Blackstone Surround Table Novels & Stories

The dining hall was grand, but it wasn't beautiful. Stone walls lined with trophies — swords, antlers, bones. A long darkwood table stretched through the center of the chamber, set with iron plates and goblets carved with sigils of the Blackthorn bloodline. Torches cast flickering shadows across the floor, making the wolves carved into the pillars look like they were moving. The bones weren't just decorative — I recognized some of them. Ribs from creatures larger than any natural wolf. Skulls with too many teeth. Trophies from hunts that spoke of power and dominance over things that should have been left undisturbed.

“Alright, Mr. Blackstone. Let’s go pretend we’re hopelessly in love.” He offered me his arm, overly dramatic, like we were in a period drama. I took it anyway. Dinner was served on the east terrace, just as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting the sky in shades of pink and gold. The long mahogany table was set with crystal glasses, ivory napkins folded like origami, and enough silverware to start a war. It was beautiful. And it felt like a trap.

Thousands of miles away from where Leesa and Rave said their goodbyes to Dominic, five shadowy figures sat in a large, dimly lit room, gathered around a dark, round table at least ten feet in diameter. The table’s smooth surface was fashioned out of a special, highly polished material that looked almost like black glass. Candles flickered in brass sconces on the chamber’s stone walls, but strangely, none of the light reflected off the top of the table. The dark surface seemed to swallow any illumination that struck it. In addition to the five occupied chairs, four more sat vacant.