Novel & Cerita Blackwood House Game Of Thrones

I rushed up and changed into some black jogging bottoms with a white spaghetti strap top and went back downstairs. I saw Tyberias sat on the couch along wearing black jogging bottoms and a white wife beater. We were matching? What a coincidence. He smiled when he saw me and patted the space next to me. "Game of thrones?" "Game of thrones" I nodded and he turned the TV on. "Khaleesi is so pretty" I sighed as we just saw her saw John snow and his friends from the white walkers. "Not as pretty as you" I heard Tyberias mutter.

I didn't stop until I was inches from the oldest of them, a man with a long, white beard and eyes that were darting around the room like a trapped bird. "You’re standing in my house," I said. My voice wasn't loud, but it filled the hall, vibrating off the stone pillars. "In my father’s house. A house your people tried to burn to the ground." The old man, Lord Thorne, swallowed hard. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "Alpha Blackwood. We... we were misled. Silas Vane acted without the full consent of the High Seat. He was obsessed with the Well. He was... unwell."

Before I could respond, the door creaked open and Mia, my assistant, stepped inside with a cautious smile. “Mr. Blackwood,” she said softly, sensing the tension in the room. “There’s a call on line two — it’s urgent.” I nodded, grateful for the interruption. Whatever was happening outside this room could wait. I picked up the phone and put it to my ear. The voice on the other end was familiar, cold, and loaded with menace. “Dominic,” the voice said, smooth and dangerous. “You’re playing a dangerous game. Don’t forget who holds the cards.”

Was she gone forever? A heavy knock thundered through the room. I didn’t jump. I made myself stand there. Let them find me upright, unbowed. The door swung open, banging into the stone with a violence that was almost childish in its promise. He stood there—Taehyung Blackwood. Tall, dark, an unyielding wall of muscle in a crisp charcoal shirt. Shadows seemed to curl around him, even with sunlight behind his back. He didn’t smile, didn’t even bother to mask his contempt.

I turned in Christian’s arms to see Ophelia standing on the podium, an apologetic smile on her face. “In honor of Blackwood Games launching soon, we’d like to give you all a little preview of what to expect,” she announced, scanning the dance floor. She gestured toward a hallway. “The game rooms are now open, men to the left, women to the right. Let’s have even more fun, shall we?”

“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.

“A pity. She had spirit.” He paused. I held my breath. “Zev,” Blackwood called out. “Leave the body. Let the wolves scavenge it in the morning. It sends a better message if Thorne’s pet is found broken on the rocks.” “And Thorne?” Zev’s voice drifted down. “Thorne is broken,” Blackwood replied. “He is bleeding out in the hall. The pack is mine. The Abyss is unanchored.” The heavy iron door on the roof slammed shut.

The Kate Vance in her wanted vengeance, but the soft and caring Jane Blackwood knew that her father's life was the only currency that mattered. The drive to the Blackwood mansion was filled with a wave of silent tension. The journey through the heart of the city was a stark contrast to the chaos of the past few days. As they got closer to the familiar, imposing gates, Jane felt a wave of silent shiver over her body—a knot of nostalgia and dread tightened in her chest. The Blackwood mansion, once a symbol of her sheltered, privileged life, was now a monument to her trauma. It had been turned into a stage for the final act of her revenge.

“Check your mail today. I sent you something. Paper only, no digital trail. Call me when you’ve read it. And Lila… I’ve done what I can from this end. I can’t keep you in the shadows forever. There are things you need to settle yourself. Blackwood Estate. You know why.” Click. That was it. My tea went cold untouched. Blackwood Estate. I hadn’t heard that name out loud in years, and just like that it slammed into me like a fist to the sternum. The big gray house on the hill, the long driveway lined with oaks, the way the windows always seemed to watch you approach. I could smell the damp stone, hear the creak of the old floors. I could see Mom’s garden gone wild, the swing still hanging from

Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she slammed her fist against the glass, not to escape, but to warn me. She wasn't pointing at the creature. She was pointing at me. I followed her frantic gesture, looking at the window again. I looked at the glass, but I didn't see her reflection. I saw mine. But the reflection wasn't mine. It was the face of the portrait. The room began to shake. The walls of the Master Suite groaned, the wood warping and twisting like agonized flesh. I realized then that the dare wasn't a game. It was a harvest. The Blackwood Estate didn't just haunt people; it cycled them.