Deadly Cross Novels & Stories

“And whatever business you’ve wrapped yourself in, you’d better end it now. Because wolves are only the beginning. There are far more terrifying things walking among us.” My heart was hammering. The words dug deep, twisting the already broken pieces of my faith. “The organization has-” “I’ve heard,” he cut me off, sharp, his voice gruff. “Cross isn’t some assassin’s guild. It’s a crusade. They won’t stop at wolves. They’ll burn anything not human. Anything that doesn’t fit their narrow definition of survival. Vampires, witches, god know what else. You’re not just killing names on paper, Dennise. You’re helping them cleanse the world.”

It wasn’t fear yet. But the animal in them sensed a predator older, darker, and infinitely more willing to ruin the world for one person. Damian moved before thought could catch him. One heartbeat the Cross men were standing—smug, breathing, existing—and in the next, they were meat. Claws tore through sternum, bone cracked like dry twigs, and Damian ripped them apart with a violence that felt… sacred. Righteous. The chamber walls were painted red before the bodies even hit the floor.

“If we lose the war... one of us must die.” Cassian scoffed. “That’s not a pact. That’s suicide.” “It’s faith,” Dante said. “Faith that we won’t lose. Faith that we’re willing to bet with blood.” Luca was silent. His hand gripped the edge of the table. Amara set down her glass. “Whose blood?” Dante looked at each of them. “We let the pact decide.” The Crossroads Pact was an old Sicilian rite — older than the Vatican, older than the five families.

Greg fumed. Cross took out his cell phone and made an indiscernible call to Dr. Grant. In less than a minute, he was off the phone, cursing. "He can't make it back not at least until tomorrow evening." "What the fuck?" It was all too much to process for me. What was I even thinking putting all of us together in a place? It only made us an easy piece to attack. "How many are dead?" "That's the thing. They lost count in the last twelve hours," Cross let me know.

A cold, familiar voice cut through the encrypted channel: "You thought you could kill me?" My heart froze. Natalia Cross... alive. "The war isn’t over...it’s just beginning.” Ghosts of War The piercing voice of Natalia Cross echoed through the safehouse’s encrypted comms, sharp and venomous, filled with malice and deadly intent. "You thought you won..." Her scarred face flickered on the command terminal’s cracked screen, twisted into a mocking smirk, her dark eyes burning with cold triumph. "But I’m always three steps ahead." Immediate Response Damien surged from the medical cot, ignoring the pain tearing through his still-healing wounds. His dark eyes blazed with unforgiving rage, his voice

Her hand flailed wildly and accidentally hit the cross in Alex's hand. Clink. The silver cross fell to the floor, rolling across the tiled ground. That was the last straw for Alex. "You touch that, and you die," he snarled, murder in his eyes. "You took her hands. You took our child. You will not take one more goddamn thing from her." "I'll kill you! I'll kill your whole family!" Scarlett's eyes started to roll back. Her body convulsed. Just as she was about to take her last breath...

Damian opened the folder. The first page bore a name Elena had never heard. Lucas Cross. His older brother. Officially dead. Unofficially… complicated. Damian’s throat tightened as he read. The words hadn’t changed, but time had sharpened their impact. Lucas Cross had not died in an accident, as the public believed. He had been framed. And Damian—young, desperate, terrified—had signed a document that sealed his brother’s fate. A deal. Protection for Cross Enterprises in exchange for silence.

he said as if amused. “What?” I stared at him, not believing he had just said that. Was this seriously advice? “Listen, I’ll tell you this for free — There are thousands of people betraying each other every single day, most of which are childhood friends, sworn brothers, and even blood relatives. You’re not the first. However, judging from your state, you didn’t do it intentionally.” “It was a mistake…” “Did you kill their beloved pet?” he asked. “No,” I said, shaking my head.

"Fifteen nights left. And I'm going to make sure we both survive them." I want to believe him. But Richard Cross's threat echoes in my head. Accidents happen. And I know—with terrible certainty—that this war just became deadly.

“We need a minute with him. Wait in the car.” Cassian looked between us, jaw tight, then nodded once and walked out through the glass doors. The four of us followed at a slower pace and stopped on the quiet stretch of pavement beside the building where the afternoon light fell without interruption. Dante studied me for a long moment and asked the only question that mattered. “Did you kill him?” I met his eyes without blinking and answered in the same even tone I used for every report. “Yes.” Lucien let out a short breath and shook his head. “Of course you did.”