Red Lines Novels & Stories

ROSALINA'S POV Pink, red, and purple lights intertwined above us, casting a sensual spell as we continued our passionate dance. Each color seemed to symbolize a different facet of our connection: pink for desire, red for fiery intensity, and purple for the electric chemistry that bound us together.

Some vampires choose to drain their lifeline and die. Good thing I am wise enough not to follow that kind of mindset and choose to live longer even if eighty percent of my abilities are already sleeping profoundly. Furthermore, we have these tiny rectangular red and black stripes marked on our wrists that embodied our lifeline. Red color means the number of hours, days, months, and years that we are allowed to live in the world. Black, on the other hand, corresponds to our lifeline that must be filled with red or the time we wasted by disobeying the Cursed System's written rules.

The Red Rave's car was armored, so the security decided to stay inside it and prepare to leave as soon as possible. The armor was not enough to calm Darren and Kath, who embraced each other and cried, terrified, living the materialization of the nightmare that had haunted them once. It also did not deter Timothy, who pounded the bodywork, hit the windows with the revolver, after firing two shots at the front window and discovering the protection.

As long as someone crossed the red line, the computer would sound an alarm! Antonio waved his hand, and six well-trained black-clothed men concealed themselves. Antonio and Henry got back in the car. Henry turned on the computer and started the red line camera, aiming it at the incoming car. A silver Rolls-Royce appeared on the screen.

She nodded and stood up from her seat, approaching with a malicious yet satisfied smile, just thinking that she had caused such a scandal. "It seems, my dear friends, that the truth always comes to light, doesn't it, Ava?" she sneered, while everyone's gaze focused on the woman with dyed red hair. "And why do you intervene, Karen? Who are you to give an opinion? Go back to your seat now!" Daniel ordered, furious at that moment. Ava, head down, took a few steps back; the uncomfortable silence remained, perennial, torturous.

Her eyes darted to the device’s interface, which displayed two large buttons: one red, one green. Her thoughts spun in a maelstrom of urgency and uncertainty. The red button—the color of blood, of vengeance, of the explosive fury that Arika had unleashed—seemed to beckon with a promise of obliteration. Meanwhile, the green button pulsed with a quiet light, subtle and steady—a promise of life and safety. In that frozen, inhospitable moment, every second felt like an eternity.

I braced myself. “I’m guessing there’s a very particular downside to this.” “Indeed.” Said Tristan. “Look at the red lines. See how far they dipped?” I looked. It was not really a very noticeable thing, the line of green soaring higher than the red, but the red was more noticeable, more pronounced.

She looked like she was having so much fun… while that lady… welp! “Red. What does red mean?” My eyes found Kara’s. She shook her head before yanking my drink and chugging the remaining down. I stared at her with betrayal burning hot in my eyes. My mind played her words earlier on, how she explained that the codes were just like the ones on the traffic lights. And I knew exactly what red meant. “You are off limits. You are 100% claimed and you fully belong to somebody. If anybody decides to ignore the band and touches you, they are done for.” She finished her words, and a cold feeling washed down my belly.

But the red room… the red room was different. The moment we stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted—dim crimson lights spilling across black lacquered walls, chains glinting faintly from their hooks. Leather, steel, restraint. Every inch of it meant to break someone open. She stood there, arms crossed over her chest, her mouth set in a tight line. Still trying to understand. Still trying to reach me. God, she didn’t know what she was walking into. I grabbed the shackles. They felt heavier tonight. Or maybe it was just my hands that shook.

“I don’t want to do this, please don’t make me.” The fear in my voice is palpable. The tension in the room can be cut with a knife. Beads of sweat run down the side of my face and down my neck. I move to wipe it off and then remember the all too familiar liquid that coats my hand like a second skin. Blood. Looking up into the night sky, the stars seem to twinkle, unaware of the turmoil I face. Suddenly a wave of bitterness washes over me. Why do I always have to play the fool? With an angry grunt I swing the knife down. Red explodes into the night. Dangerous and beautiful, my new favorite color.