Blackwood Book Novels & Stories

Natalie POV The early morning sun did nothing to warm the grand study of the Blackwood estate. The space was immense, flanked by towering shelves of leather-bound books and windows that overlooked the misty, dark pine forests of the territory. But despite the grandeur, the room felt like a beautifully constructed cage.

She was looking for a specific section: The History of the Northern Coast. She found it near the back of the room, tucked away in a corner where the shadows were deepest. She ran her fingers over the books until she found a thick volume with a dark blue cover. It was labeled with the Blackwood family crest—a silver tree with deep roots. When she pulled the book from the shelf, it felt lighter than the others. She laid it on a reading table and opened the cover.

"I brought gifts, Dexter. Several crates of the finest silver weapons from the Blackwood forges are in the courtyard." "I know that's not why you're here," Dexter cut him off. "You wouldn't travel two days just to deliver scrap metal. Talk." Silas exhaled, his playful smirk fading into a grim shadow. He leaned back and stared at the high ceiling. "Blackwood is under attack by vampires, Dexter. Not just some feral rogues—organized troops from the Eastern Wing Clan. They burned our granaries and slaughtered two border villages in a single night." Dexter went rigid. Vampires rarely dared an open assault on a pack as strong as Blackwood unless they had massive numbers or an ambitious new leader.

a shaky voice spoke up from the back of the room. I turned my head. A very old, frail archivist stepped forward, trembling slightly under my intense gaze. "The Blackwood line has existed for centuries, my King," the old man stammered, clutching a stack of notes to his chest. "Long before the Eastern Kingdom outlawed blood magic, your ancestors fought against it. There are rumors of an ancient text. A grimoire written by the first Northern healers. It contains a specific, highly concentrated ritual designed to sever a parasitic tether by suppressing the host's magic instantly, without harming the victim."

She stilled mid-page, her eyes locking onto a detail she almost would have skipped if she had been moving any faster. “…hold on,” she said quietly. Both Mark and Damian looked up immediately. “What is it?” Mark asked. Quinn didn’t answer right away, her gaze scanning the line again as if confirming it hadn’t changed. “Blackwood transferred schools when he was sixteen,” she said finally, turning the file slightly toward them. “Small town. Not mentioned anywhere else in his profile.” Damian stepped closer, leaning in to read. “Which town?” Quinn turned the page fully. The moment he saw it, something in his expression shifted, subtle but noticeable.

Blackwood Publishing House – old-established, prestige-focused publishing. Blackwood Productions – film investments (Hollywood/Vegas connections). “Wow… the Blackwoods are in every sector. No wonder they’re this wealthy and always competing for the top spot with another company I can’t quite remember,” Luna murmured. Then she saw the name: Blackwood Energy & Holdings. She hadn’t even known that was the real name. It looked like society had simply given it the nickname “The Blackwood Empire.” Finally, she read the motto: “Power Through Legacy.”

The irony wasn’t lost on her. Inside, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves groaned under leather spines. A massive oak desk dominated the center, neat stacks of papers on one side, a sleek Mac on the other. One tall window overlooked the quad, blinds half-drawn so late afternoon light cut golden stripes across the floor. Blackwood closed the door. The lock clicked. “Sit,” he ordered. Kenzie perched on the edge of the visitor chair instead, crossing her legs so the skirt rode higher. “I’d rather stand for my execution.”

The desk creaked under us as he started moving again—deeper strokes now, unhurried but relentless, each thrust pushing me closer to another shattering peak. The study felt smaller, more intimate in the aftermath of near-discovery. Bookshelves lined with rare first editions towered around us, their leather spines gleaming. The massive fireplace sat cold and dark opposite the windows, but the embers of our own fire burned hotter than any flame. Outside, the cliffs dropped sharply to the restless Puget Sound, waves still crashing against the rocks in rhythmic fury. The Blackwood estate sprawled like a sleeping giant—private gym, infinity pool glowing faintly in the distance, helipad on the roof

“That’s him.” Nathan Blackwood. I recognized that face instantly. CEO of Blackwood Industries, headquartered in New York. The man was always in the news. His face was plastered all over the business magazines I loved to read. He was tall, like his cousin, Julian—handsome, with the kind of presence that commanded attention, even in a photograph. And his fiancée—Kimberly—she looked exactly like me. I swiped back to her picture with trembling fingers, my stomach twisting in confusion and disbelief.

Until now… “Why does everyone call him that? Is it cause he looks like he hates everyone?” William’s chuckle turned into a short, humorless laugh. “Partly. But mostly because he doesn’t feel. Or at least, that’s what people say.” He leaned forward, so I could see the seriousness etched onto his face. “Noah Blackwood built an empire in a place where the Blackwoods were nothing. He bought out companies for sport. And the people who tried to outsmart him, outbid him, or outmanoeuvre him ended up either bankrupt, or worse—begging him for a job in the ruins of what used to be theirs.”