Blackwood Book Novels & Stories

And she wasn’t sure she had the strength to pull him out of it tonight. The air in the Blackwood estate was heavy, the kind of stillness that clung to your skin like damp silk. Damien paced the length of the library, his footsteps echoing against the ancient wooden floors. The bookshelves, filled with texts older than most civilizations, seemed to loom over him, their spines whispering secrets he could no longer ignore.

Brinda slowly climbed out of bed, her pulse hammering against her ribs as a thousand thoughts raced through her mind. If Francesco had truly pranked Marshall and Alessia with The Black Book, then they were walking a razor-thin edge of disaster. She could already picture the storm brewing on the horizon, a tempest of blood and vengeance waiting to swallow them whole. She turned sharply toward him, her voice low, uncertain. “Is this really The Black Book?” Francesco, lounging against the headboard, stretched his arm out lazily, dangling the infamous book between his fingers. A knowing smirk played on his lips. “Why don’t you check for yourself?”

There were drawings too, wolves standing over dead bodies, circles of fire etched around figures kneeling, and long, spiraling marks that looked like seals. But it wasn’t the drawings that made my throat tighten. It was the mention of a name I recognized, written again and again like it had been branded into the parchment. Blackwood. The words that followed spoke of bloodlines cursed and preserved, of a cure buried so deep it demanded not just sacrifice, but a life bound to the family’s last descendant. The lines didn’t spell it all out, but they didn’t need to. The implication was clear enough. I snapped the book shut before the others could glimpse too much, but the image was burned into m

The voice from the darkness was a hook in my soul, reeling us forward into the chill. We stepped through the false wall, our single flashlight beam cutting a pathetic swath through the profound black. It fell upon bones. Not neatly stacked, but piled, heaped, a jumbled sea of femurs, skulls, and rib cages that filled a cavernous space from the slimy floor to the shadowed vault of the ceiling decades above. The Ossuary. The collective remains of centuries of Blackwood pack, their final energy a silent, heavy blanket that smothered the air and muted the magic in my blood to a faint, dying whisper.

The space feels alive—exposed stone walls etched with faint storm runes that glow softly when the wind picks up outside, mismatched couches dragged into a loose circle, a low table scattered with half-empty mugs of tea, spell textbooks, and a deck of tarot cards someone left mid-reading. A record player in the corner spins something low and moody—old blues filtered through a modern vinyl crackle. Thorne Alexander Blackwood lounges on the arm of one couch, long legs stretched out, black leather jacket slung over the back. His dark hair falls into storm-gray eyes that still carry the faint red rim of vampire lineage, even in daylight. He’s sipping black coffee—straight, no sugar—watching the r

I shot one last glance out the window, moonlight slanting across stone walkways, silvered trees that looked like sentries, sparks of magic glowing in the shadows where kids played games that would terrify normal packs. Magic was alive here, thick in the air, humming along every wall, flickering in every glass and mirror. Every inch of the Blackwood compound whispered the same thing... power. The kind that didn’t shout or strut. The kind that sat back and watched the world burn, untouched and unimpressed. Ria turned on her heel and waved me after her. “Come on, then, stranger. Let’s see if you’re tough enough for Blackwood hospitality.”

The grand library, once a room where billion-dollar mergers were whispered into existence over crystal tumblers of scotch, was now thick with the stale smell of expensive cigars and the bitter rot of defeat. ​Arthur Blackwood sat behind his mahogany desk, his fingers trembling as he traced the rim of a glass. His eyes were bloodshot, fixed on the rain-streaked windows. He was a man suspended in a state of lethal waiting, his ears straining for a phone call from the Jackals—the mercenaries he had sent into the dark to retrieve the daughter he had sold and the man he had failed to kill. ​The heavy oak doors of the library burst open, the sound echoing like a gunshot.

"Go wait for me downstairs." Lucian stared at me for three long seconds. Slowly, the hard edge in his posture softened. He gave me a single, terse nod, stepping back with a look of quiet, reluctant trust. Hawthorne led me through the labyrinth of the East Wing. The heavy oak doors of the study opened to a stark, purely functional space. Walls of leather-bound books surrounded a massive mahogany desk, giving the room an air of cold, calculated power. Edward Blackwood sat behind it, reviewing a stack of morning reports. He looked up, his expression unreadable, and gestured to the leather chair opposite him before sliding a crisp slip of paper across the polished wood.

the leader of their council said. There was so much hatred in the way he spoke to me, and I wondered what he was talking about. "What did you find out?" I asked him. " You possessed a dark lunar magic and this has brought about some kind of darkness to our pack, we do not accept that kind of magic here and anyone who brings such to us will be punished" he said. It sounded like some lame joke, I am never with such kind of magic, what has this got to do with me?

Not because I needed them for any particular reason. Simply because I wanted to understand the pack's history better. "Thank you." "I'll begin with these this afternoon." The staff member inclined her head and quietly excused herself. Left alone once more, I rested my hand on the worn leather cover of the file. For reasons I couldn't explain... The timing felt strangely appropriate. I drew the file towards me and untied the ribbon holding it closed. Several neatly organised documents lay inside. Some detailed the founding of Blackwood. Others recorded the expansion of its territories over the years.