Black Mercy Novels & Stories

Usually, I’m good at going from being myself to being the cold-hearted assassin everyone knows and fears, but this entire Grigoras mess has made me deviate from my normal routine in more ways than one and let’s be honest, Alec has definitely messed with my head and my vagina, though one I enjoyed more than the other. Right now I need to take the last few weeks and lock them away in the back of my mind and focus on being Blackheart. From the moment I step off this plane, I will be cold, emotionless, fearless, and capable of anything. Death is my bitch and she’s not coming for me this year.

“I offer a Destiny Pill that can help awaken innate abilities.” “I offer a technique that uses blood to escape, capable of traversing space.” “I offer...” After Andrius’ offer, many others continued to bid. Before long, all the bids were recorded. “Fellow cultivators...” The woman smiled and said, “I will now convey your bids to the seller. Please wait a moment.” The woman went backstage. That was where the owner of the corpse puppet, the lord of Blackwater City, Victor Mercer, was waiting! “Lord Mercer...”

Grace cut her off firmly. Mercy swallowed hard. Her gaze slid back to the triplets, lingering on Adan. He was busy on his phone, but as if sensing her stare, his frown deepened. His cold eyes suddenly lifted and locked onto hers. Mercy’s heart skipped a beat. She snapped her head away quickly and typed a message to her team with trembling fingers: “A big problem may be coming for both the businesses and the mafia worlds.” Then she scrolled down and sent another text to a different contact. “Boss, how can I get Hindley’s ancestors' history?”

his voice echoes, the ringing sound of his firing gun following. Blood splatters from the bullet hole in Emilio’s head, staining the marble floor as it quickly pools beneath him. Suddenly, a string of chills shoots down my spine, but it’s not from the gruesome sight before me, the sound of a familiar voice meeting my ears. Stepping back, I snap my head to the side, looking up at the top of the staircase where Mercy stands with a terrified look on her face. It’s as though she’s seen a ghost, her face as pale as the day I took her from the hospital.

And we’re underground. Wrath stands outside the bars. He hasn’t left since Draven gave the order. Chain them. Or she walks. He chained us. He didn’t lock it. The key is in his boot. His jaw is locked too, grinding on duty versus loyalty, and I don’t envy him the math. “Mother,” he says. Low. Just for me. “You hear that?” I do. Boots. Multiple sets. Fast. Not Alpha tread. Mercy rounds the corner with six wolves. Her broken wrist is in a brace, her other hand holds a D.C. sedation kit. Black fluid. Military grade. The kind they use on ferals they can’t kill clean.

After so many years of fighting and killing on the battlefield, they had never seen such a bizarre situation. Did these people happen to be ghosts? How could they suddenly disappear without a trace? In fact, Samael and the rest had not disappeared. However, their speed was too fast, so much so that the range of their movement could not be caught with the naked eye. Faced with this kind of speed, which had long exceeded the limits of the human body, the guns in the mercenaries’ hands were not much different from toys. “Argh!!!” Just then, a Black Dragon mercenary suddenly let out a miserable cry as a chilly bayonet pierced through his chest. Everyone gawked in his direction.

He studied many supernatural species from his luna and Stefano, but there were things that he had yet to discover. The man who clad in all black wasn’t someone who was supposed to be walking on the face of Earth. Liam could feel his power was parallel with Stefano, the High Lord of the Daemons. “Take them home,” the man said to no one. Suddenly, heads began to roll on the ground, and Liam’s eyes widened when the mercenaries dropped to the ground one by one, headless. Blood flowed out of their neck, painting the ground red. Just like that, thirty mercenaries died, and the man clad in all black stood before him.

“You want me to stop? No! To you traitorous humans; I am your Daymare and your Nightmare. I am the Punishment of both God and Devil. If you all hadn't committed this great sin, I would not have brought this punishment unto you. I am... BLACK HEART”

Then Mercer Hayes happens and unfortunately for her he’s worse than Bryan. MERCER HAYES Age: 29 Position: Defenseman / Bryan’s best friend. Known around the league as being brutal on ice,terrifying in fights but impossible to provoke emotionally. Mercer is the guy hockey fans call “The Wall.” He’s Six-foot-four, covered in tattoos and he’s got a Permanent resting murder face. He’s the player other teams hate because he protects his teammates like violence is a love language but unlike Bryan’s cold obsessive intensity, Mercer is calmer.

She pushed the rickety door open and hopped down. Her boots crunched leaves along the dirt track. She couldn’t see anyone. The silence drove her mad. She stepped closer. Blood. So much blood. Its metallic stench filled her lungs until she gagged. Her vision blurred. What? What was this? Her wolf whimpered. A guttural scream escaped her chest, piercing through the silence of the quarry. The veins in her neck bulged. Her snowy skin diffused in crimson. Her voice reverberated against the hollow quarry walls.