Black Cloak Novels & Stories

I was too stunned to move or speak. The mysterious man wore a long black cloak that had a regal touch, and it screamed royalty. It has detailed silver embroidery adorning the edges. His piercing red eyes stared into his art piece, Rowan's chest. I gaze upon his pitch-black hair, which sways according to the direction of the wind.

The echo came back to me distorted, mocking, making me sound like a frightened child. The cloaked figure materialized out of the shadows twenty paces ahead of me, his black cloak completely untouched by the distortion. He let out a loud, booming laugh that echoed through the cavern like thunder, the sound bouncing off the walls until it seemed to come from everywhere at once. The laugh was wrong - too joyful, too genuine for someone about to commit murder. "Here," the man sneered, his gloved hand reaching up to slowly push his hood back. The fabric fell away to reveal a pale, scarred face with entirely black eyes that had no whites in them… just endless, botto

And somewhere in the castle, behind locked doors and ancient wards, Royal Beta Knox lifted a glass to the gray-cloaked figure across from him. "To Morgana," he said. The figure raised its glass in return. Its hood fell back just enough to reveal eyes that were pure black—no white, no iris. Just darkness. "To Morgana," it echoed. "Who never truly died." The candle between them flickered. And went out.

Lila POV The stranger looks straight down at me, locking his eyes on mine. I take in his very unique clothing from the corner of my eye. Something resembling a cloak drapes over his shoulders, but instead it’s cut into a coat with no hood. It’s red underneath with black leather on the outside. He’s also wearing a tight black shirt, a big belt to hold up black trousers that are tucked into boots. When he rests back on his seat, I spot his cloak is littered with weapons.

When another patrol fails to return the next night, the whole pack understands: the rogues aren’t testing, they’re coming. Black Claw prepares for war in the way of all old packs. Children are herded into the cellar rooms, alongside old, blind, or crippled wolves whose fighting days are over. The triplets drill the rest of the pack, even Elena, in shifts that last until paws crack and throats raw from howling. Damon, ever the showman, rallies from a makeshift dais near the south fence, his voice the bellwether of defiance. Devin stalks the perimeter in silence, sometimes with Derick—now crawling, now running, now blinking in and out of the space around him—in tow.

Kaelen Blackrock. He wore a sharply tailored, minimalist black leather trench coat, the Soulfire Dagger—symbol of the Black Rock Clan’s supreme authority—hanging at his waist. Standing nearly two meters tall, his mere presence exuded a terrifying oppressive aura, thinning the air for a dozen meters around him. The low-ridden mounts at the edge of the square whimpered and dropped to the ground, not daring to lift their heads. His cold, golden eyes swept over the crowd, devoid of any emotion, as if he were staring at a pile of inanimate stones.

Before Chloe could finish her sentence, a sharp black shadow arrow flew in through the shattered window, piercing Chloe straight through the neck! Chloe's eyes widened in supreme shock. She choked out a bloody gasp, her hands clawing at her throat, before her body collapsed limp onto the floor, dissolving into a pile of black ash. I whirled around, raising my glowing hand toward the window. "Who is there?!" Standing on the balcony outside, framed by the pale moonlight and swirling snow, was a tall figure shrouded in a dark crimson cloak. A terrifying silver mask covered his face, carved in the shape of a snarling wolf.

I lose myself to it completely. I pull the string across the neck one last time–slowly, softly, a quiet end–before turning to my mate. Blake’s sitting on the ground with his back to the door, wearing a thick black cloak despite the summer heat. He’s leaning his head against the door, his face tilted to the ceiling, and his eyes are shut, his face… relaxed, but shadowed by an emotion I can only describe as pained.

My mouth was probably left agape as I stared at his face. There was no emotion written on his face as the dark purple cloak covered the entirety of him from his broad shoulders to his tall the entirety of him. The fabric running down his broad shoulders to his tall posture made me bend my head back to peek at him. A golden brooch was hanging on the chest of his cloak and when I slowly ogled my gaze up back to his eyes and a glare met mine. His jet black hair lays comfortably on his shoulders as it was tied in a half ponytail

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN As I called out, a group of rogues emerged from their hiding places, as their eyes gleamed with feral intensity. They looked fierce, and ready to pounce, as though they were waiting for an instruction to strike. But it was what came next that made my heart skip a beat. A figure on horseback rode out of their midst, dressed in a black cloak that billowed behind him like a dark cloud. His face was obscured by a hood, and his presence seemed to command the attention of everyone around him.