Blackthorn Novels & Stories

He gestured at me. "You can't kill me, Silas. I own this fucking city... and I will get back everything you shitheads took from me." His smile dropped. "I will end The Black Rose..." he seethed. "One petal at a time." He laughed. "Isn't that exciting?" He put his hands in his pockets and turned around, not caring about the gun being aimed at his back. Lorenzo and Noir were behind Silas, along with several men that hadn't been there before, pointing their guns at the opposing men.

blackthorn had many voices, but the most genuine was that of the river, it never softened itself for the elders or bristle under scrutiny the way the forest paths did I went to the river because it was the only place that still told the truth. Blackthorn had many voices, but the river did not lie. It didn’t soften itself for the elders or bristle under scrutiny the way the forest paths did. It moved as it always had unbothered about who ruled or who feared whom, if something was wrong, the river didnt hide it, if you listened close enough, if you looked well enough, it show you in ripples but today it was quiet

She sighed and shifted anyway—only to feel his hand settle more firmly at her waist, steadying her with an unmistakable don’t test me pressure. “Careful,” he murmured. “If you fall, I’ll catch you.” “That’s supposed to reassure me?” “It should.” The path crested a ridge, and Blackthorn came into view. It wasn’t a city. It was a stronghold grown from the mountain itself—dark stone, ironwork shaped like thorns, banners rippling in the wind. The walls didn’t look decorative; they looked experienced. Like they’d been tested and had learned. She swallowed. “This is your home.”

White lilies, blue moonbells, clusters of wild foxglove. My throat tightened as I approached. The headstone was polished dark granite. Noah Blackthorn 2002 – 2017 Beloved Alpha Heir, Son, Brother and Raven King. I crouched beside it, my fingers brushing over his name and I could almost feel him here. I rested my forehead lightly against the top of it for a moment the way I always did, feeling my eyes burn a bit. Then I stood and kept hold of Aria’s hand, pulling her close.

“But while we’re playing Twelve Knights of Camelot, we’re forgetting something.” “What’s that?” Killan asks. “Zarek wasn’t our only problem. If we’re going to make Ashridge Hollow safe, we’ve got to deal with it.” The room stills as Cain continues, “We’ve got to do something about the hunters.” The words hit like a cold wind. I lean back in my seat, the weight of this new burden settling in. Cain’s right. Something has to be done about the human sect known as Blackthorn. They’ve been working from the shadows for years, pushing supernaturals into hiding. And from what Catherine told us, they’re close to their goal.

It did not. What it offered instead was the growing certainty that whatever had begun with Jenny’s curiosity and Ayla’s wrongness and Finn’s betrayal did not end inside ordinary pack war. The night had cracked something wider open than that. Somewhere behind us lay Blackthorn, broken and turned from its centre. Somewhere ahead lay Greyfen, with their old records and older half-mocking devotion to buried things. Between the two sat a symbol none of us understood and the memory of men who moved like shadows wearing the scent of something ancient.

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.

“Did he... did the ceremony go through I ran? Is it him? Is he marking me over the woods?” “No, no,” Jax answered, and his face burnt in the flickering fire-light, his voice shook in a manner that seemed to me more than the suffering. "Thorne is a Blackthorn. They have a jagged thorny crown and it is the sign of power and blood. This... this is something else. It appears to be the leftover of the Old Gods, the sign of the First Packs. I have never even heard of this in the forbidden scrolls. It shouldn't exist, Jessica. This has not been witnessed on this earth in centuries.”

Even if it is the last thing I do on this mountain. The first shape appeared among the trees. Massive, dark gray, with eyes like a tomb. Silas Blackthorn had come home.

“Stop using your whip on my brother, Great-Grandpa!” Amara Blackthorne wailed, her tear-stained face flushed as she huddled in the shadow of the carved stone pillars inside the Blackthorne Bloodmoon Citadel. Her tiny fingers trembled as she pulled her slate-glass comms unit from her leather tunic. The biting scent of blood and raw silver filled the air, making her wolf whimper. Across the polished marble, Magnus Wraith brought the silver-braided riding crop down across Jabari Kane’s back once more.