20/20 Black Widow Novels & Stories

Her back slammed against the wall; cracks spidered out from the impact. Zevran swore and moved fast—too fast for human sight. One arm braced the wall beside her head, the other pressed against her sternum, fingers splayed over the mark that now blazed through her skin. “Listen to me,” he said, voice low and sharp. “If you lose control, this fortress will collapse.” “I can’t—control—it!” Her eyes glowed pure gold. The seal under her skin pulsed in rhythm with the black moon above, the same dark energy he’d sworn to bury centuries ago.

Vivienne, who had handed over a phone with two years of contacts on it and kept a separate thread running, who had been in the east wing all evening while Nate and Levi drove away, who had thirty years of managing situations and had looked at the council challenge and the pre-hearing meeting and the light guard detail and had seen exactly what I had not seen until it was too late. A window. She had been waiting for a window this specific for months. The twins were her grandchildren. Both of them. One from Nate. One from Levi. Two bloodlines in one womb, two claims on the Blackthorne name, two children who could be used as leverage over everyone in this situation if you were the one holding t

“How dare you ruin the young master’s business, you bastard? Do you know how much I needed to prepare for this? I’ll kill you!” Remi pushed Miley aside, then swung his arm at Harvey. Black webs with a foul stench instantly shot forward. Harvey raised his hand, grabbing the web and studying it curiously. “You people think you’re invincible because you know martial arts? How old-school is that?! What a naive bunch!” After seeing Harvey stand still as if he had been hit, Remi seemed quite proud of himself. “You don’t know that America’s genetic science is actually the strongest! “I have the genetic data of a Black Widow spider in my genes! People like me are considered Mutants!

“Your mother is de…” “Your mother is here.” We all turned our heads at once to the direction where the voice had just come from. I went pale instantly and almost peed on myself as I took in the familiar feminine frame standing before us. Blazing red lipstick. Black jeans. Black blouse. Dark sunshades. The ultimate appearance of a lady in mourning. She reminded me so much of the Black Widow. A woman who warned you to beware of her. She is danger itself. I shook my head in disbelief, my mouth suddenly dry. I refused to believe that whatever or rather, whoever was standing before us was real.

“So, let me get this straight.” I pause, flipping through the gruesome pictures on the tablet Maverick handed over to me during this limo drive back to hell. I hesitate, stopping on the picture of Loraeli Donahue nicknamed the black widow. Dark waves of hair cascades over her shoulders. Stunning violet eyes pierces into hers, but there is a sadness there… a loneliness that I know all too well. She’s misunderstood. Seen as deadly. Seen as a threat. She isn’t like the rest — stands out like a sore thumb.

Black Widow was wearing a cotton-padded jacket and sashayed out of the house. The women living in the mountains would often get married early. Black Widow got married before she even turned 20 and was only 24-years-old this year because her husband passed away very early. Due to that, she still carried the tenderness that of a young woman. When Black Widow saw Cole, she was left nonplussed. “Whoa, what brings you here, Young Master Yorks?" Carson said, "You’re in luck today. Young Master is interested in you. Make sure you serve him well tonight.”

I stood by the heavy velvet drapes of the mahogany – panelled study, breathing in an atmosphere that was clinical and beautifully cruel. Isabella Moretti, the so – called Black Widow, sat in her own high – backed leather chair, her wrists zip – tied tightly to the arms. Brent sat at her massive desk, his three laptops humming with a frantic, electronic energy that mirrored the dark thrill racing through my own veins.

He balanced himself on his toes and still had the watch in a countdown. He patted her head as she was on the floor shaking. “If you didn’t have too may drinks, this would have been slower” he said. “W-what are you talking about?” she asked softly. “Well poison that’s all” he patted her head again and then grabbed on and pulled her up, and put the timer in her face. “The venom of a Redback Spider causes all the symptoms you’re having now, and can kill a human under an hour. You ingested five to six doses and that could accelerate your death” he grinned.

“You’ve been sleeping for a little over twenty years.” “Twenty years,” my mother whispers, looking back at Grayson for confirmation. He nods, and I notice her bottom lip wobble. “You’ve been blessed by the Goddesses to make it out of such a trying situation,” Ms. Blackwood says, gaining everyone’s attention. “Not many people could make it through what you went through, Elizabeth.” My mother looks up at the witch and leans into my father’s chest, looking slightly pale.

Ibekwe crept towards the tree and tried to look inside the pot to discover its contents, but it was too high —too high for him to see. After much useless stretching of his limbs to catch a glimpse at the black pot, he decided to climb the tree to clear his curiosity once and for all. As he climbed the tree slowly, placing one foot over another and moving upwards at every push, he finally got to where the black pot hung. He opened the lid and looked inside the pot. Strange images that he had never seen filled his eyes. Images depicting different humans that he had never met. He stretched his hands wider and gazed at the pot inquisitively, then he stopped. Allowing the vision he had just seen