Black Novels Novels & Stories

“Or are you just that stupid you can’t---!” Damn, this man was never going to let me finish an insult! My rib broke under the onslaught of blows, and I was finding it harder and harder to breathe. But still, I couldn’t help but be a little disappointed… I mean--- This was THE Blackwood Pack! The biggest and strongest pack in the south, with so much money they could use it like freaking toilet paper! Alpha Christian Blackwood was infamous for how he led his pack with an iron fist, and he was rumored to be absolutely ruthless and a coldhearted bastard. But I must say, that if everything he’d done to me so far was his worse…

the leader of their council said. There was so much hatred in the way he spoke to me, and I wondered what he was talking about. "What did you find out?" I asked him. " You possessed a dark lunar magic and this has brought about some kind of darkness to our pack, we do not accept that kind of magic here and anyone who brings such to us will be punished" he said. It sounded like some lame joke, I am never with such kind of magic, what has this got to do with me?

“Quiet doesn’t mean unbothered. Just good at hiding it.” We fell into silence. The only sound was distant thunder rumbling above ground. I wondered how long we’d be down here. Minutes stretched. My mind wandered to how close he was. How alone we were. “Tell me something,” I said finally. “Why’d you become a librarian? You don’t seem like the type who likes being stuck behind a desk all day.” Mr. Kane exhaled softly. “Books don’t talk back. They don’t expect small talk. I like the order. And the stories. What about you? History major with a focus on obscure trade? That’s not common.”

Hey beautiful humans. Welcome to The Chiseler BB4 (Blackbook 4) of the Woods series. Have you checked out BB1, BB2, and BB3 yet? If yes, congratulations🙂 if no, pls do check it out. Love you all much much. Your Author Zagzahzlau. ~••~ "The shade, tsk tsk, I don't like it," I said whilst punching my phone. My friends--Marila and Bennie--had managed to pull me out of my cocoon from the comfort of my beddings tenderness on a Saturday afternoon to the Mall out of my very own wish.

Dannie picked up another joint from her room and went to the library. Among the ancient books was one of the largest collections of werewolf history in the world. If there was anything on Balric or the black book it was there. She gathered a variety of titles that looked promising and lit the joint. Taking a hit, Dannie opened the first book. Inside was mostly what she already knew.

Others were modern thrillers and contemporary fiction, their glossy jackets still vibrant. But then she came to a section that felt...different. These books weren’t stacked like the others. They were nestled into the shelves like treasures, rich, cracked leather covers, some with gold foiling so worn it was barely legible. Her hand paused over one that read, The History of the Black Moon Pack. Her brows knit. “Pack?” she murmured under her breath, pulling it from the shelf.

“That’s exactly what your grandmother used to say at your age.” I wandered farther between the narrow shelves mostly to escape the public humiliation, while Harmony disappeared toward the romance section making loud, dramatic noises about enemies-to-lovers tropes. The bookstore glowed softly beneath the low hanging lights while the snow drifted in thick waves outside the front windows facing Main Street. I paused near the folklore section automatically, my fingers tracing the bindings. Appalachian legends, mountain myths, and local history books lined the dark wood. One specific title caught my eye immediately: The Founding Families of Black Hollow.

Heavy with time. Books lined every corner—some thin and colorful, some ancient with cracked spines and gold lettering barely clinging to the covers. To the right, a large reading area with plush armchairs surrounded a low fireplace, its mantle stacked with historical fiction and romance novels. To the left, framed photographs of pack founders lined the walls, beneath a sign that read: Black Hollow Legacy, Preserved in Ink. She could’ve spent hours just standing there, soaking it in. But she had come with a purpose.

The way they kiss as well as the way she put his hand to hers ----- From that moment he badly pinched his cheek again reminding himself that he needed to plot a plan for the black market he had entered a while ago. There, he stood up and went to the bookshelves inside his room to look for published books that had relations for any black trading or the underground trading. However, what he only saw were those about the empire, noble society as well as other things talking about the imperial academics but none of those were related to the one he's finding 'There's no such thing as a book like that in here because it was mainly kept a secret that no one would dare to publish'

Behind her, the city was a wall of wet granite; ahead, the black, choppy water offered a smuggler’s hope that wasn't coming. The engine hum cut through the mist first—low, rhythmic, expensive. Four black SUVs materialized from the gray like predators from a dream. Hugo Sidney stood at the center, a mountain of a man who didn't need a gun to look lethal. Then, the armored town car slid into the circle. Dominic Moretti stepped into the rain. He didn't look like a mobster; he looked like a man who owned the rain. He opened a black umbrella with a slow, mechanical precision, the drumming of the water the only heartbeat in the silence.