Blackthorn Key Books Novels & Stories

I flip open the first page, quickly scanning through the wordings on the cover. I freeze, my eyes quickly scanning through. "Blackstone. Sending this to you so you can always have the names of all your enemies right beside you. The Familia belongs to you now. Long live Luca Blackstone. Long live our Capo dei Capi. Your best buddy, Ricardo." The book slithers out of my hand and lands on the table with a harsh thud. No! No, it can't be. I know that name, Blackstone. I hate that name.

Shadow Land was no longer an easy place to get in or out of. The crystal key had the power to seal the portal to Shadow Land forever if in the hands of the right people, or open it in any time dimension to the point it could never be sealed if in the hands of the wrong people. Along with the other parts of Lucy’s life the amnesia also stole recollection of the key. It was believed she hid it somewhere in the great house before she was taken, but no such crystal was ever found.

Krister asked, looking at his tablet still before walking to the back room. “Black? She doesn’t-- I mean didn’t wear anything else?” she asked, her eyebrows meeting in the middle confused. “Don’t tell me she’s one of those people…” “Yes, specifically black clothing. They’re hot in the day but you disappear in the night. That’s what she always said to me.” Krister disappeared in the back to get something whilst Rojean was left there to contemplate on her own how she was going to pull the act off if she was a bad liar herself.

So he took advantage of being home on sick leave and spent whole days on his laptop, searching the Internet across the globe for the most reliable sources possible. Maria, after long conversations with her husband and Miguel, let herself be persuaded and promised that she would find some way to contact Nadir, but the search was more difficult than she thought. Firstly, Maria didn't know exactly what to look for, and secondly, where, after all, she didn't know anyone interested in something like black magic and summoning demons. But one night the answer came to her by itself, in a dream in which Maria saw quite clearly the book she was looking for and a spell that would help her contact the c

"These markings, the specific victims, the timeline, must all mean something. We're missing a piece." I moved to the bookshelf, scanning the titles. Elder Blackthorne had an extensive library, pack histories, genealogy texts, books on werewolf mythology, and ancient traditions. One book sat slightly out of place, as if it had recently been pulled and not quite returned to its proper position. I carefully extracted it: The Old Ways: Ritual and Hierarchy in Traditional Pack Structure by Sebastian Thornwick. Thornwick. The same pack name that had appeared in the genealogy records I'd been studying.

HIS DARKEST SHADE BOOK-THREE ~Prologue~ “Even if you end up hating me for it.” His tone was vicious. “I might scare you,” he continued, his gaze roaming over her trembling form, “but they are far worse—formidable, vicious… and willing to do whatever it takes to get what they want.” He gestured toward her. “Including you.” “Never.” She shook her head, her voice trembling but firm. “I’m not scared of your words. You’re just trying to scare me so I’ll listen to you!”

He was simply stating facts, and that made them hurt more. “I want to prove myself,” I said quietly. “I need to. For Adele. For the crown that was taken from me.” Tyson flicked ash from the cigarette. “Good. Because I need you to prove it too.” He looked at me directly. “Do you know about the Black Book?” I shook my head. “No.” He took one last drag and dropped the cigarette into the water. It hissed and disappeared. “It’s a book that holds the darkest secrets of the royal family. It will deliver the royal family straight to my hands.”

IVY POV The hall of the Blackthorns was a throat of stone high, cold, and swallowing every sound my boots made. I stepped over the threshold and the heavy doors groaned shut behind me like they regretted it. Torch smoke drifted low, carrying the sting of pine resin and something darker, almost sweet, like blood left too long on iron. I tasted metal on my tongue and kept walking. Wolf pelts hung from the rafters, gray and black, eyes glassy, mouths frozen in last snarls. Their shadows jittered in the draft, snapping at my shoulders. I didn’t look up again; I was busy listening to my own heart argue with the silence. Each beat said, Turn around. Each echo answered, Too late. At the far end he

The finality of Julian Thorne’s death brought a strange, heavy stillness to the Scriptorium. For the first time in three generations, there was no Thorne plotting in a tower and no Vane hiding in a basement. The "Black Ledger" was a closed volume, and the "Living Script" had become the oxygen of a new global economy. But for Thomas, the silence wasn't empty it was vibrating.

Max had been sitting behind his desk late at night going through paperwork while I complained about how secretive he was. He'd laughed, then looked at me and said: "If everything ever falls apart, look where I kept the things nobody was supposed to find." At the time I rolled my eyes. I thought he was being dramatic. Now my heart started pounding. Because Max was dead. And everything had definitely fallen apart. I stood so quickly the chair nearly toppled behind me. The Blackthorne Archive. The words from the key flashed through my mind. Noah had the key, but Noah wasn't the only person who knew Max.