Blackthorn Manor Novels & Stories

Rubbing his jaw, he picked himself up and prayed that the lady wouldn't be found, unlike last time. - - - The maze seemed endless and every turn she took, it was one dead end after another. It was getting irritating. Why would Emile even point her here? Every twist and turn seemed all the same to her, but one right turn finally got her someplace, a small fountain in the middle of the maze. The statue resembled a weeping angel with wings that were cut off, its feet shackled. She couldn't help but remember her own situation: she too was shackled in this hell house. Approaching the statue, she saw another one of those cards from earlier. This one depicted a skeleton hanging upside down, and it

A chill ran down my spine, not entirely from the cold stone floors. “Welcome, Miss Thorne,” a deep, resonant voice echoed from the grand staircase. Lord Victor Blackthorn, the eldest, descended with the grace of a predator. Tall and broad-shouldered, with raven hair streaked with silver at the temples and eyes like polished obsidian, he carried an aura of old power and restrained hunger. His tailored black coat hugged a frame built for both command and combat.

He looked at me now with an expression I couldn't quite read. “Follow me.” I followed him through the manor's main hall, trying not to stare. I'd seen Blackthorn from the outside many times; every orphan in Riverside had. It loomed over the territory like a stone cathedral, but the interior was something else entirely. High ceilings, dark wood panelling, tapestries depicting wolf hunts and territorial conquests. Everything was immaculate and austere, designed to communicate power rather than comfort. It looked like a place that had never heard laughter.

Blackthorn Estate loomed before her like something out of a dark dream — a sprawling modern mansion of glass, stone, and shadowed luxury, surrounded by acres of perfectly manicured lawns and dense woods that made the property feel completely isolated from the rest of the world. Victor Black had interviewed her himself two days earlier. The billionaire hadn’t smiled once. At 48, he was even more imposing in person than in the rare photos she’d seen online: 6’4” of solid, disciplined muscle beneath an impeccably tailored black shirt, silver threading through his dark hair, and those piercing steel-gray eyes that seemed to strip her bare without effort. “The position is live-in,” he had told he

One bare touch from my skin and the person on the receiving end was flooded with overwhelming, agonizing pleasure — so intense it could drive them to madness or leave them addicted for life. My own family had learned that the hard way. After what happened to my cousin when I was sixteen, I started wearing gloves, long sleeves, and never letting anyone get close. But the loneliness was killing me. I needed the curse gone. Blackthorn Manor loomed ahead — a gothic monstrosity of dark stone and ivy-covered towers, lightning flashing behind its spires. I killed the engine and stepped out into the storm, my black raincoat hiding the simple black dress beneath. My he

Kyra A light rain tapped against the car window as I stared at the iron gates in front of me. I should be grateful for having found a job, or I would be completely out of options. But I also had to admit that I was terrified of starting over again and having it end the same way as last time. Those gates. Massive. Black. Imposing. I checked the address one last time. This was it. Blackthorne Estate. A mansion that looked more like a maximum-security prison. The kind you enter without knowing if you’ll ever come back out.

Streetlights cast golden pools of light along the way. At the end of the drive, massive iron gates stood open. Beyond them, Blackwood Manor rose like something from a dream. Or a nightmare. The main house was enormous. Three stories of classic architecture, all stone and tall windows. Wings extended from either side, creating a U-shape around a circular driveway with a fountain at its center. Lights blazed from dozens of windows, making the entire structure glow against the darkening sky. “This is…” I couldn’t find words. “Home,” Seraphina said simply. “For over two hundred years, this has been the seat of Nightfall Pack leadership.”

I refused to give him that. The hotel was even more excessive than the plane. Presidential suite. Two bedrooms, thank god. A living room bigger than my childhood house. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Nate disappeared into one bedroom without a word. I took the other. Twenty minutes later, there was a knock. “Mrs. Blackthorne?” A woman’s voice, professional and warm. “I’m Sarah, Alpha Blackthorne’s assistant. I’m here to help you prepare for this evening.”

The product had been acquired. I said nothing. What was there to say? Any word would be a betrayal of Serena, and my silence was the only mourning I could offer her. We arrived at Blackwood Manor. The imposing gates swung open, not welcoming a prodigal grandson, but admitting a returning asset. The house was colder than I remembered, a mausoleum of old money and older sins. Victoria chattered beside me about my schedule, about the narrative, about the need for a new, powerful wardrobe. Her words were the buzzing of an insignificant fly.

I spun around, and that’s when I saw him. The man behind me. Holding a heavy stick dripping with blood. My blood. And the world went black.