Blackthorn Novels & Stories

Thorne: It had been five years since the death of his mom and abduction of his mate, and just as he had spent every evening since her funeral, Thorne stood before at the tree planted where his mother was buried, in her honor. The tree, a sturdy silver oak, stands tall and proud, its bark shimmering with a soft, ethereal glow. Despite being only five years old, it has grown remarkably fast, its branches stretching towards the sky like outstretched arms, providing a canopy of shade and comfort. The leaves, a vibrant green, rustle softly in the breeze, releasing a gentle whisper of wisdom and peace.

I crouched the fruit juice in my hand, strangling it with the picture of Andrew in mind. "Are you trying to shift the whole blame on me? You know that we don't have the kind of mastery that the Southwest possesses and you still want me to go against them? I fear no boy, even his father knows the kind of stuff I'm made of." Blackthorn responded, his jaw tightened as he gripped the arm of the chair we were sitting on. , "We don't have much time on our side, that's all I'm saying," I remind him, hissing.

The moon hung low and full, casting pale light that flickered through the canopy, painting the forest floor with ghostly patterns. The Ashfang Pack territory was unfamiliar, a tangled web of old magic and older grudges. The curse that bound our families whispered through the trees, carried on the wind like a warning I couldn’t ignore. I could feel it clawing at my blood, reminding me that this was no ordinary hunt. Elena Blackthorne—my second chance mate—was more than a name now. She was the key, the hope, and the danger all wrapped into one.

"Wolves of the Blackthorn Valley!" Sharon Bloodclaw stepped out onto the high stone ledge, his massive, scarred frame draped in the heavy fur of a mountain bear. His hair was long, matted with grease and iron dust, his face twisted into an arrogant, triumphant grin as he lifted a massive, two-handed battleaxe over his head.

"Mom, you need to stop. Right now." "I'm doing this for you!" Mrs. Porter argued. "Mom, didn't Thomasina tell you?" Rowena stared her mother down. "Cassian terminated every single joint venture with the Blackthorns this morning. Without Ironthorn as a backbone, Blackthorn is going to be wiped off the map in a few years."

he added, catching my chin gently to make sure I met his eyes, “if she says anything you don’t want to answer, you don’t. You stand up and walk away. You answer to me and the Moon, not to her guilt.” Warmth pressed under my ribs. “I understand,” I said. I wasn’t sure I did. But I wanted to. *** The inner garden of Blackthorn was not like the manicured courtyards of Moonfang. It was smaller, rougher—the kind of space that had grown up between walls by necessity rather than design. A crooked stone path wound between hardy mountain shrubs and a few scraggly fruit trees that clung stubbornly to life. Moss grew in shady corners; wildflowers poked through cracks.

Smoke from peaceful hearth fires drifted lazily into the calm sky, carrying the rich scents of roasting grains, dried spruce, and sweet mountain herbs. Inside the quiet sanctuary of the Alpha’s private study, the heavy oak shutters were pushed wide open, allowing the cool evening air to pass through the high arched windows. Ethan Blackthorn stood beside a long, dark-timbered table map. His broad, muscular shoulders were draped in a simple slate-grey tunic, unadorned by formal armor or heavy fur pelts. His dark hair was brushed back loosely, framing a face that had lost its old, permanent mask of grim hostility.

Orion stated. The name sent a chilling shiver through the room. Hassan Blackthorn was a legend—ruthless, completely disciplined, and the commander of the most feared military force in the werewolf world. He dressed in tailored black suits, ruled his empire with cold logic, and had zero interest in love or political marriages. “Blackthorn?” Cedric scoffed, throwing his hands up in despair. “He’s a goddamn monster! He hates the Ravenscar pack, yes, but he would never agree to a sudden alliance with us. He doesn't take sides in Council disputes.”

These hunters will turn the world upside down if only to find her and get the coveted prize. "Yaya, I'm going to the gym. Don't cook dinner for me. I'm just going to grab something to eat at the nearby resto when I conclude my workout." “Sure Ma’am. I understand.” Stressed from a long day's work, she chose to unwind and let go of some steam. This is her habitual way of getting rid of the toxins in her body. In her reckoning, the sweat that flows out of her pores drives away the microorganisms that have clung to her. Aside from her exercise routine in the gym, she believes that tonight is special. It is forecast that a full moon will be rising from the East. It is time to go hunting and quenc

Brambles had spread everywhere, festooned over the yawning archways, branches reaching out inquisitively as if trying to push in through the thick walls. The house was woeful and an eyesore, being consumed from within as well as without, but still, it bore the remote marks of grand antiquity in its giant frame and foundations, deep inside its moldering bones somewhere. It was an echo from another time, and for that reason alone the township of Blackwater Valley would never bulldoze it down. It waited for the Reverend, the Orchestrator—deserted and mute and harboring its secrets there, leering out at him with a kind of primitive, terrible purpose.