Black Noir Novels & Stories

He nudged the unconscious man, pushing him to his stomach and just as expected, a black moon tattoo was carved onto the skin of his neck. A Darkmooner “Blow the horn”

“OH MY GODDESS! WE HAVE A HELL PUPPY !!! A REAL FREAKING HELL PUPPY!!! Can you guys believe it? Oh my gosh, I can't wait to see what he looks like! Oh, I bet he's so gross and cute! Does he have blood all over him? I picture a massive black wolf with blood dripping from its fur. I'm right, aren't I?” Noah said excitedly, and began pacing back and forth, rubbing his hands together as he thought of the hellhound.

Dark of Night Copyright 2019 Emily Goodwin Chapter One “What do you see when you look at this one?” The doctor holds up a card, showcasing an ink splotch that’s twisted and creepy, with eyes that follow you no matter where you go. I look at it, heart hammering away inside my chest. The mess of ink on the white paper reminds me of the monster that lurks in Nana and Papa’s basement, the one that tried to get Abby and Scott to go downstairs with it.

; Seer-Lira trailing ethereal, Caelum’s cousin veiled in silver gossamer, third-eye tattoo on forehead pulsing questing-white, blind-gaze piercing. Thorne halted thunderous, nostrils flaring storm-flame reek, voice gravel-roar: “Blackwood! This disturbance *reeks* of your whelp-spawn—rifts cracking *my* border holds like eggshells, shadows spilling wolf-blood! Surrender heirs *and* whatever anchor they’ve forged, or we invoke full council sanction—packs claim your university by rite!”

One week later… Noah sat on the couch, sipping alcohol and smoking cigarettes. His eyes were dark, red, and heavy, devoid of any emotion, only endless coldness on his face. His lips were tightly pursed. His long legs, clad in well-stitched black trousers, were casually crossed on the tea table in front of him. The top two buttons of his black shirt were undone, revealing his strong and masculine chest. The sleeves were rolled halfway, and a sparkling silver watch adorned his wrist. His mobile phone on the table vibrated incessantly, but Noah leisurely leaned back, ignoring everyone's attempt to disturb his peace. He had finally taken revenge on Neel Dixon.

Dominique managed to question him despite the searing pain oozing from every pore of his skin. Dylan tsked, “So many questions. All right this time I wouldn’t disappoint you. But we will go with the second part first, hmm. Now tell me have you heard about ‘The Black’?” Dominique quirked a brow at his absurd question. Nevertheless answered. “Of course, I know. He is the psychopathic Mafia Lord of America, Leader of the Night Stalkers.” He grated out. “Ouch,” Dylan feigned a hurt expression and placed his palm over his heart.

But I lost him because I was too proud to respect that he didn’t want to be a ruthless killer. But I’m done. For once, I will protect my son instead of just protecting myself. I, Nicholas Black, Gamma of the Midnight pack, hereby challenge you, Alpha Richard Harvey of the Midnight pack, for the Alpha title.”

eyes, with too many jagged mouths snarling in the dark. It is a nightmare pulled straight out of the deepest hell. Seraphine lets out a war cry and charges right at it first, her blade flashing like silver lightning in the dark room. Her massive wolves follow after her, teeth bared, howling into the dark night air. I raise my gun and start firing blindly into the dark. Flash after flash lights up the room, the loud cracks of gunfire hurting my ears and filling the space with acrid smoke. But the bullets do nothing. They pass right through the shifting mass of shadow as if it is nothing more than thick smoke. Panic flares in my chest, cold and sharp, threatening to choke me. Noah steps out f

Because I’m not drowning in it anymore. Even if it’s thin. Even if it’s stupid. Even if it’s the only thing keeping me standing. Headlights stab the dark. Bright. Multiple. We all whip around. Black cars screech in. One. Two. Three. Four. Circling us like wolves. Doors slam. Men pile out — armed to the teeth. Silencers on guns. Watching and waiting. The last door opens slowly. Then, he steps out. Lennox. Black coat over shoulders, dry as bone. Untouched. Smiling like he owns the storm, his claps echo like shots.

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.