Black House Novels & Stories

I find a table in the very back corner, tucked behind a big stone pillar. It’s perfect. It’s dark. It’s invisible. I sit down and open my book—a worn copy of Theoretical Astrophysics. I hide the cover behind a paper bag. If people knew the creepy janitor was reading about black holes, they’d only find a new way to mock me. I take a bite of my apple, my eyes scanning the room. Across the hall, the Knights' table is a scream of noise and gold. They sit in the middle, lit up by the tall gothic windows. Alan Voss is at the head of the table, looking like a king carved out of ice and ink.

The street lamps began to crumble just like they had done the day of the accident, the earth crumbling as the ground quaked. “Seems you could use a little help, little vamparina.” A masculine voice resonated in the air. Vamparina? There he stood, along with my parents, his eyes red, his black dreadlocks running down along his face, his muscles big, merging perfectly with his physique, his perfectly chiseled jawline with a black cloak on. “Blood!” They groaned. “Back to the underworld.” He said as he raised his hands. The air stood still, flame engulfing the creatures in a minute. Groans filled the air as they began to disintegrate into soot, flowing along with the wind.

Serena’s phone lit up first. Then Asher’s. Then the wall-mounted market display behind the dining table flickered with breaking alerts. The same photograph appeared everywhere: a twenty-three-year-old Asher Blackwood standing in the rain outside the family estate, security on either side of him, the word DISOWNED stamped across the scanned document beside his face. THE BLACKWOOD DEVIL IS BACK—AND THIS TIME, HE HAS A WIFE TO HIDE BEHIND.

The old lighthouse had been dark for years. Perched on the jagged edge of Widow’s Point, the Black Hollow Lighthouse had been abandoned since the night Keeper Alden Rowe vanished without a trace. No one had taken the position after that. Some said he’d fallen. Others whispered the sea had claimed him for a debt long unpaid. Mara didn’t believe in sea-debts. But she knew what she saw. Three flashes. Evenly spaced. Deliberate. The pattern repeated. Her little brother, Toby, burst into her room. “Did you see it?”

' 'I suppose it's the safest thing to do,’ I say, agreeing with him. As we park the car and step out, we suddenly feel a sense of doom. There’s a dark and eerie feel to the Blackwood territory. Dead trees surround the place, and a storm is brewing beyond it, adding to the eerie darkness. The only sound we can hear is the wind gushing through the trees. The dead branches and trees dance like they are all in a ritual. The dry leaves crumple under our feet as we approach the front door. The packhouse is a black Gothic house with huge windows all around. I can see a white curtain moving. Pack members peek through the window at me. Dried vines cover the house. Nathan and I glance at each other, t

They calmed Black, bringing serenity and detachment from the whole world around him into his soul. A sofa with soft cushions stood almost in the very middle of the living room, on both sides of it - the same chairs. Behind the sofa, a meter and a half away, was a wall-mounted closet containing a huge plasma TV that Black never turned on. He did not understand at all why he had a TV in the house. But ... since he is, then ... let him stand for himself. Next to the TV is a music center into which a flash drive was inserted.

“Well, I’ve got your back. Let’s see what secrets the Blackstone Pack holds, then.” As they approached the pack house, Kane’s sharp eyes took in the looming structure of the Blackstone mansion. It was large, formidable, its stone walls framed by tall, ancient trees that created an eerie canopy around it. The pack house sat high on a hill, almost hidden, as if it wanted to keep its secrets close.

"Just what we need, an audience for this disaster." The main house appeared around the final bend, a sprawling timber and stone structure that dominated the central clearing. Three stories of rustic elegance with wraparound porches and large windows, it had been home to generations of Blackwood Alphas. Standing on the front steps, waiting with the unmistakable authority of his position, was Marcus Blackwood.

“Because men like them never go quietly. They don’t lose. They reload.” The next morning, Nova made a decision. They would go after Hayes. Not with files. Not with fire. But with proof. And for that, she needed to go somewhere she had avoided for years: The Blackthorne Estate. It stood like a fortress in the hills outside the city, all sharp corners and marble arrogance. Nova had been raised here. Taught to walk in heels, speak in code, and smile through betrayal. Now she walked up the driveway in combat boots and a black coat.

As if saying it aloud would make it real, make this arrangement into something more than a business transaction. James cleared his throat. "Mr. Black is in his private office, ma'am. But he asked not to be disturb." I was already moving. "Thank you, James." My heels clicked faster as I navigated the maze of hallways. The Black estate was obscenely large, all dark wood and crystal chandeliers, the kind of wealth that whispered instead of shouted. I'd been here for a few months and still got lost. Caleb had given me a wing of my own—as far from his bedroom as architecturally possible.