Blackwood Churches Novels & Stories

Lilith’s POV The next morning, Magnus summoned me to his study. He didn’t smile. He just gestured for me to sit, then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk like a man about to make a deal with the devil. “There’s a pack,” he began, with his dangerously low voice. “Blackwood.” I nodded, recognising the name instantly. Blackwood was a respected and powerful pack. I had tried going there to see if they'd take me in, but other rogues told me they were unapproachable.

A small pause hangs between us. “It’s a little disappointing that my mate managed to resist my completely naked body long enough to walk all the way back to the house.” My gaze drifts downward before I can stop it. His hand slides along the center of his body. It moves slowly up and down the length of his erection, clearly meant to draw attention. The yard behind Blackwood Manor is surrounded well enough to feel private. Thick trees from the Shadow Woods close in around the property, hiding most of the land from anyone outside.

Then I'd lost custody, met a psychopath who probably still wants me dead, gotten shot in a cemetery, woken up in a luxury prison, escaped through a hospital window, crashed a wedding in bloodied hospital gown, and now discovered that my dead mother had been married to one of the richest men in the world. And that man was my father. "Blackwood," I said suddenly, the name hitting me like a lightning bolt. Vincent raised an eyebrow. "You know the name?" Know it? Everyone knew the Blackwood name. It was like asking if I knew the sky was blue. The Blackwoods weren't just rich. They were American royalty, old money so deep it had roots going back centuries. They owned banks, real estate empires, t

DAMIAN BLACKWOOD In the three years that passed, I showed more and more of my Blackwood character. The basement became a second home to me, and I navigated the place so often that I could make my way through with my eyes shut. The other room it ended in was only one of the many Blackwood storerooms to hide our weapons—I was told that it was the oldest of them, connected to the Blackwood family home when it was built a hundred years before, yet it was my favourite. It filled me with a kind of spirit that made me feel as though I was fulfilling history and about to make some of mine.

ELARA The safehouse is nothing like I expected. When Damien said "off-grid," I pictured a rustic cabin with questionable plumbing and wildlife on the porch. Instead, we pull up to what looks like a modern fortress disguised as a luxury mountain retreat; it's all steel, glass, and stone nestled into the hillside with strategic sight lines in every direction. "Welcome to Blackwood." Damien helps me out of the SUV, his hand never leaving the small of my back. "I built it five years ago under a shell corporation. There are no public records or paper trails connecting it to me."

Third Person POV *** The Blackwood Tower stood in the heart of Manhattan, surrounded by some of the most expensive buildings in the city. It was impossible to miss. The thirty eight story glass building carried the name Blackwood International Group of Industries across the front in large silver letters. The company had been in the Blackwood family for decades, and under Victor Blackwood's leadership, it had grown into one of the most powerful private corporations in New York. People knew the name. Investors knew the name. Businessmen respected the name and competitors feared it.

Then, the screen surged back to life, but it wasn't showing the bikes. It was a grainy, high-angle shot of the Elders’ private sanctum. The audio hissed through the stadium speakers, amplified to a deafening volume. *"The Blackwood pack is a relic,"* the voice of Elder Vance boomed, clear and cold. *"They will lose this night. It has been engineered."* A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, a physical wave of sound. *"And what of the girl?"* a second voice asked—Elder Halloway. *"Maddison?"*

"He's demanding audience, Alpha. Says he has a proposition that might prevent... unpleasantness." Unpleasantness. Such a delicate word for the kind of territorial war that could paint these mountains red with supernatural blood. I found Blackwood waiting in the courtyard like he owned it, flanked by three wolves who moved with the particular swagger of creatures who'd never learned proper respect for established territory. He looked older than I remembered—gray threading through dark hair, lines around his eyes that spoke of years spent in exile—but his amber gaze held the same calculating intelligence that had made him dangerous three decades ago.

He always did. By the time we reached the facility, the night had turned bitterly cold. The wind felt like it was tearing at my skin, and the lights of the city below flickered dimly, offering no warmth. We stood outside what had once been the heart of the Blackwood legacy—a place where the monsters who’d made us were created. It wasn’t the largest building, but it was the most significant. Every operation, every twisted, horrific thing Reagan Blackwood had ever dreamed up had been born in the depths of that building. And now, it was where we would take our stand.

POV: Maya The Blackwood estate sat hidden in the mountains, three hours north of Blackstone. The road twisted through dense forest until suddenly the trees parted to reveal a gothic mansion that looked like it belonged in a Victorian horror novel. Gray stone walls covered in ivy. Tall windows with heavy curtains. Turrets that reached toward the cloudy sky like accusing fingers. The place radiated old money and older secrets. "This is where your mother grew up?" Jaxon asked from the driver's seat.