Crimson Widow Novels & Stories

What other woman could have that much power over a man? It was then my answer came to me as I watched the doorknob slowly turn and entered one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. Her hair was pale beautiful white but underneath was a dark red burgundy color and she wore a dress that really made it stick out but not as much as her beautiful porcelain skin did from that dress. Her entire body was physically fit but so very strong it was almost intimidating how much strength she omitted from her aura and then there were her beautiful crystal blue eyes with the smallest specs of hazel green that I felt like she only allowed me to see and most would never notice. I felt helpless and the

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.

I shouted, slamming my fist on the desk. "You have no idea what kind of woman—" "Oh, I know," she cut in, her voice suddenly sharp. "The famous widow of Lorenzo Russo. The professional model gracing every front cover in Chicago, now known as the ‘boss lady’..." she spat the last words out like venom. "There’s something off about her," she added, sitting upright like she was about to reveal the key to a mystery. "And what exactly is that?" I asked, knowing full well she was about to spout nonsense.

Catherine commands. Selene and another witch carries Brea between them and enter into the rift with some other witches even as Lord Bail screams in indignation and the cold ones throw themselves to their death inside the red smokescreen in huge droves. The rift closes as the last witch enters. The red smoke begins to recede slowly until it is just a few meters around Catherine, revealing the drained bony dead bodies of six witches on the floor beside her, and the two still standing beside her quivering hard in exertion.

It was all falling together but it was also too late. The woman in red stepped up, “Well, well look at you. The Crimson Priestesses is it? The last descendant of Estrid.” I heard some of the red wolves gasping as they realized who I was. “It’s a pity we didn’t kill you like your traitorous father and mother years ago.” “Don’t you dare speak of my grandmother whoever you are!” I growled back at her. “You are nothing compared to her!”

He left and headed straight to the address he was given. ■■■ He's certain that he sent chills to that family. Those people got him behind bars, it might be useless and worthless about this action he's planning to take but this is what he wants. He's been taking down every people he had in his past, one by one and that's what satisfy him. That's what rests his soul. And that gives him the title of a Killer. "... a woman identified as Tianna Crueson found at the river of *****, Texas. Police reports said that the autopsy showed that the woman was drowned and some variants of an unknown drug was found..."

Her chin was tucked, her shoulders were slumping in her perfect porcelain disguise, but through the dark curls of her hair, her eyes met his—wide, awake, and burning with a terrifying, shared brilliance. The empire was bleeding, the vanguard was turning on itself, and the Ghost was finally holding the knife.

Crimson eyes, ancient and unreadable, watched the chamber below with effortless authority. She wore a fitted black gown embroidered with dark crimson patterns that resembled flowing blood. A long cloak draped behind her, disappearing over the steps of the throne. Beautiful. Elegant. Terrifying. She did not command through fear alone. She commanded because every vampire present knew she had survived long enough to earn it.

"She acts the grieving widow, but she's been trying to trap me, just because I look like my brother. It's pathetic, really." Hearing the title "Commander," my mother-in-law threw herself to the floor with a fresh wail. "You have to see the truth, Commander! My poor son provided for her, and what did she give him? Just a girl! Now she wants to rob us blind! She's a leech on this family!" Catherine peeked at the commander, then buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with delicate sobs. "Sir, she tried to take my husband and hurt my unborn child... What kind of woman does that?"

"Tell me all you know of Amara." Thalia begins to explain, her voice steady and filled with conviction. "Amara is unique, King Badan. I believe she is a hybrid—half wolf or lycan, mixed with witch's blood. If my suspicions are correct, she is the last descendant of the Crimson pack, making her royalty. It seems that she was bound as a baby to hide the immense power she holds within, and her counterpart was bound to never surface."