Hunting Hat Red Novels & Stories

Red was always watching, always ready. He stopped next to me, his tall frame towering over the hunters. His eyes scanned them quickly, taking in their weapons and their uneasy expressions. The hunters glanced at each other again before one of them, the man with the shaved head, spoke. “What do you want with those two men?” he repeated, his tone sharper now. Red tilted his head slightly, pretending to think. “We’re looking for them,” he said simply. “That’s all.” The hunters didn’t seem convinced, but they didn’t attack us either. After a long, tense silence, the man with the shaved head said, “Come with us. We know someone who might have answers.”

He knows that he's the only one who can protect this town from the werewolf. His hands move with practiced ease as he checks his hunting knife, ensuring that it's sharp and ready for use. Finally, he reaches for his black hat, pulling it down low over his eyes. The hat is a symbol of the hunter's trade, a reminder of the centuries of tradition that he represents. The hunter stands tall, his broad shoulders filling the room with a sense of quiet strength. He's ready to face the night, and the werewolf that waits beyond the town's borders. Joel in black is a force to be reckoned with.

Cassius said, aligning his own red vest, which was similar in appearance to the one Rex was wearing but had a breast watch dangling from a chain that was hooked through the corner of the pocket and came with multiple slits across the ribs, in which Cassius stashed small throwing daggers. “Quite expensive too,” Karinna said, walking into the tent, looking at Rex’s fit. “That is because they kill most of the people that hunt it,” Cassius said with a smug smile. “My father returned with only a handful of pelts after hunting the beasts for over two weeks, quite dangerous creatures.”

In the right hands, they'd triple in value within a year. I closed my phone. A text from the lawyer: two more weeks. Everything was moving. The morning of the Hunting, I dressed in dark jeans and a plain black jacket. Practical. Warm. Nothing that would draw attention. The entire Pack streamed toward the hunting grounds — a vast stretch of old-growth forest that bordered Harrison's territory. Banners lined the path. The smell of roasting game and woodsmoke drifted from the preparation tents. Pups chased each other between the stalls while their parents shouted after them.

ATTICUS IS A vampire but the color of his eyes tells that he's not a pure-blooded one. Only the pure ones bear red eyes while the ones with golden yellow, like Atticus, are turned vampires. "BELLA?! It's Jacob! Help him!" Clarrise shrieked. I was pulled from my trance when I heard Clarrise. I quickly took the bow and arrow to shoot the men who tried to hurt Jacob. I shoot the other man in his hand and the other man on his shoulder. I shot them again and this time I shoot their legs. As they both fell to the ground Atticus came running to Jacob and helped him.

A tail that flicked up from behind him had a bauble tied to the end with a sparkling green ribbon. The other child turned out to be Red; who I recognised by his usual annoyed expression across his face. He had on an open red jumper that was so thin I could almost see through the stitching to the white shirt underneath. The jacket was decorated with bright baubles and yellow clumps of wattle sprouting from the corners. His shorts were plain black, but his red shoes had bells tied around the ends of the shoelaces. He didn’t seem impressed with the merry atmosphere around him and the chattering. His black and silver Christmas hat was scrunched into his lap, with his wrapped gift for Santa.

"Hey, Red! I think you need to come up here." Red kept my IDs and pocketed them. "We'll talk more in a minute," he said. Then he quickly put everything back where it went in the safe. "Come on," he instructed, walking back toward the bar. I anxiously followed. But my anxiety only doubled when we went out front. Standing there was a man in a cowboy hat flashing a badge. A U.S. Marshall. "Hi," he said to Red, removing a pair of mirrored aviators. "Were you the bartender working here on Sunday night?"

Hunter sits in the chair, fixing the collar of his ebony coat. "What kind of husband would I be like to let my wife work so hard and never go out to have fun?”

He used his scarf to wipe the lenses before putting them back on his face with a smile as he took in the warm space around him. The woman removed her own gloves and whipped off her hat as if it offended her. With bright red hair exploding from within the depths of the hat, Jody could understand why. That hat could not be comfortable; she dropped her heavy luggage where she stood. This must be her equipment for her ghost hunting. It would be entertaining to see if she could get any of it to work here at the Blue Moon.

It is irrelevant. She lifts the hat from her head and my breath hitches. Her hair is a fiery red that matches the flames in the fireplace with their brilliance. Its lock seems thick, heavy and in danger of tumbling free. I can’t help wondering how many pins I would have to remove to make that happen. I am sure it can’t be more than two, maybe three.