Romans & histoires Blackthorn Manor

But my attention wasn’t on any of that but in the centre of the room. The same man I saw previously in the Nexus Corporation stood in the ruins, draped in a black hoodie that swallowed him in shadow. He exuded an aura of death and something sinister, something I couldn’t decipher. And in his hand, held aloft like a grotesque trophy, was Minister Blackthorn’s still-beating heart. Natalie’s sharp gasp echoed beside me, mirroring my own disbelief as my breath caught in my throat. My eyes danced around the event that unfolded before. Darting from the gaping wound in Blackthorn’s chest to the eerie figure’s clenched fist, dripping with blood, then to Daemon, crumpled on the floor like a broken do

His heart was about to fly back home now. During winter at dusk, the Stewart manor would be covered in a soft layer of twilight. The sky would also turn dark very quickly. Only two rows of street lights were flashing on and off. The black wrought iron gate seemed much more solid than it did in summer. The black color, however, made the whole manor look lifeless and extremely dull. With its headlights on, the black Bentley was currently driving into the opened gates. There were dried leaves on the ground in which the manor’s gardener did not manage to sweep up in time. When the Bentley drove past, the dried leaves rolled and flew before falling again in circles.

I try to picture having a conversation with this man and it terrifies me. I nearly drop my phone when I hear a knock at the door. I switch the screen off and tuck it away. The lock turns and he walks in. Blade Blackthorn. My new master.

“If I make it through the night without getting possessed or murdered by some Victorian ghost, you all owe me a thousand dollars each. And I only accept cash.” That bold declaration was how she found herself here. It was 9:17 PM when Harper pulled her old, beat-up Civic up the long, overgrown driveway. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the imposing silhouette of Thorne Manor. The three-story mansion looked like it had been pulled straight out of a nightmare, dark wood rotting in places, ivy choking the walls, cracked stained-glass windows, and a sagging roof that seemed one strong wind away from collapse.

“Watch yourself, girl. I have ways of dealing with people who get too curious. Now go about your work.” She turned and walked away without another word. I closed my door and leaned against it, breathing fast. My hands were shaking. That lie had worked for now, but I knew Sophia would be watching me even closer. The morning chores felt heavier than usual. I moved through them on autopilot, my thoughts spinning. Blackthorn Estates had struck again during the night. I heard the news from Marcus while we worked near the storage sheds. “More vandalism,” he told me quietly. “They poisoned another big section of vines. Cost us dearly this time. Sebastian is furious.”

He winked again. “To say you were still half asleep when you got up earlier, you are very feisty right now, Mr. Thorn.” “Keep calling me Mr. Thorn and we will have to go back upstairs and do something about my mood.” “You are rather hot under the collar aren’t you.” “And it’s all your fault.” I hurried us into the car to ensure we were not late. The drive was quiet, and very familiar. As he pulled in, I realised we were at the country manor house where the ball was held. Memories came flooding back of that night and I couldn’t help but smile.

he breathed, unable to finish. “So do you,” I said quietly. The silence between us then was different with the magnitude of what we were about to walk into. A driver arrived, another anonymous luxury car sent by the Blackthorn pack. The drive to the Blackthorn estate was long and silent. The manor appeared like a vision from a darker age, a vast stone mansion lit by thousands of twinkling lights, perched on a cliff overlooking a moonlit sea. Cars lined the long drive, disgorging men and women who moved with the subtle, predatory grace of apex creatures. The air, even inside the car, hummed with latent power.

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened as the looming silhouette of the manor came into view. Haverstone Manor loomed on the horizon like something out of a gothic novel. Its towering spires and ivy-clad walls seemed almost comically ominous, and Emma half-expected a bolt of lightning to strike just for dramatic effect. As she pulled up the gravel driveway, a figure in a dark suit emerged from the shadows. He was short and round, with a mustache so perfectly waxed it could have doubled as a coat rack. Behind him, the manor’s massive double doors creaked open as if welcoming her into its secrets.

ALESSIA'S POV The first thing I notice about Blackthorn Manor is that it smells wrong. Not rotten, not exactly. Just... heavy. Like the walls remember too many secrets and haven’t bothered to hide the scent of old blood. They lead me through high archways and stone corridors lit by flickering torches. My boots click against polished floors while the two guards at my back pretend I don’t exist. I keep my chin up. If they think I’m going to cower after what Damian did tonight, they’ll die disappointed.

One impulsive wedding, and now they were moving into a mansion in the middle of nowhere with a man neither of them really knew, Samuel Blackthorne, wealthy, a widower and mysterious. They passed under a massive wrought iron gate as the car wound up a hill. At the top stood the Blackthorne estate. The estate emerged from the fog like something out of a gothic novel. It was huge; stone walls, arched windows, turrets that reached toward the sky, framed by forest on all sides. Moss clung to the sides like veins, showing how old the building was. As the car pulled up to the entrance, the door swung open, and a man dressed like a butler stepped outside, his hands folded primly in front of him. Ama