Blackheart Novels & Stories

Reality Two The blackness broke into a jarring scene: the border between River and Rivermirror. Hound’s chest was gaping open, a hole where his heart should have been. He was dragged across the dirt by Argent, a briefcase clutched tightly in her hands. Blood poured into the empty cavity, seeping into the dirt as pain seared through him. Behind them, shadowy figures closed in, their faces obscured. Who are they? The searing pain intensified, his breathing shallow and desperate. The darkness came again.

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.

What is that? I look at the streets crowded with both people and cars. We drove on and soon stopped at a traffic light. Silence takes over the place, but it's not embarrassing, which doesn't turn into a bad mood. But I reach my arm over to the radio and turn it on, being in the chorus of the song. "... I wanna wake up where your love is 'Cause your love is always waking mine I wanna break down where your heart gets So torn it's almost breaking mine I wanna lay here, lost and bitter

DEX A heartbeat runs through me, painful at first, like something inside me has cracked open. Then, that pain spreads and changes, flooding every vein in my body with fire. It burns, but it heals too, like lava surging through me. Every pulse carries both agony and exhilaration until I can’t contain it anymore. My lips part, and a deep, wild howl tears out of my chest. It echoes across the battlefield, carrying through the air until it reaches every mind and heart within the Silver Crescent Pack.

Ignoring his plea, I bring the iron closer, hovering the glowing metal plate inches from his bloody trembling and sweating chest. "To the heart that loved like a wretch" "ELEAN—AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I drive the flaming, flat surface of the steam iron directly over the left side of his chest where is miserable heart is placed. That darned organ. The very one that dared to fixate on my woman.

Cass waited until the deadbolt clicked behind her before she set the envelope on her coffee table. The apartment was quiet—too quiet. Even the city’s usual hum seemed muffled through the rain streaking her windows. She sat, letting her fingers hover over the silver-inked initials. Whoever had sent this hadn’t just known her name—they’d known her real one. Not the polished, harmless Cass Blake everyone met in daylight. The flap opened without resistance. Inside was a single sheet of matte black paper, the message printed in faint grey type, like a whisper in ink:

The faces of the frozen wolves passed by, their silent screams echoing through the very air, a chilling testament to the Heartstone's perversion. I felt their despair, their life force stolen, a sickening emptiness that threatened to seep into my own soul. But I pushed it back, focusing on Olivia, on the life force she represented. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we reached the Heartstone. It pulsed with a sickly green light, veins of black, corrupted energy pulsing beneath its crystalline surface, feeding the ice that held the wolves captive. It was a monstrous, beautiful thing, a power source twisted to malevolent ends.

Two weeks later, Raven sat in a corner booth at the Black Fang, a dive bar in the heart of Diamondback territory. The establishment reeked of stale beer, cigarette smoke, and the kind of desperation that clung to places where people came to forget their problems rather than solve them. Neon beer signs cast sickly light across scarred wooden tables and a clientele that looked like they'd crawl over broken glass for their next fix.

They stood before the Obsidian Heart, its malevolent energy pulsing ominously. The Obsidian Heart pulsed with a sinister energy, a malevolent energy that was both terrifying and alluring. It was the source of the Obsidian Circle’s power. Lyra knew that destroying it was a high-stakes gamble. The heart’s connection to the entire fortress was immense. Severing the connection could lead to a catastrophic release of dark energy, capable of decimating Silvermoon and everything beyond. But the alternative – a prolonged battle against a regrouped Obsidian Circle – was equally catastrophic. Lyra had to take the risk.

Night fell over Blackwater like a sentence of isolation, and inside the workshop garage, the silence was broken only by the sound of metal cooling. Dante Blackwood sat on a workbench, his hands stained with grease and dried blood, staring into the gloom. The golden glow in his irises, which once signaled dominance, now looked like the reflection of a fire he couldn’t extinguish. In the center of his chest, the Alpha’s heart beat with a force that suffocated him; it wasn’t the adrenaline of the hunt, but the excruciating weight of a soul wounded by guilt.