Romans & histoires Blackwood Pumpkin Festival

The screen showed just one line of cold, hard text: "Tonight is the pack's centennial Moon Festival. I don't care what state you're in, you must be there on time. This is about the Blackwood family's honor. Don't disappoint me." The timestamp showed it was sent an hour ago. Not a single word of greeting, not a single word of concern, just an order that couldn't be refused. Dragging my still incredibly weak body, I struggled out of bed and changed into a formal gown. My head was still wrapped in thick, blood-stained bandages. In the mirror, I looked pale, my lips chapped, like a ghost that had just crawled out of a grave. When I finally, painfully, made my way to the Blackwood family's festiv

By the time the sun dipped below the tree line, painting the sky in deep shades of bruised orange and twilight purple, the massive courtyard fire pit had been built and lit in record time. The Blackwood pack cooks, thrilled by the sudden excuse to celebrate, had worked absolute magic in the kitchens. They hauled out wooden tables and quickly loaded them with a feast fit for their Alpha and Luna. The rich, mouth-watering scent of slow-roasted meats, fresh-baked bread, and sweet, charred vegetables mingled beautifully with the crisp woodsmoke drifting up into the evening air.

Malachi was eating something that looked like it had once been an entire turkey leg. And I was mostly just enjoying the night. “Relax, Zeke,” Calyx said, tossing a coin between his fingers. “It’s a festival.” “You’re still cheating,” Zeke replied flatly. “It’s only cheating if you get caught.” “That is not how that works.” Malachi snorted quietly. I leaned against a wooden post nearby, scanning the crowd lazily. Students from Rosewood were everywhere tonight. Without uniforms it was harder to tell who was who, but you could usually figure it out by the way people carried themselves.

Cyrus Blackwood The soft aroma of rotisserie chicken swirled in the air as the maid set out another dish on the table. The soft clink of utensils rang around the room as candles flickered. A vintage gramophone played jazz music only my parents would listen to. I was at The Blackwood Manor for the day as my parents held a celebratory dinner for my brother. I always dreaded these dinners, as nothing ever came good out of them. I was savoring the silence on the table before Sebastian opened his mouth to talk about how he had achieved that success at his workplace.