Blackened Triple Tail Novels & Stories

Then he unsheathed his weapon, a sword unlike any I’d seen before. Its steel was dark, almost black, and from its blade coiled tendrils of smoke, inky and alive, as though it breathed, enchanted, surely. I didn’t know if the others saw what I did, but to my eyes, it pulsed with a forbidden magic. The duel began. Alpha Thorne attacked first, striking with the fury of a pack leader defending his people. His movements were sharp. But Xareth barely lifted his blade. He sidestepped each strike with effortless grace, like a predator toying with prey. His expression never changed, very calm. And that calm was more terrifying than rage.

As the journey stretched on, the triplets took turns behind the wheel, switching positions whenever one of them grew tired. First, Zayne drove for two hours, then Steve took over, and finally Irish slid into the driver's seat for the next leg of the journey. The landscape outside continued to change as we drove deeper into what I assumed was pack territory. Dense forests replaced the rolling hills, and the roads became narrower and more winding. As evening began to approach, painting the sky in soft shades of orange and pink, we were making good progress when suddenly the car began to make an ominous thumping sound.

Then black. Nothing.

More like the color. Black. Fuck!

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 The dull, synchronized roar of three heavy combustion engines pierced the howling alpine wind, vibrating through the limestone bedrock before the vehicles even cleared the northern bend. Lucian did not drop his trowel, but his movements slowed, his frozen muscles locking as the headlights cut through the blinding sheets of snow. Three armored black SUVs; pristine, heavily reinforced, and bearing the distinctive silver seal of Blackwood Global across their front grilles skidded into the gravel courtyard. They looked completely absurd in this valley, like slick Manhattan predators that had mistakenly wandered into a glacial trap.

Ren switched his visual feeds to ambient-light amplification. Emerging from the pitch-black shadows of the dead Sector 6 streets were shapes. They were sleek, humanoid, and entirely painted in light-absorbing vantablack. They didn't carry kinetic rifles. They carried long, vibrating, high-frequency monomolecular blades that emitted no heat and no light. "Target lock failed," Ren's internal system warned him. The Behemoth's advanced AI couldn't track the entities. They were invisible to radar, thermal, and electronic scans. "What are they?" Leo asked, straining to see the monitors.

They were members of the Iron Claws, mercenaries who reeked of dried blood and ancient hatred. “Dante Blackwood has a refined taste for weak spots,” hissed the one who seemed to lead the trio, a man with yellowish eyes and scars that looked like teeth marks on his neck. “Let’s see how he reacts when we send you back to him in pieces.” The man advanced with an agility that defied gravity. Helena retreated, but the gravel betrayed her. Before the attacker’s hand could close around her neck, the world exploded in a roar of metal and fury. Dante’s motorcycle leaped from the side embankment, colliding with one of the aggressors in mid-air. The impact was brutal, a sound of bones breaking that ech

Her eyes wandered to Sandro's, and she realized his once beautiful sea-green orbs were starting to turn into a darker colour. It was different from the colour of the berserker wolf which was red with golden rings around it and the normal wolf which was black and flecked with gold. This was the blackest of black. A freaking vantablack and the more she stared at it, the more she felt it drawing her in. Thalia shook her head and bit her lower lips. “Sandro!” She shouted as he began to shift. “Get the fúck out of here!” He growled, straining against the chain restricting him.

They were the triad everyone whispered about in the border villages, the ones who took what they wanted and left nothing behind. Thorne Blackwood stood in the center. He was tall and broad. His black hair was cropped short. His green eyes were sharp as broken glass. Scars crossed his bare forearms like maps of old wars. A heavy silver chain hung around his neck. Even from twenty feet away, I could see the glint of metal lower down. Piercings. Thick and deliberate. They showed against the tight leather of his pants.

They are wearing more makeup and their dresses got magically shorter. “Good evening.” I answer. “Do you need help?” They fake a shy smile and run their fingers through their long hair. One of them places her hand on the Black Tiger’s shoulder, “What’s your name?” she asks with a melodious tone. I can't stop staring at her hand and I suddenly got scared for her. You never know what might happen. The Black Tiger doesn't seem to care. He peacefully takes his glass and sips his martini. The other girl moves next to him and tightens her arms around her sides to bring out her chest. Pitiful.