Blackthorn Skyrim Novels & Stories

“Even I stand here today because Kyrian Ashclaw kept me from entering Valhalla more than once on the battlefield.” He paused, letting the guilt settle over the wolves like falling snow. Then his gaze found me. “If the girl carries her father’s gift, then she is no traitor—she is our future. And above all else, Blackthorn will need that gift for the war that lies ahead.” A ripple of uneasy agreement spread through the room. For the first time since the banishment attempt, the icy knot in my chest loosened. Rodrigo drew a slow breath before raising his voice.

The night bled into silence. Raine lay awake, her pulse echoing with the rhythm of the bond. Every heartbeat felt shared — Kael’s fury, Lucian’s hunger, Damon’s restraint — all tangled in her chest like threads of fire and shadow. The Blackthorn fortress loomed beyond the window, silver towers etched in moonlight. It was ancient, powerful, built from stone that remembered blood. She could feel it whispering under her skin. Kael’s voice broke the quiet.

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.

Unable to stand anymore, I stumbled to the floor, eyes opening as golden light erupted from the tree, spreading throughout Blackthorn. Gathering my strength, I staggered out of the garden, watching as the dome cracked, then shattered into tiny pieces like sand. The fog began to clear, the dark clouds giving way to a sunny blue sky. Colour was returning to Blackthorn again. Victory would be ours.

She looked at me the way Maren used to look at me when I said I was fine, that steady look that said she didn't believe me but wasn't going to push, and the thought of Maren hit me so hard I had to look away and press my hand against my mouth and breathe through it. The road curved north and the land opened up into rolling hills with dry grass and scattered trees and the sky was clearer here, still hazy from the smoke behind us but blue enough that I could see the horizon. The crowd moved like a slow river, spreading and thinning and bunching up again whenever the road narrowed or a cart got stuck in a rut. People talked as they walked. I kept my hood up and my head down and listened. "Black

“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.

Iolaire bursts out laughing and clinks her glass with mine, “Well said!” Whiro steps up to me, his already large nostrils flaring even wider. He flexes his overcompensatingly large muscles as they strain against his shirt. A black long-sleeve button-down with a gold tribal design over the left shoulder and down the left sleeve, paired with gold and black brocade pants. It actually compliments his otherwise beige-looking skin quite nicely. As he leans in closer, attempting to tower over me I can see a hint of the tribal tattoos on his body through the opening of his shirt. Is he trying to threaten me or flirt with me? “I have a strong feeling this will be your last year, Blackheart. If I get

Then he contacted him. “Bacchus.” Minotaur said. Bacchus put his hand on his earpiece to hear him clearer. “Yes?” “Black Dragon and his company are all awake. We can’t ambush them.” Minotaur reported. Yeah. And you already alerted them with your shot. Bacchus irritatingly thought. “Standby. Pegasus is telling Cupid to hack this f*cking electric fence!” Bacchus ordered Minotaur. “Copy.” Minotaur answered.

The fortress was eerily quiet after the relentless assault of the Shadowborn. Dawn painted the sky in shades of muted gold and pink, though the light struggled to pierce the lingering mist that clung stubbornly to the ancient walls. Amelia Whitford stood atop the battlements, her cloak wrapped tightly around her, golden flecks in her eyes still glowing faintly from exertion. The silence was almost deafening, each creak of stone or gust of wind amplified in the stillness. Ryan Blackthorne emerged beside her, weary yet alert. His dark eyes scanned the forest beyond the walls, searching for any sign of the returning enemy. “They’re regrouping,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “The gre

It floats in the air before me, twirling when I will it to and falling to the floor at another command. “I guess everyone has found their fated weapons by now, let’s head out.” The black matrons’ voice broke me and everyone else out of our haze. There was beaming smiles on everyone’s face when I turned to look at them, as they all held their new weapons like they were holding a new born baby; the witchlords, the nighthawks with us at the moment, the council members, the matrons, and even Iditan had a smirk of satisfaction on her face as she held a short slender scimitar. The black matron herded everyone out of the room, leading us down the castle into its dark dreary depths where creepy shad