Red Hood Novels & Stories

the figure declared, their voice filled with an authority that demanded obedience. A figure clad in a red hood materialized with remarkable speed and precision. In their hand glinted a silver dagger, poised for action. With a swift and accurate strike, the figure lunged towards George, piercing him with the weapon. A moment of shock enveloped the battleground as the impact reverberated through the air.

But they’ll get over it once it’s done. I throw on real clothes, grab my room key, and head out. The beach is nearly empty, moonlight barely lighting the rocky coastline. I move toward a large outcropping, where I’d seen movement. I summon a spell—black and purple energy sparking between my palms. But when I round the rocks and step into view— They’re already dead. Roweena. Iona. The Red One. Laid out on the sand. Clouded eyes. Blood pooling beneath them. Chests torn open, hearts missing.

It seemed nobody understood just how bad this entire situation was for him. Redwood was holding Liam Hallow's daughter hostage. Her mother was also a witch bane who could withstand the greatest magic. If they realized what was going on, Redwood stood no chance against their combined fury. What they were currently going through was nothing. They would be wiped off the face of the planet forever.

At least they know how murderous my reputation is. "The Little Red Riding Hood? Ah, yes. Truly." the complacent man on the throne, who they have addressed as 'Sir Riftan' nodded, while inspecting me. "That explains the resplendent crimson fabric of camouflage, earlier." "It's called a hood, psycho." I informed him and then at my clothes. I noticed that I have been changed clothes, and that made me even more irritated. "Who told you to change my clothes?" I faced the Were named Galland, and gritted my teeth.

He had a shaved head and a burly frame. Before he turned, at one time, a feared enforcer for some enemy family of theirs. No one understood the innards of the city, its streets, or tunnels better. Then Dreda, a murderous woman with an affinity for gadgets. That knack for hacking any system—though negligent, at least it had a couple of times saved their lives. And Razor, the suave fast-talking scout who flew under the radar like a ghost.

Joanna was worried about losing her wealthy boyfriend, so every day she changed her tricks. One day, Jeffrey had a hangover and had just returned home when he received a call from Joanna. The woman on the other end of the phone had a gentle voice, just as he liked it in the past. "Jeffrey, something happened in the rose garden." Jeffrey became sober at once. "What happened?" Joanna paused for a moment, trying to be mysterious. "I saw the roses growing green leaves, are they going to bloom?" Jeffrey got up and jumped up and down to get there.

The echo of the growl rolled through the decrepit hall like thunder cracking inside a coffin. Dust sifted from the rusted ceiling beams. Every hunter froze. Weapons half-raised. Breaths caught mid-air. Even the leader—the girl in the blood-red robe—turned with a jerk, eyes widening beneath her hood. Rhea’s heart punched against her ribs. Fenrak, half-shifted, bleeding, still shielding her, lifted his head from the shadow of his own rage.

He still wasn’t done with her. Ryder swiped to the next frame. Three hooded figures entered. Trailing behind them. Shadows clinging like dark intent. Shiloh whispered, “No…” Ryder zoomed in, though smoke, crowds, and lantern flicker blurred the shapes, their faces covered. But the centre figure… The coat… A deep, unmistakable red. Abel exhaled sharply. “I think it’s her, the Crimson Rogue? Intelligence suggests this is her preferred garb.”

The crimson and gold steel of the high council vanguard plates did not look like a beacon of rescue in the thinning alpine fog; it looked like a fresh executioner’s block. The heavy, gold-embossed pauldron caught the weak, gray light of the dying storm, casting a metallic glint down the shattered face of the basalt ridge.

The Alpha’s wolf had protected a stranger. Scarlett Holloway had been brought near him. The woman under guard claimed a stolen bond. The council wanted her removed. Maddox Stormhaven had refused. For a pack built on order, uncertainty was more frightening than blood. Darian walked beside Rhea without touching her, while Holt kept a careful distance behind them. The plain gray gown she wore brushed against her ankles with every step, and although her body still ached from the damaged bond, she kept her back straight. The hidden mark beneath her skin had pulsed all morning, as if it knew they were walking toward something that would either bury her deeper or tear the first crack through the li