Black Knights Coursing Novels & Stories

They both charged forward towards him at the same time and the next second, they could not find him there again. Lucas whistled behind them and before they would look back, he hit both their bodies together and they fell. They both stood up immediately and the first guy decided to attack Lucas. If they didn’t carry out the order their master sent them, they would both be dead anyway. Gripping the knife hard, he made to stab Lucas but just in time, Lucas caught hold of his wrist and twisted it backwards at a right angle and then the wrist and arm were snapped into two. The man’s face contorted in pain and he dropped to his knees, screaming and holding his broken arm.

"Of course, Mac. Later, we'll deal with the bastard together." Mac nodded once before turning away, while Ethan's eyes darkened with murderous intent. ****😔😔****

Like long lost friends our magic twined and embraced one another. A puff of air left my mouth as I felt her mind probe mine. I saw the confusion in the light witch's eyes as if it had taken her by surprise too. The dark-skinned wolf with long black hair by her side growled. I could see him look between us as his eyes began to shine a beautiful golden color, then turning black. Just like Rhett’s the dark eyes held a flash of white in the center and I knew he was one of the Queens four knights.

From a distance, the miasma hanging above us might seem like a thick fog, but up close there was fire in these clouds, flame born from anger and death and the claiming of souls. The horsemen have arrived. Nine men on nightmare horses made of pure black smoke, both the rider and steed with eyes glowing gold, faces shrouded in darkness. They formed a chevron with their leader at the point. Tristan, the strongest of Arthur's knights, and the last to fall during the battle for Avalon. To his right are Dinadin, Lamorak, Gawain, and Marhaus. To his left rode Galahad, Palamedes, Bors and…Percival.

The blade stained with fresh, dark red blood, streaking unevenly along its length. A man approaches the kneeling knight, his heavy, predominantly back armour clinks as he approaches. The knight’s amber eyes roam upward from the rubble covered ground, noting the deep red accents in the dark knight’s armour and the dark chainmail underlayer visible under his neck. As soon as golden knight saw his face, he knew who he was, Mestre Escuro. Mestre had a stern, intense expression accompanied by his sharp, angular structured face, defined cheekbones and slightly furrowed brow. His skin was pale, contrasted by subtle shadows that deepened the contours of his face. His unnaturally red glowing eyes see

“Forever Knights.” Sebastian said quietly. As if he feared anyone in the distance might hear sacred words. Disseus jerked to a stop. His head rolling to one than the other. “You were hunting them.” That is what Forever Knights do, at least as the legends say. Disseus had heard many whispers in the assassin guilds he visited while looking for work. “Or perhap followin’ them ta see what they was up to.” RedBayne rumbled. “Depending on how many it were.”

It snarled and turned quickly, half jumping as it did so and knocked Sigwulf to the ground. One of the riderless horses, blood splattered across the saddle, squealed in panic then ran away north and down the path. The Grishnack pinned Sigwulf underneath it. Sigwulf thrust his gauntleted fists into the mouth of the animal, holding back its snapping jaws. More blood dripped onto the snow, from both the Grishnack and Sigwulf as it scraped at the chainmail that Sigwulf wore, ripping at his arms and legs with razor sharp claws. The other knights rushed in to help as Sigwulf and the Grishnack wrestled on the snow together, each trying to get a hold over the other. Churned with blood and mud, t

“And if he refuses to listen?” Damien’s hand cupped her cheek. “Then we remind him why the Blackthorn name still echoes in these mountains.” She smiled against his mouth. “With words first.” “With words first,” he agreed. “And steel if necessary.” He kissed her then, fierce and claiming, and they lost themselves in each other until dawn crept pale through the shutters. Two days later, at first light, twenty wolves rode out from Blackthorn Keep. Damien and Ashley led on matching black stallions. Clara rode at Ashley’s right, Gideon at Damien’s left. Ronan carried the banner: black field, silver thorn tree, the sigil unchanged yet somehow brighter in the new light.

"They must be truly desperate." "Those aren't ordinary soldiers," Serena warned. "Those are hunter-knights, trained specifically to combat supernatural threats. Their weapons are blessed by the Grand Inquisitor himself. Even with the Soulstone's power, you'd be wise to avoid direct confrontation." The Shadow Knight studied the approaching force. Twenty riders, each representing the pinnacle of the Light's martial prowess. They moved with disciplined precision, scanning the terrain with the practiced efficiency of predators tracking prey.

But the air changes when a new presence slides through the hall — silent, massive, impossible to ignore. A hush spreads behind my eyelids. I open them just in time to see him step out of the shadows. Tall. Broad shoulders draped in black. Eyes like forged silver — not warm, not cold. Just sharp enough to cut through bone. Damian Blackthorn. I’ve heard his name in whispers since I was a pup. Stories of a wolf who razed a whole border clan to the ground for daring to betray him. A king without mercy. But kings don’t come to filthy auctions for leftover daughters.