Crimson Widow 소설 & 이야기

He closes the door behind him gently and then he walks down the stairs and into the kitchen. Behind him, in the bedroom Blake unhurriedly opens his eyes, his red eyes glimmering in the darkness of the room. ***** Cassandra walks down the corridor heading for her quarters, the dark stone walls of the palace walls unsettling as they always have, as she turns the corner she comes face to face with Ophelia, a fellow witch and also the bane of her existence.

The silver burns more painfully than I expected death to feel. They gripped the chains tightly around my wrists, my ankles, my throat. Each link searing into my skin like liquid fire, eating through flesh until I can smell my own burning. I should be screaming. I think I was, moments ago. Now there's only the wind rushing past my ears as I fall, and the strange clarity that comes when you know these are your final seconds. Widow's Peak earned its name for a reason. Seventy-three widows, the pack history says. Seventy-three women who threw themselves from this cliff rather than live without their mates.

"Your wife, Colonel Mitchell? Sarah, wasn't it? Found torn apart in that alley, claw marks suggesting a werewolf attack?" His face goes white. "How do you know her name? I never told you..." "Because I killed her, James." The words taste like victory and ash on my tongue. "I needed someone with your resources, your connections, your rage. So I created you. I killed Sarah, left evidence pointing to supernaturals, and waited for you to find the right people. To build Crimson Dawn into what it needed to be." He stumbles backward, hands trembling. "No. No, you're lying. You're just a girl, you couldn't have..."

Jocelyn I stared back at the reflection in the mirror, gazing at the beautiful woman I saw looking back at me. My hair was pulled into a tight ponytail at the top of my head, long locks of natural blond hair curled just right hanging around my shoulders. A few strands were strategically pulled out, framing my face. My sky-blue eyes seemed more lively tonight than they had been recently. I had put more care into my make-up and could see the instant difference it made. Gone was the stone-faced businesswoman. In her place stood the shadow of the woman I once was before I became a widow. A woman who was once carefree and knew exactly what she wanted out of life. A woman who never once had to wor

"Now come. One last dose." I hesitated — every instinct screaming at me to stay where I was — but I moved toward her anyway. The blue potion touched my skin where the scar should have been, and it vanished, like it had never existed at all. Who was this woman? "There's something you need to know, Ophilia." Her tone shifted, dropping into something graver, something that made the room feel colder. "You are the last living Crimson wolf." Crimson. The word slammed into me again, the same word Sydney had spat at me like an insult I wasn't meant to understand.

"We have more important things to take care of. Now go and do my bidding. There will be no more deaths tonight, and woe betide that creature if it lays a claw on anyone else I care about. Now please...just go and stay safe." "But...what of you?!" Crimson had already buttoned her collar up tightly up and was heading down the hallway, Mary following hot on her heels. "Lady Crimson?!" But Crimson was not listening, she ran into her bedroom and went to the closet, pulling out a large winter coat before running round to the other side of the grand four poster bed and pulling out from the nearby dresser a loaded pistol. She dragged on the coat and slotted the pistol into a belt she found in Robert

With a thought, the infromation organized itself and, in her minds eye, now appeared a digital window; [SUMMARY] Name: Nya Crimson Age: 19 Condition: Standard Alias: N/A Titles: N/A Classification: Omen Species: High Vampire Rank: N/A Phantasm: Blood Reaper; ability to assimilate abilities from the blood matter of other beings. [Notice: You have been designated a 'Special Existence; REGIS' whose choices may shape the fate of the cosmos. More information will be available at a later point.] She read the details on the window intently, she didn't know how, but she knew that this window was now part of a much grander network that she had access to.

There was a kind of silence after betrayal — not peace, not shock — just a burning hum in the chest that echoed with every breath. Amara felt it now. The letter from Isabel lay in pieces on her bed. Her hands were stained with ink and ash. Do not kill her out of rage. Kill her out of love. The Red Widow wasn’t just a threat. She was the ghost of Isabel’s mistakes. And she had to die. The Origin of the Widow The next morning, Luca found Amara on the rooftop, overlooking the rose gardens below. The air smelled like thunder and wine.

broken, trembling, destroyed and her voice when she whispered: “I want him to see exactly what he lost. I want him to feel the regret burn him alive…I want Betsy to choke on it every time she looks at me.” She had never sounded so sure of anything in her life. So I sat there, elbows on my knees, fingers buried in my hair, weighing the madness of it all. Was I really about to fund my rival’s wedding? For her? The answer, disgustingly, shamefully, painfully… was yes. Because it wasn’t a wedding anymore. It was a weapon. One Alira planned to use with surgical precision. And I would give her whatever blade she needed. I sighed, pushed myself off the couch, and picked up my phone.