Novel & Cerita Crimson Rangers

Ronan coughed, eyes burning. Lyra dragged him out into the moonlight. And saw them. A war pack. Crimson Fangs. Ten. Maybe more. Forming a perimeter around the ruins with torches and guns and gleaming silver blades. A voice shouted: “We want the girl.” Ronan stood in front of her. “Over my dead body.” The Crimson Fang Alpha stepped forward, his grin sharp. “That’s the idea.”

I saw the uniforms before I even saw their faces. The yellow, red, purple and blue were even more striking out here under the open sky and the floodlights than they had looked in the changing room basket. They came out in their full kit — shoulder pads stacked wide beneath the jerseys, helmets tucked under arms, cleats hitting the grass with that particular weight that came from guys built for contact sport. The uniform was supposed to be the Royal Rangers' signature blue and white. What it was instead was something that looked like it had been designed by someone who had never watched a football game but had a lot of strong feelings about colour theory. "Soar into the victory, Rangers!" The

However, a new threat emerged from the shadows – whispers of a rogue pack, operating independently, yet somehow connected to the Crimson Fang’s machinations. This rogue pack, known only as the Shadow Stalkers, remained elusive, their movements swift and silent. They struck with brutal efficiency, targeting isolated outposts and supply lines, disrupting the fragile peace that had settled over the land. Their methods were different from the Crimson Fang’s frontal assaults; their attacks were calculated and precise, suggesting a high level of tactical skill and an intimate knowledge of the terrain. The few survivors of their attacks spoke of terrifying speed, almost supernatural agility, and a

"I, Jason Crimson, Alpha of Crimson Moon pack, accept you Ariana Harrison, as my mate!"

Raymond’s POV The first thing that struck me was the sound. The arena was alive with it—rolling waves of voices, cries, growls, chants, all mixing together until it no longer sounded like language, but like the roar of a storm. I stood just behind Jude’s platform, half-hidden in the shadows, clutching the railing so tightly my hands ached. The Crimson Arena was vast, carved out of black stone and ringed with fire that burned with unnatural colors—purple, green, and deep crimson. The flames licked upward as though they fed not on oil or wood, but on something living. The smell made me gag.

Their glances spoke volumes, wordlessly communicating their mutual distrust and simmering rivalry. Upon closer inspection, I noticed the distinctive patches adorning their vests, or as Krystal would jokingly refer to them as "cuts." Some displayed the emblem of the Gold Vipers, while others proudly sported the insignia of the Devil's Rangers. The contrasting symbols spoke volumes, hinting at a simmering rivalry that hung heavily in the air, fraught with unspoken tension.

I knew now Amelia had to be telling the truth, there was some obvious power tousle going on in vampire realm between the cultured vampire royalty and these vampires. There was something about the Vampires that had me in their car, that was so uncultured. Their every move spelled rebellion. LA was a shitty place to be when Christopher Rhinehart rulled, I wondered how it would be with this vampires that didn’t even care the least about discretion and what had the one with a gun said? They were soon going to be all over the country.

“Ronan thinks there’s more to it. He suspects a couple of women from another pack are involved, but he doesn’t have proof.” “Proof?” I frown, shocked. “A vampire and a giant wolf literally attacked us. What else does he need?” “The wolf was rogue. No pack ties. But the vampire… we think he’s linked to a vampire faction called The Crimson Court.” Her voice hardens, and that strange glow returns to her eyes. “We don’t know what they want yet. And the rogue didn’t carry ID. No one in the Hollowbane Pack recognized his scent, either. That’s the problem. Rogues are loners. They’re often hired to do dirty jobs anonymously. Even if Ronan accuses the other pack, he needs solid evidence to back it up

Brea’s scream fills the clearing. The clearing degenerates into chaos as some witches turn on their neighbors, catching them unawares as they attack them fatally. Five of the council members attack those nearest to them, taking three council members out of the fight in a matter of seconds. “Dogs!” Green-silver light lashes at some of the traitors, obliteration them into specks of ashes in an instant just as the cursed ones arrives in their hundreds. No comment is given, no questions asked as the two groups attack each other, throwing the clearing into a deeper chaos.

“Black Crimson has an extremely distinctive style. If you have someone else paint for him, it’s just going to be written off as a fake.” “No,” Hayden assured him. “It’s not.” When everyone merely frowned, confused, I groaned and rolled my eyes, willing him not to stick out his own neck or admit anything stupid. “No way,” I told him, slashing out a hand. “I’m not down with that plan.” But he didn’t have to say anything. Because Camille suddenly gasped. “Oh my God,” she murmured, gaping between me and Hayden with sudden realization. “Black Crimson isn’t just one person. You guys are like the Brothers Hildebrandt.” She spun to address my brother. “Aren’t you?”