Crimson Ties Novels & Stories

"Are you?" "Yes, just a little wolf problem." "How about your friends?" She had been standing close to a little dark skinned girl which was part of the clan of the Nymphets. All of them with double the outstanding beauty of a vampire. "We are all good." "Okay." The adjudicator returned, holding a flooded red clothe in her hands. "You know I don't like the red robe—" She unfolded it by letting it drop whilst holding the top part of it and I saw that it was actually a red and silver embroidered one arm jacket.

“Then it is the one.” After paying, I headed to the next store. Damien loved ties. Real ties, expensive ties, ties he ironed even when they already looked perfect. He always said a tie completed a man. I browsed for a while before spotting a sleek Zegna tie. Deep navy with the kind of subtle pattern that only someone who paid attention would notice. “This one,” I whispered, running my fingers over the fabric. I bought it and placed both items into a love-designed paper bag, soft cream with delicate red hearts that looked hand-painted. It felt right.

The candles went out. Author’s Note - The Crimson Veil began as a late-night idea about what might happen if logic met temptation in its purest, most dangerous form. Evelyn’s curiosity is my own: the need to understand what we fear, even when it leads us somewhere we can’t easily return from. This story mixes gothic atmosphere, mystery, and forbidden connection—a slow burn between intellect and instinct. Every chapter was written and refined by hand, inspired by old literature and the darker side of human emotion.

Now, though, he headed into the shop the way he’d bolt for the umbrella stand in a downpour. ‘Only to look,’ he told himself. Did ties come with age ranges? He’d always been so afraid of looking like one of his father’s colleagues that he’d gone for bright colors and avoided anything in maroon or with stripes on principle. Had he gone too far? It wasn’t like all his ties featured Disney characters. Maybe Maxima simply didn’t have a sense of humor. Liam pored over the display case of men’s ties. What he saw were paisleys and dots and stripes and ensigns in colors ranging from bright yellow to black.

And that’s when I almost stopped walking. He was wearing crimson, the same deep red color I had on. Gold embroidery on the cuffs and collar. A lion on his chest. A wolf clasp holding his cape. He looked powerful, handsome, enchanted, and hot. He looked like the true King he is. My chest tightened. Tara… What did you do? Did she know he would wear this color? Did she plan it on purpose? We looked like we belonged together. We looked like two pieces of the same crown.

They already turned bright red? My eyes generally turn into a creamy golden color when I have my fill, jet black when I’m starving and I need blood in my system, and sapphire which is my real eye color. My eyes never change into bright red until I’m in a killing machine mode. Vampires' eyes only turn bright red when they lose control over themselves, drink human blood and when they sense their mate near them. Lines of worry form on Dylan’s face as my breathing becomes heavier and the color of my iris is too reluctant to change into my original one.

He lifted the lid. Inside lay a silk tie in an indecently suggestive shade of red, the kind of color that screamed forbidden. The fabric shimmered when he lifted it, glossy and smooth, the shade bold enough to make the juniors exchange awkward glances. Damian held it up for a beat, his expression unreadable, then let it fall back into the box. He moved on without a word, fingers steady but tight as he undid the ribbon of the second box.

The stench of cordite and copper ink still clung to the silk wall coverings of the grand salon, but the blood had been sanitized. Two junior enforcers had scrubbed the parquet floor with industrial bleach, leaving a pale, chemical halo where Enzo Vanni’s head had rested less than twenty minutes ago. Outside, the pre-dawn sky had bruised into a dark, suffocating purple, the storm over Lake Como slowly exhausting its kinetic fury into a thick, low-hanging fog.

He really does want me to pick his ties. Swallowing the nerves jumbling in my stomach, I step up to the drawer and lean over it. Nolan’s presence behind me is heavy, and it gets warmer as he comes closer. I try to ignore the warmth and the butterflies that flutter in my chest as I look over the ties. The suit is black, as is the shirt that goes under it, so I pick up two ties. One blood-red one and another that’s royal blue. “I think one of thes—”

"Make me, President." The air between them crackled. Students stopped to watch. Vespera narrowed her eyes. She reached out, grabbed the ends of his tie, and yanked him forward. With quick, angry movements, she knotted the tie perfectly, tightening it until it was snug against his throat. "Choke on it," she whispered, smoothing the silk. Cyprian grinned. "My favorite color is red, by the way. Just in case you ever decide to wear something other than that stiff blazer."