Blackwood Treasure Maps 3 Novels & Stories

The kind of place you build when you trust no one. Her arms were folded, tablet glowing with data. “It’s coming from Blackwood territory,” she said. “Lucas?” I asked, already knowing. She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to because we both knew that man was up to no good. I turned to the wall monitor. A map lit up — red dots for searches, blue for leaks, and black for paid inquiries. He wasn’t just snooping. He was circling. “Why?” Vera asked softly. “Why him?”

Captain Azer said with a faint smile. "Our Luna has come to observe, not inspect." The room relaxed almost immediately. I smiled. "I'm afraid the Captain is correct." "A routine inspection wasn't my intention." One of the younger officers let out a breath that earned him a discreet nudge from the colleague beside him. Captain Azer pretended not to notice. "If you'll follow me..." He led me towards the largest map in the room. It depicted the entirety of Blackwood's territory. The eastern forests. The southern trade routes.

Cassia was asleep in the wicker basket near the stove, while Thorne stood at the primary logging terminal, his eyes fixed on a data stream that was displaying the real-time fuel reserves of the southern plains. In the center of the room, Arthur Sterling stood between two armed contractors. His expensive coat was gone and replaced by a gray utility jacket, but his face still carried that sharp, parasitic grin that had served him for thirty years in the Blackwood executive suites. On the table between them lay a heavy, encrypted flash drive; the physical key to the Monaco maritime trust.

Letting the weight of the place settle around me. Because something told me— What I was about to find… Would change things. --- I didn’t know where to start. So I followed instinct. Moving slowly through the shelves. My fingers trailing lightly over the spines of old books. Names. Dates. Records. Histories. Until— Something caught my attention. A ledger. Worn. Faded. But marked with a symbol I recognized. The Blackwood seal. I pulled it out carefully. Dust rising slightly as I opened it.

One of them is an old map. Cassian spreads it across the table. I lean over it. The map shows the lands surrounding Ashcroft territory. The forests. The hills. The old roads. Several locations are marked. But there is no Silver Thorn. I frown. 'It's not here.' 'Look closer.' Cassian points toward the western edge. There is a small handwritten notation almost hidden beneath the folds of the paper. I move closer. The words are faint. Silver Thorn Woods. My heart skips.

“I won't spend another five years pretending losing you doesn't matter.” He walked away. Ava watched him leave. Then Marcus's voice came from behind them. “Sir.” Ethan stopped. Marcus was staring at the laptop. “I cracked the first layer.” “What did you find?” Marcus turned the screen toward him. A single file had opened. Its title was: PROJECT THREE. Ethan's blood ran cold. He clicked it. A list appeared. Three names. LUCAS REED BLACKWOOD LILY REED BLACKWOOD NOAH REED BLACKWOOD

"Old territory maps dating back to the pack's founding. I caught him in here yesterday, claiming he was researching family history." Casie approached the maps, trying to focus despite the distracting heat pulsing through her veins. The oldest showed the original Blackwood territory, much smaller than their current holdings, centred around what was just the main packhouse. “It’s not here, I can’t feel it, anywhere. It should be stronger if it were in this room. However, nothing is marked on here where it might be; they were definitely thorough to ensure only the rightful person could use the Tears power.” Rick stepped closer, his gaze sweeping the room. "What about hidden compartments? Secret

My big brother was not yet married so I enter his room like it was mine. Good morning bross, I am here for the keys to the car you promised, hope its outside. Lyod:: Sure that's the key to the car on my dressing table. Please be careful with this car, do not cause trouble for me again okay. Johnny:; Yes sir, hope it's a black jeep as I demanded because anything less from that we might just have to return the car. My brother looked at me with some pitiful eyes before finally saying yes. I ran and hugged him and went outside to see my jeep.

“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.

I ask instead. He kisses my knuckles. “I promise.” Hours pass in a blur of ink and questions. I compare the maps in the book to Blackwood’s charts, tracing lines with a careful finger. Some names match; others have been erased by time or by people who wanted them forgotten. In a margin note written by a scribe who had died a century ago, I found a brief, worried line: Do not trust the traders who bring old things. They carry more than paper. “See?” I say, showing Killian.