Six Crimson Cranes 2 Novels & Stories

She smiled, “her wolf is one that needs a strong human, not just anyone can control Crimson.” My eyes darted to her and then back to the road, “Crimson, as in blood, fire and brimstone, that type of Crimson?” She sat up straight, “why would you think like that and not that it is just the color red.” I shrugged, “Angel remember, I always think that type of stuff first,” I gave her a shy smile. She nodded, “it doesn’t matter, Crimson is gone with her, unless she is now with someone who didn’t have a wolf.”

I looked like a dwarf beside him although I am taller than other girls, as I am five feet seven inches. “I am asking what your name is…” he said in his cold tone and I felt stupid in front of him. I thought he was staring at me but he was just waiting for my answer about my name. I breathed out heavily. My rating for delivery will go down from one to zero because he doesn't seem happy with my delivery service. Oh, shit*! “My name is… my name is... Crimson.” There! I gave him my name! I don’t like my name at all. How I wish that the orphanage named me Red or Scarlet and it was much better than Crimson.

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."

A collective gasp rippled through the study, the weight of impending doom pressing down on us all with renewed force. “Damn that Jermain!” King Brad bellowed, the force of his fury making the very table tremble beneath his clenched fist. “He has now kidnapped fifteen more she-wolves! Fifteen! From Silver Bow and Blue Moon. Alpha Zenic is beyond himself with grief and unbridled rage, that scumbag has also taken his daughter. Alpha Jack has already mobilized his forces. He stands ready at the border, waiting for Zenic’s command to strike Woodcrest beside him, prepared to unleash a storm of vengeance that will leave nothing untouched.

Moore asks. I use the link hoping that Jamie will naturally answer for me. “He says that before leaving Crimson Dawn Alpha Black gave him one milligram of sublingual Ativan. Half takes the edge off, one helps him sleep.” Jamie doesn’t fail to relay my message. “What are your names?” “I’m Jamison Williams and he’s Cole Redmen.” Jamie answers easily as we slowly make our way across the room. “What are your ranks?” It seems rank means a lot to this pack. “The seat he wants you in is right behind you. All you have to do is sit.”

Pieces of wolves being torn to shreds, bodies of what seem to be human as well as non-human and pieces of what used to be the door, all has been scattered all over the house. He sighs while looking at the mess that was his home a few hours ago. He needs to clean this mess up. Fortunately, he knows the perfect man for this job too. He hasn’t needed his services in a long time, now, it seems it’s time to reach out to him. He walks up the stairs and makes his way into his study. He sits behind his desk, and he lifts his personal computer and puts it aside, revealing the carving on the middle of the desk of a raven taking flight with its wings spread out. The detailed carving is done very beauti

Not silver. Crimson. And they were smiling.

Some I know from my own pack, but most I'm not 100% familiar with. Mine and Nadia's group are staying in the Crimson Wing, which is all burgundy and red color themed., which becomes obviously apparent as we walk into the main area of the wing. All dark wood, black walls with wine-coloured accents, couches and an all-black kitchen including a black granite counter-top. As Nadia and I walk in, I notice 6 other wolves sitting around the main living area, mingling, and chatting until eyes are laid on me and it goes quiet. I get bows and nods of acknowledgement and respect

The point was… The street artist known as Black Crimson seemed to speak straight to my soul with every showpiece he delivered. He only worked in the spray paint medium and kept it strictly to three colors: black, white, and red. The image-half of his two-part murals always showcased some modern-day fairy-tale retelling, and the text-half had a famous quote that was somehow tied into the picture. The quotes he chose could be silly or deep, but they were always meaningful and enlightening, and I somehow felt as if he’d written them directly for me. Every time.