Constance Blackwood Novels & Stories

I murmured. “You’ll be fine,” he said, low enough that only I could hear it. We separated almost immediately, the way these things worked, Damien pulled into a conversation with two men who clearly wanted something from him, me left to navigate the room alone for a stretch. I found a glass of champagne I had no intention of drinking and stood near a pillar pretending to be fascinated by the centerpiece arrangement. “Mrs. Blackwood.” A woman approached, mid fifties, the kind of confidence that came from decades of working rooms exactly like this one. “I don’t think we’ve met properly.”

His eyes had completely disappeared into tiny crescent moons. My hold on the pillow tightened. Ding. Ding. I picked up my phone, staring at the notification illuminating the screen. A file Rita had sent me. I clicked on it, biting my lip and sitting up straighter as I read through it. The Blackwood family. Three siblings. Alicia Blackwood. The first Blackwood child. Thirty-six years old. Married to some old man who happened to come from old wealth too, sounded like a typical arranged marriage.

I burst through the doorway with my rifle raised, my sights immediately finding the figure standing beside the aircraft. Amber Blackwood looked exactly the same as she had three years ago—blonde, beautiful, radiating the kind of confidence that came from a lifetime of getting what she wanted through manipulation and lies. She was dressed in tactical gear that probably cost more than most wolves made in a year, and she held herself with the casual arrogance of someone who'd never truly faced consequences for her actions. That was about to change. "Grace Matthew," she called out over the noise of the helicopter, her voice carrying the same mocking tone I remembered from high school. "Though I

And Adrian Blackwood never lost. ---

Behind me, the antique clock ticked louder than a bomb. I didn't turn. Couldn't face those ice-blue eyes that saw every weakness. “Elena Davids found a loophole in the…” I tried to explain, but she cut me off. “A Blackwood,” she said, her voice cold, “does not get outmaneuvered by some ambulance-chasing lawyer.” Her cane tapped against the Persian rug, once, twice before she circled into view. At eighty-two, she moved with the lethal grace of the panther she'd had stuffed over the fireplace. “Especially not by the husband of a girl we allowed into this family.”

"I'm more concerned about what Constance will do when she finds out Jessica is a Blackwood." "She'd be crazy if she tried something after the entire kingdom knows you're married, especially after it has been speculated that she killed the other Blackwoods that showed up to claim the fortune." Cameron kept his voice low so that nobody could hear their conversation. "She has to let Jessica have full access to what's rightfully hers."

“Because we thought everyone perished that night.” Dean cleared his throat, stepping closer. “May I?” Janette nodded slowly. He began. “Your name… your real name, Janette, is Janette Aveline Blackwood. You are the only child of Damien and Annelise Blackwood—owners and founders of the Blackwood Corporation, one of the oldest private conglomerates in California dealing in gold.” Janette stared at him like he’d grown two heads.

They let go of Yulia and she leaves the room, her head bowed. Dad kisses me on the cheek softly before leaving with his men. "Come find me if you need anything, princess." "Sure Dad." Then he shuts the door with a low click. Alot of crazy things have been happening lately. First, Thelma just up and disappeared. Then Dad starts acting strange. Now Yulia is keeping secrets? Who the hell is Blackstone and why is he so hell-bent on ruining our lives? How can I harbour such hate for a total stranger?

“And oh boy, Xareth it’s a long list.” His eyes narrowed, but the sound of battle grew louder. Steel clashed near the gates. The snarls of werewolves rang out in vicious unison. His soldiers were falling back, crumbling under the pressure. That’s when I saw her. Soaring through the sky above the castle, black robes billowing in the wind, a jagged staff clutched in her hand A witch. Perched on a broom carved from bone and ash. My lips curled into a giggle.

The moon hung low, casting long shadows over the rose bushes that smelled too sweet. "Running again?" Adrian followed, lighting a cigarette. "You're full of contradictions, Hart. Sabotage a man, then panic when it works." "I didn't sabotage anyone." "Right. And I'm here for the shrimp cocktails." He blew smoke into the night. "What's your grudge against Blackwood?" He asked her. "He's a cockroach in a suit." Adrian laughed in a low, surprised sound. "Most heiresses stick to insults like 'vulgar' or 'unrefined.'"