Novel & Cerita The Crimson And The White

“Because of time I’ll just give you the important details as I know it, but you have to be very attentive.” “Since it is common knowledge that there are witches I won’t have to tell you that again. But you see witches are of different grades, and one can be initiated into becoming a witch through different means.” She cleared her throat and continued. “Although witches are usually united when there is a general problem, they are generally split into three different groups; White, Red, and Black. White witches are the good witches, and their aim is to help humanity. The Reds are on the fence, in-between the good and the evil, while the Blacks are the real definition of evil.”

KAELEN BLACKTHORNE "We stay in White City tonight," I state, my voice dropping an octave as I shut my laptop. The digital map of the northern territory glows faintly against the dark cabin glass, showing the sprawling monopoly of the White pack's ice hockey training camps and gear factories. Charles White owns every single square inch of this frozen wasteland. Boyce leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "I will secure the entire top level of the Crimson Fang Lodge. It is their premier pack lodge. It is also, predictably, under the White family's direct banner."

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."

He hesitated, breathing deep, steadying himself like a man about to walk into confession. “I have been digging through Niagra’s things. His records. Ledgers. Reports. And what I found…” He paused, letting the words sour in his mouth. “I found the truth about Crimson Pack… Silent Blues.” Hearing the name, the real name, sharpened the edges of my hunger. He had the audacity to speak it, to remind me of what his father had stolen and dressed in crimson. My jaw tightened, but I said nothing. He pressed on, voice deliberate, heavy.

Raymond’s POV The first thing that struck me was the sound. The arena was alive with it—rolling waves of voices, cries, growls, chants, all mixing together until it no longer sounded like language, but like the roar of a storm. I stood just behind Jude’s platform, half-hidden in the shadows, clutching the railing so tightly my hands ached. The Crimson Arena was vast, carved out of black stone and ringed with fire that burned with unnatural colors—purple, green, and deep crimson. The flames licked upward as though they fed not on oil or wood, but on something living. The smell made me gag.