Crimson Thorns Novels & Stories

The face and prestige of the Thorne family were known throughout the city and beyond. After enquiring at the reception, he was directed to Jessica Willows, who had been sent in in the early hours of the morning. Getting there, Ann was seated there, worry and concern etching every corner of her face. But they were both unfamiliar to themselves. Except that Ann recognized Liam Thorne of the Thornes. “... Excuse me. Is this the ward for Jessica Willows?” He asked firmly. “... Yes.” She replied curtly. Liam, without waiting another Second, swung the door open.

Alpha Jermain’s face tightened as he finally began his dark rituals. He positioned a small table, already laden with all the necessary items, directly before Lilias. Swiftly, he took a ceremonial blade and made a precise cut across the palm of Lilias’s hand. A gasp escaped the woman, more from shock than pain, as bright red blood welled up and slowly began to drip into an ancient goblet he held beneath. The Alpha watched intently as the crimson droplets fell, his eyes bulging triumphantly.

Rose thought. Before noon, Madame Gruage and the savage highlander had arrived. Rose should stop saying savage, as he really wasn’t. She invited them all in for lunch repast before starting lessons. They were grateful as it had been a long ride. His name was Cain McDonald, he was a huge man and definitely would scare any simple miss but kind and gentle. It was hilarious to watch him drink tea with his pinky extended and his huge hands holding the cutlery and napkins to dab the corners of his mouth! So refined, yet she could tell by his scars on his arms and the nasty one along the side of his cheek that he was not to be messed with. This man had seen his share of war and fighting. Cain was t

“Yeah, I guess,” “We talking about Mateball?” Kairos and Maximus snapped their heads up to look at the door to Kairos’s room. Lounging against the door frame was Thorne. His bleach blonde hair had been freshly washed and toned. It stood out against his deep olive skin. He wore thick black rimmed glasses over his honey-gold eyes. “Yeah,” Kairos said. “You going? You taking History of Wolves or The Last Great Queen this year?” “Har, har,” Thorne rolled his eyes. “I’m taking no one. Unlike you two, I’m trying to not piss off the Queen.”

Wolves in chalked sigils hurled themselves at us, grinning like martyrs. I snapped one’s neck, used his skull as a hammer for the next. Garron put a round through a kneecap, then the throat it belonged to. Kade came from a side tunnel, shotgun roaring punctuation meat and faith repainted on stone. The sanctum opened like a mouth. Skulls mortared into the altar. Bowls of blood vibrating to the chant. Thorne stood before it, robe torn, veins threaded silver, eyes hollowed by light. He looked holy the way fire does to the desperate.

They would cross a threshold this night, surrendering the last of their solitary selves to something greater: the eternal bond of the pack. A fire blazed at the heart of the clearing, its sparks lifting like stars trying to return to the sky. Each initiate cut their palm with a ritual blade, the crimson dripping onto the sacred stone set before the Alpha. The flames leapt higher with every drop, as if fed by the promise of loyalty itself.

My legs buckled, but they held me between them, half-dragging me toward the entrance. "Let's get her inside. She'll make quite the party favor." The doors of Crimson Thorn swallowed me whole. Inside, the club was a fever dream of red and black. The air was thick with expensive perfume, cigarette smoke. Everywhere I looked, power dripped from the walls. Men in tailored suits lounged on leather sofas, surrounded by women in barely-there dresses. Private booths lined the perimeter, their occupants hidden behind sheer curtains. In the shadows, I caught glimpses of things I couldn't process—restraints, blindfolds, figures bent in submission.

The maid knocked. "Enter," Kieran's voice came from inside. My heart was pounding so hard I thought everyone could hear it. I walked in. The door closed behind me with a soft click. The room was huge. A dining room with a long fancy table. Candles everywhere. Crystal glasses. Everything screamed money. Kieran Thorne was sitting at the head of the table. He stood up when I walked in. He wore a Black suit. His Hair was perfectly styled. He looked like he belonged in a magazine.

They cut off a retreating group of Damion’s men, trapping them against the walls. Thorne’s forces joined soon after, completing the encirclement. The tide had turned hard. Damion’s warriors were falling faster now, morale cracking under our coordinated assault. I could taste victory, but the real prize was ahead, and that was the nursery. Chrysantha appeared on an upper landing, her face twisting in hatred. She donated a chunk of black magic where we stood, and it poured from her hands in thick, oily strands. They snaked down, wrapping around legs and arms, draining strength and causing howls of pain. One of Ethan’s warriors dropped, gasping.

That night they called for “Web of Thorns.” The sanctuary torches burned low and menacing. The air was thick, humid, and heavy with coconut oil, jasmine, sea salt, warm leaking milk, and the sharp, dangerous edge of two bloodlines circling for dominance. Over one hundred bodies filled the space. The encrypted global stream surged past 61 million viewers.