Diane Foxington Crimson Paw Novels & Stories

The sun is setting when they finally reach Crimson Hollow. The pack house is lit up, and wolves gathered on the lawn. Marcus meets them as they park. "Alpha. Luna. We heard about the tribunal." "Victoria confessed," Dante says. "She'll be executed tomorrow." Murmurs ripple through the gathered wolves, shock, relief, satisfaction. "There's more," Dante continues. "The corruption went deeper than we thought. Victoria was working with a hunter organization called the Crimson Order. They're planning attacks on supernatural communities worldwide." The murmurs turn to growls, angry and afraid.

I nod once and reply, “correct. I made a promise to be his, and for him to be mine. Thus, leaving him trapped in the crystal container and slowly being drained of blood is not a future I wish upon, even my worst enemies.” The female phoenix tilts her head to the side and then smiles. “Well, it is your funeral,” she claims while standing straight again and flicking her long hair over her shoulder. “I know the ritual to share the power of the Phoenix. We do not grant it easily, or often enough that many would recall how it is done.” “You have my eternal thanks,” I responded, inclining my head towards her. I have lost count of how much I’ve said thanks now, but I’ll not stop saying so. This mea

For some reason, I didn't want that arrogance in her to be dimmed by Paolo's cruelty. For the first time since I attended auction events, I picked up the little sign in front of me and raised it up. The Mc pointed at me. "A hundred and fifty million dollars." I announced. The entire hall went quiet. Paolo was glaring at me with so much hatred. "An hundred and fifty million dollars, any other bid?" the Mc asked. Nobody contradicted my bid not even Paolo. "Going... Going... Gone. For the whooping sum of one hundred and fifty million dollars, Camilla De Luca is sold to Dante Russo." the Mc announced. An usher came close to me with a POS (point of sale terminal) machine to take the money.

The wide cuff of her cream silk dress slid backward along her forearm. Dante’s predatory eyes caught it instantly. Clustered around her slender white wrist were four deep, purplish-black oval marks. They were finger-marks—the unmistakable, brutal signature of a heavy hand gripping her with enough force to burst the capillaries beneath her skin. The shape of the thumb-print was perfectly placed on the opposite side. It was the exact anatomy of a man violently pinning her down. The size of the grip matched the heavy, calloused hand of Don Lorenzo Valeriano.

Once I sat engaged and waiting I heard a martyred, extrajudicial sentencing Death - tormentor of my dreams Deep into that darkness sanctioning 'Death!' said I, 'thing of demise.' I awoke and flung the grief My passion is the parched necrosis 'Death!' chuckled I, 'Yes Death!' ~~Theodora Twitty <><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> Scarlett

Christine said. Azrael felt shivers running down her spine. But one question was still lingering in her mind despite of not taking in every realizations she just discovered. “Where-- how did you get this?” she asked. Christine looked at the Luna as if she asked the wrong question. Or as if the answer was already obvious. It was clear to see that she used her spells but the witch knew she had to explain. “The moment the Crimson Crest pack was attacked, I immediately thought of the Crescent Bow…” Christine started and mumbled a spell that made her look normal without the tiara and the princess dress.

The collar still in her hands. She turns it over and over like it might disappear. After a minute she stands, her fingers hook under the hem of the short silk dress. She pulls it over her head and she is naked, from head to toe. My thoughts wonder. I know I did not let her wear a bra but panties??? The camera catches everything. The fresh Morozov wolf burned into her inner thigh is red, swollen, beautiful. She walks to the bathroom, more like she is limping which is actually from the burn of the brand. I should check it later.

A recognition that lived below thought. The woman's eyes opened fully. Crimson. Not human. Deep glowing red lit from somewhere inside, burning steady and old and alive. Tyra stepped back. "Who are you." "You already know," the woman said. Her voice was warm and cracked at the edges like something that had been through fire and come out the other side. She moved forward, each step soundless on the black soil. Her crimson eyes moved over Tyra's face with a desperation that was almost physical. Like someone who had been kept from something for so long that seeing it again hurt. "You have always known."

When I finally heard him, my blood ran cold. “Come here foxy fox. Come here, foxy fox. I wanna play some more.” Did my green eyes really give me away as the Fox, or was it a coincidence, because he seemed to like to give nicknames to the people he harassed? I sat in that tree for what seemed like forever. Besides my heartbeat, I heard nothing and saw nothing of Ezra.