Blackwood Sherlock Holmes Novels & Stories

"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.

I paused for a moment. My hand rose. I knocked twice. A calm voice came from inside. "Come in." I opened the door. The room was still the same as before. Tall bookshelves covered almost the entire wall. A fireplace burned softly in the corner of the room. And in the large chair, behind the heavy old wooden desk, sat someone whom even age had never managed to make look weak. Arthur Blackwood. His gaze lifted immediately as I entered. He didn't smile. But his eyebrows furrowed slightly.

Jasmine It had been three days for working for them, and I'd come to a minimum conclusion. Lucien Theron Blackwood—The silent and rude one. Micheal Valerian Blackwood—The overly organized one Archer Stephanos Blackwood—The one who seemed a little normal.

It then stepped towards the human enemy to finish it but suddenly stopped on its feet when. Something's wrong with the human body! It was enveloped by black thingy. The Noble Rat immediately back stepped. It could feel his life was in danger. The Noble Rat seemingly made the right decision. After it backstepped, from its supposed position, where it was standing just a moment ago, had now scratched marks of claws. The Noble Rat stared at the enemy in puzzlement. Yman's body was enveloped by black mana as he was slowly pushing his body to get up.

Blackwood towered before me, with an unremovable smirk on his face, he launched his hands at me, his finger digging deep into the side of my body, thrusting deeper, and deeper. I screamed in pain, having no idea what it is he was looking for inside my body. “Ahhhhh!! Stop! Stop!” I cried out, but he didn’t. Then he snatched something out of my body, and the pain felt so unbearable. He took my wolf bone. My head hit the floor in a loud thud, my hands holding onto the side of my body Blackwood had wounded. I grunted in pain, my entire body taken by it, blood… I was laying on my pool of blood.

The old Blackwood Manor, its gothic spires piercing the night sky. Twenty-five-year-old Riley Harper had joined the investigation as a favor to her friend’s production company, documenting the notorious haunted estate for a new paranormal series. She was a skeptic at heart, but the paycheck was too good to pass up.

“I know who they are. Tell me what I don’t know.” The figure hesitated. Then: “We’ve received word from our contact over there. Something significant has happened.” “Report.” “The Blackwood heir has found his mate.” The room went completely silent. The man in shadow didn’t move. Didn’t blink. For a long moment, there was only the sound of breathing. Then, slowly, he leaned forward. “His mate.” “Yes, sir.” “What do we know about her?” “Our contact says she’s human. No connection to the pack. Just a regular employee.”

But now, standing before the sea of flashing lights, I wanted to vanish. The doors opened again, and the noise immediately ceased. The room went eerily silent. “What's going on?” Vance asked amidst his groaning on the ground, still clutching his family jewels. Who had just entered? The reporters parted and he walked through like a devastating black Knight. Zachary Blackwood. Tall. Imposing. Raven black suit, his coat cutting the wind like a blade. His presence had sliced through the noise. It felt like I was imagining it, but I was staring into the face of Zachary.

Hazel's POV The next morning, Lydia burst into my office. "Hazel! I did some research on the Blackwood family last night," she said, waving a stack of papers. "This Rhys Blackwood is a living legend in the supernatural world!" "And most importantly," Lydia lowered her voice, " Rhys was known for never working with new, small firms. The fact that he's even 'considering' us means you must have been incredible last night!" "You think we have a shot?"

he announced, his voice steady and cold, “the suspect of the crime is Kent Blackwood. Twenty-four years old. Medical personnel. Living in Finland.” A collective murmur rose from the crew. “Woah!” voices echoed around the hall. He turned to face us squarely. “But this is only the beginning,” he continued. “It’s actually part of the bigger plot. I did further investigation. I stalked his socials, traced his connections, followed every lead… and that’s how I found this.” He slammed the wand—or whatever it was—against the projector board. A picture flashed onto the screen. The quality was poor, blurry, but I squinted, my myopia making it even harder to discern.