Blackthorn Novels & Stories

The files screamed as she cranked the handle. Rust and old grease protested the intrusion, the screech echoing like a dying animal in the Sub-Level 3 tomb. Lina ignored the noise. She pulled drawer 404. Inside, the missing piece of the manifest sat in a clean plastic sleeve—Thorne’s last middle finger to the city. She laid the two halves together on the cold steel. The fibers locked. It was whole. Lina’s flashlight beam trembled. It wasn't Dominic. It wasn't the old patriarch.

He didn’t deserve me anyway. As I neared the altar, I finally let myself look up. And forgot how to breathe. Nate Blackthorne stood waiting. Tall, easily six-four. Broad shoulders that stretched his black suit. Dark hair swept back from a face that could have been carved from stone. Sharp cheekbones and strong jaw. A mouth that looked like it rarely smiled. He looked like death personified. Beautiful and terrible. But it was his eyes that made my steps falter. Pale blue, like winter frost and was fixed entirely on me.

I zoom into one of Roman and notice something I missed completely when I took it: a card in his hand, black against his fingers, held near a door I’ve never seen students use. Another page. A crest. Blackthorne’s, but not quite the same resemblance as the one I have in my bag. Because the one in my bag is white with black writing. And beneath it: THE HOLLOWS. I read it again. The image is blurry with the amount I have zoomed in on but I can make the words out. Nothing. Nothing I think of comes to mind with that name. I’ve never heard of it before.

Ronan Midnight struck with twelve deep chimes from the clock tower above Blackthorne Mansion. The women stood at the edge of the forest beneath a sky bleached silver by the full moon. Forty-two figures lined the boundary marked by burning torches and a long strip of white stone laid into the earth. Beyond them waited darkness. The Blackthorne forest stretched for miles in every direction, dense with old pines, steep ravines, narrow streams, and hunting paths that twisted back on themselves. Fog gathered low between the trees, softening the roots and rocks beneath a pale veil.

My eyes swept the edge of the dirt path ahead. Just past the ancient stone marker that denoted Ironridge’s inner perimeter, the terrain dipped sharply into a jagged, treacherous ravine. The slope was choked with wild, ancient blackthorn—heavy, twisting brambles armed with three-inch wooden spikes, thick as iron nails and sharp enough to tear through raw hide. THERE. My heart didn't leap in fear. It beat with a smooth, icy precision.

"I was young when I worked for him. Young and stupid and desperate. I didn't know what he was planning. Didn't understand what I was helping build." "Who is he?" "Blackthorne." The name fell between us like a stone. "His name is Blackthorne." Beth's grip weakened. "I don't know what it means. There's no family with that name in any record. No territory. No lineage. But it's real. I heard it once, in a conversation I wasn't supposed to hear. And I've spent forty years trying to find it again." Blackthorne. A name that existed nowhere. A ghost. A shadow that had orchestrated twenty years of hunting

I find a table in the very back corner, tucked behind a big stone pillar. It’s perfect. It’s dark. It’s invisible. I sit down and open my book—a worn copy of Theoretical Astrophysics. I hide the cover behind a paper bag. If people knew the creepy janitor was reading about black holes, they’d only find a new way to mock me. I take a bite of my apple, my eyes scanning the room. Across the hall, the Knights' table is a scream of noise and gold. They sit in the middle, lit up by the tall gothic windows. Alan Voss is at the head of the table, looking like a king carved out of ice and ink.

the army answered in unison. "For our future!" Killian's voice grew stronger, echoing off the cliffs. The very mountains shook beneath the deafening, final cry: **"FOR BLACKTHORN!"** Far behind the front lines, inside the safety of the perimeter, Seraphina organized the medical response. Rows of pristine white tents had been rapidly prepared. Medicinal herbs filled every available table alongside clean bandages, soothing healing salves, and glowing Moonstone crystals. She moved calmly and efficiently among her anxious healers.

"Of course, Mac. Later, we'll deal with the bastard together." Mac nodded once before turning away, while Ethan's eyes darkened with murderous intent. ****😔😔****

Enthusiasm and courage are the words Nolan uses to describe Windy. Nolan smiled and nodded, "Then I'll hunt in the northeast." The two split up and ran in the chosen direction. But they never expected Ezra's enemies to have entered the forest long ago. The leader of the assassin group is a Wolf with a pretty special fur. It has a reddish brown coat that is different from the rest of the species. Next to it was a wolf with jet-black fur similar to Ezra. But if you look closely, you will see the difference between the two.