Crimson Paws Novels & Stories

The word slammed into me again, the same word Sydney had spat at me like an insult I wasn't meant to understand. "What is a Crimson wolf?" The question tore out of me, desperate, hungry for an answer I'd been denied my entire life. "Crimson wolves are omegas — easy to underestimate, easy to overlook at a glance. But their minds move faster and sharper than any other bloodline that's ever existed. That gift made them hunted." Her eyes didn't leave mine. "They were the rarest bloodline the Makasi Moon Pack ever produced." So I wasn't sick. I wasn't cursed. I was the last surviving thread of something ancient and rare.

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.

CRIMSON “Do you know the story of the bloody werewolf rogue that was killed by his alpha? Do you know about that rogue that was hated by all of his pack and all the other packs that no one wanted him at all? Are you familiar with the story, child?” an old woman asked me while giving me a serene smile on her lips.

I now turned to Critsy knowing it had to be said. “Gorm does not lie. Everyone listens, these are good people a good pack that is far stronger than we could ever be because they allow everyone to be who they should be, mate whoever they want to mate.” I watched as his eyes met Claire’s and she quickly put her head down. “There is hope here and love here. We can be happy without ever having to run away again and all we have to do is follow our true alpha, the last true descendant of the red wolves, the Crimson Priestess.” Hushed voices and intense shock swept through almost every single wolf.

I stated, pointing at the Crimson Pack’s emblem that’s in the presentation. Then, I continued, “In that report, you can vividly see evidences pointing that teh Crimson Pack is adding Red Azaleas, an addictive herbs, to the medications they supply over the years. It’s effects are highly dangerous for eveyone as it could make the full grown werewolves addictive and go rogue. As for pups, they would go weak until such time that they will lose their wolves.” Gasped filled the room and I continued. "My dear members. Everyone of you here are someone's parent, someone's grandparent, or you will be a parent one day."

The silence in the room felt tight and endless, making the silent scream in my own throat even louder. “Alpha Jermain!” roared the Crown Prince, a thunderous explosion that shook the very foundations of the room. He half-shifted, his Lycan wolf partially revealing itself, the air around him crackling with barely contained rage. The menace radiating from him was incredible, a force that made the hairs on my arms stand on end.

“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.”

Still, it was enough to show other creatures that we werewolves weren't someone to be messed with. We also invited the Bloody Fangs. The Bloody Fangs was a group of strongest warriors without any ties to the 3 packs. Their most well-known warrior was their leader, The Crimson Warrior, who was also the most blood-lust warrior in the whole Lupo continent. His nickname came from the crimson helmet he kept wearing as he fought. I had heard that the Crimson Warrior himself would attend my ceremony. That made me wonder if he would wear his helmet or not. After all, no one had ever seen his face.

Exactly long enough to make her point and short enough to act like she hadn't. "A Crimson wolf," she said. Not really to me. More like she was thinking out loud. "Born to an Omega line. Do you understand how statistically unlikely that is, Tanya?" "I'm a late bloomer," I said. "The Goddess works in mysterious ways." She gave me a look that said she didn't buy the mysterious part. "The Goddess works in genetics. Crimson fur isn't a color. It's a marker. Ancient enforcer blood. The First Pack's war wolves had it. It hasn't shown up in an Omega line in recorded history. Which tells me your bloodline is more complicated than you're letting on."

It is the comfort blanket I need to cry under. My eyes close with a new inhale. I dredge myself out of terror. I am fighting this war inside my mind, and I have called a cease fire. My lungs bring in smoke. Hold it, one, two, three, four, exhale. Repeat. I feel the tension roll out of my shoulders, the purse of my lips rolls back into neutrality. I am the color gray once again. The explosions of color I was moments before have gone. And I am just gray.