perhaps. Or perhaps I’m the consequence of your unfinished sins.” Behind Valentina, shadows moved figures cloaked in crimson. Their masks were carved in the likeness of serpents devouring their own tails. The Crimson Pact is alive, reborn, and loyal to her.

I hurried towards it. The bodies turned out to be witches from smaller covens. I knew immediately that they were the missing ones. As I turned around to call for help, a hand grabbed me from the clump, making me squeal hard. I looked down at the owner of the hand and at the face screamed once, long. Her face was mangled beyond recognition and only strips of skin were on her hand, showing the bones and lots of blood. “Shkk- she- very strong. Brown mask. Disappear w- wi- tth cu- cu- rrrsed- ones.” She hissed, blood gurgling from her mouth. She fell back, her bloody hand trailing blood down my hand.

Then humanity needed to change with it. At first, Husen worked alongside them willingly. He believed they were searching for a cure. For months they studied ancient blood samples preserved beneath the station. The samples behaved unlike anything known. They regenerated damaged tissue. They repaired cells. They adapted to foreign organisms instead of rejecting them. The researchers named it...Crimson Blood. Husen warned them repeatedly. "We don't understand it." Their answer never changed. "We'll never understand it if we're afraid to touch it."

He had known all along that their family was tied to something supernatural, something dangerous. The journal revealed the existence of a hidden society.—The Crimson Circle—a secretive group that operated in the shadows, monitoring supernatural activity and protecting the balance between realms. Her parents had been members, tasked with guarding a powerful artifact that kept the veil intact. But there was more. Lysandra flipped to a page where her father had drawn a detailed family tree. Her name was connected by a red line that spanned centuries. At the bottom of the page, her father had written: You are the last of the line, Lysandra. The prophecy is tied to you. When the time comes, you m

(Derek's POV) The silver-enhanced ceremonial mask felt heavy in my hands, its weight symbolic of the burden I now carried. I traced my fingers over the gold-trimmed edges, feeling each intricate pack symbol etched into its surface. This mask represented more than just my alter ego—it was freedom from the constraints of being Derek Silverstone, heir to a corrupted pack legacy. Tonight, I would become justice itself. I slipped the mask over my face, feeling the familiar sensation of wolfsbane-infused material against my skin. The ancient symbols I had painted on my neck burned slightly, activating the power-masking enchantment that would prevent other wolves from sensing my true alpha presence

Zafira's red teary eyes again brimmed with tears, "This is my end. End of my life. End of my freedom. End of my love. End of Azrael's CRIMSON" ... Thank you ShineeSunshine ♥️

He hadn’t fully understood what that meant until now. Everywhere he looked, the ultra-elite were shedding their daytime restraint. In a shadowed corner near the main salon bar, a statuesque redhead in a feathered gold mask had her back pressed against the wall while a man in a black-on-black suit—Ken recognized him as a prominent hedge fund manager—kissed her throat with open-mouthed hunger. His hand moved under her long dress, fingers working skillfully as she bit her lip to stifle a moan. No one around them batted an eye. This was the Hamptons after dark. At this hidden mask party, the rules dissolved with the champagne.

Mom rarely swore, but when she did, it was comedy gold. “Thanks, Mom,” I whispered, pulling away and sliding my white mask over my face. It was beautifully crafted: two silver wolves howling at the moon etched into the forehead, with thin black detailing that traced the cheekbones. The mask made me feel different—stronger, bolder. Like maybe I could fake bravery for one night. “I’m going to find Alpha and Luna Silvermane,” she said, squeezing my hand once before disappearing into the crowd. And just like that, the warmth of her touch vanished.