Black Knights Coursing Novels & Stories

I double checked my stuff before I followed him outside. "I'm ready, father." I told him. He nodded and escorted me to the carriage. The hunting grounds were near the border to the east. It was still under the territory of our Empire and the animals living there were regulated so there won't be too many dangerous animals there. The point of this hunt is to capture animals to prepare for the long winter nights. The other knights who choose to participate can sell their hunts and others use the hunt to prove their strength. This is usually the time when knights convey their love for their chosen maidens. I'm only participating because I don't want to deal with fake ladies.

Each of them formidable alphas from packs with unique abilities and legacies. Caius Knight Black of the Nightshade Pack was a tall man with long, sleek black hair that framed his chiseled face. His eyes were a piercing silver, sharp and calculating, often concealed under the shadow of his brow. The Nightshade Pack was known for their mastery over shadows and stealth, and Caius embodied that secrecy and quiet danger. His wolf, as dark as night itself, was a shadow among shadows, capable of blending into the darkness without a trace.

The way she’s asking me not to leave her, I’ll never leave her, she’s the only light I have in the darkness I call my life, I chose my life, but I always craved the light, even before I met her, I knew I needed her in my life, one way or another, she was to be mine. I dropper her back at home, I didn’t want to leave her, but work was calling things aren’t going well for me, I still had to deal with the one who calls themselves pure bloods, they are making themselves more known now, they are trying to leave a mark, make themselves known, try to show everyone how strong they are, a pain in the arse really. Add to that the Irish who got in troubles for losing Devil, they were going to sell her

“If you’re going to shake, do it behind me where he can’t see.” *** The trumpets sounded just before midday. Blackthorn rarely used them. Their brassy, ceremonial notes felt wrong echoing off the stone walls, like some piece of the capital had been forcibly transplanted where it didn’t belong. From the top of the main stairs leading into the courtyard, I watched the gates crank open. Royal banners appeared first—blue and gold, the Nightbane crest snapping in the mountain wind. Then came the riders. Lucian rode at the front on a white stallion, armor polished to a mirror, cloak lined with fur. He looked exactly as he had the last time I saw him under the Moon—perfect, golden, made for stories

They were rogues. They were dragged by Marcus to the centre and forced to kneel. “ These rogues were found trying to trespass on the ridges. One carried a blade made of silver.” A low growl rippled through the courtyard. Damien didn't respond immediately. He stood there for a moment, his gaze lingering on each prisoner. The first one caught my attention. She was about my age. “Kill them,” a voice spoke out from the corner. The hunger for bloodshed by the Blackthornes made something twist deep within me.

Knights from different villages and clans are gathered here in the Cravens manor to give aid for the alliance between the werewolves and the vampires. “Today is the day that we will conquer the evil!”I raised my voice to the very best where everyone could hear it, including the knights at the back. More than a hundred knights are here as per requested by Aeneas, the Commander, and the one who's leading the knights.

The Council of Night gathered only during times of dire imbalance, and Autumn's presence was imperative, an unwelcome obligation she could not escape. Tristan walked closely beside her, his posture taut with unspent energy, a cornered wolf among shadows. He was clad in ceremonial black, the fabric structured and somber, meticulously tailored. His family crest—the image of two mirrored wolves ensnared in thorn-laden vines—was subtly embossed on the collar of his shirt, a testament to his lineage and the weight of their legacy.

“My lord, the southern cavalry unit is ready. Eighty riders, all armored in leather and steel. They await your commands just beyond the paddock.” “Good,” I said, noting the troop by scanning the yard. A dozen horses stood in formation, bridles lined in silver. “They will flank Crimson Moon’s rear and cut off any who try to flee.” He nodded. “Yes, my lord.” I turned my gaze back to the courtyard, where a troop of crossbowmen now practiced under the watchful eye of their captain. Their bolts whistled through empty air, striking distant targets in a hail of wood and iron. Each bolt snapped into the mark with accuracy born of hours upon hours of practice.

"I won't let you die the way you died again. Not if I live." He raised his head — toward the leaves of the trees. And out of them rode armor-clad men, shrouded in mist and midnight blue. The Knights of Brunschière. Unspoken. Devoted. Obedient only to him. "You heard everything," Ignatius told them, his voice icy steel now. "She is not to leave the sanctuary. Not for a second." A knight approached, worry written even under his helm. "My lord… this is Lady Krishna."

"What's just happened?" Kursak didn't have to answer, because the ground was shaking again, although not as bad as before. The Gnomes were trembling with fear, making Edmund sure what happened next would not be pleasant. Sure enough, slowly something appeared from all over the hill, their numbers were numerous, hundreds or even thousands. Their figures were extremely thin, some of them even just a pile of bones. All of them emitted a green glow from all over their bodies. They are royal knights who died in battle, the wounds on their bodies show how they died. Some lost their heads, lost an arm, had no legs so that they were hobbling with both hands, and most had open wounds on the chest and