Blackthorn Manor Novels & Stories

Fog and mist clung low to the ground at night. The manor loomed with towering stone facades, ivy-choked walls, gargoyles, weathered statues, and faint red uplighting on the facade as if for dramatic effect. I never missed a detail. Arriving guests like me can see only scattered luxury cars hidden among the trees—nothing flashy that screams "party" to outsiders. Blackthorn Manor was a sprawling, historic estate on the outskirts of the university deep in wooded countryside. From the stories I heard when I was a kid, it was built in the late 1800s by a railroad tycoon and founding family tied to the secret societies, it has stood mostly empty for decades except f

"And I’m not letting you take the business away from us.” At that same time, Ethan stood just outside the room, his back pressed against the wall as he strained to catch every word of the heated exchange between his father and the mysterious man. The tension in the air was hard to not notice and the undertones of their conversation made his blood boil. From what he had gathered, it was clear: Mr. Blackthorn was the person pursuing their family business, operating from the shadows, sending goons and lieutenants to do his dirty work rather than confronting them directly.

he said lightly. Lie. I knew it. But I didn’t push. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” he added, his gaze scanning me like he was trying to figure something out. I lifted my chin. “I could say the same.” His eyes sharpened. “Blackthorn isn’t exactly…” He paused. “…easy to get into.” There it was. The subtle dig. I smiled sweetly. “Good thing I didn’t come here the easy way.” Recognition flickered in his eyes. “Scholarship,” he said.

Stone walls loomed from the dark at last, not built so much as exhumed, wet with sheen that caught the moon in broken pieces. The manor rose beyond the gates like a cathedral someone had frightened. Spires stitched the sky. Windows stared too long. Ivy clung like bruise-dark veins. I shivered, and Gavin’s hand found mine, entwining his fingers and giving me a reassuring squeeze. “Maybe we should have brought security,” I said for not the first time. “Or at least Beta Taylor. He’ll be pissed if he finds out we came here and didn’t tell him.” The natural territory that the Blackwell Manor was in was about an hour North of our borders. It was a territory outsiders would never dare to wander int

If it were Baxter, he would be alone, and the longer I look the longer I am convinced that it is two figures and not one alone. There is one part of the land not drenched in silver moonlight. One black scar, scoured into rock. It lies almost central within Blackmarsh lands, to the north-west of the house. All the family have been there at some point, although some only once in their lives. As I watch, the two figures approach that shadowed place, pause, and are then swallowed up by the darkness.

Make it look like I was the one holding us up. Forty minutes later, the iron gates of the Carmen Blackwood Manor swung open. The estate was breathtaking—twenty acres of ancient forest and perfectly kept grounds surrounding a massive stone manor. Unlike the modern glass tower Sebastian lived in, this place felt like the heart of the pack. It felt like history.

I got in beside him, trying to ignore the heat radiating off his body and the way his calm, controlled energy made my chest tighten. The drive was quiet. Neither of us said a word. The air in the truck felt heavy, almost suffocating, as his eyes stayed fixed on the road… cold, unreadable. Five minutes later, he slowed the truck and stopped in front of a massive wrought-iron gate. Behind it, a sprawling mansion rose, dark and imposing, ivy creeping along its walls, windows glinting in the morning light. “That’s Blackthorn Lane,” he said simply. I froze.

“I haven’t seen you in weeks. You promised—” “I’m still away,” Julian cut in smoothly, lying without hesitation. “Business. Negotiations take time.” There was silence on the other end, brittle and heavy. Then, quietly, “You’re always busy.” Julian said nothing. “Fine.” The line clicked dead. The long drive ended as the sprawling estate of Blackthorn Pack came into view, stone and timber rising from the forest like a fortress. The wrought-iron gates swung open on command, guards bowing their heads as the black sedan passed through.

And just like that, the argument died in my throat. Lucen walked through the quiet halls of Blackthorn Manor, his steps steady and confident. The torches along the corridor cast long shadows across the walls as we moved deeper into the private wing of the estate. His room. Our room now. The heavy doors opened, and he carried me inside. The bedroom was large, almost intimidating in its grandeur. Dark wood, tall windows, and a massive bed draped in deep charcoal silk dominated the space. Lucan gently set me down on the mattress. For a moment, neither of us moved. The air between us felt… charged.

My new necklace—a gift from the prince just two nights ago—was a cool weight at my throat, the pendant swaying gently with each step. I was on my way back from the library when the flicker of torchlight caught my eye. Down the far end of the corridor, two guards stood rigid, speaking in urgent whispers to a tall man cloaked in black. The silver threads embroidered into his sleeves shimmered faintly, like frost in moonlight. “…Lord Blackthorn,” one guard murmured, his voice too low for most to catch. I froze behind a column, my pulse quickening. Blackthorn. The name hissed through the halls in quiet rumor, the sort of figure mothers used to frighten unruly children—ruthless, untouchable, with