Courtney Blackson Novels & Stories

face twitching, she glances over towards where Noah and the others sit. Noah’s group, with Courtney at their head, cross their arms and glower our way. Of course they would. You made such a loud declaration, they could obviously hear us. Courtney’s unnaturally large eyes, colored pitch-black in mascara and eyeliner, are filled with hostility, and her blonde hair, curled in drill-like whirls, swayed in displeasure. Was she Madame Butterfly or what? “Zo, if you’re gonna stick with those creeps, it means you’re going up against us. Are you okay with that?” queen-like Courtney folds her arms and taps her foot on the ground. It's a pose of royal rage.

She knew they shouldn't be wasting time standing around like this, they had to do something quick! Right at the moment, another luxurious car drove by and stopped a little behind Bob's. The driver in black blazers hurried out to open the door to the back seat and stepped aside in haste. Long slender and spotless legs of fair complexion were extended out of the car in black glossy heels. A woman of breathtaking semblance stepped out of the car in a black slit gown and jacket. As everyone gawked at the sight of Courtney, another lady dressed in a black blouse and tight ripped black jean, who seemed younger, walked around the car to stand beside her. It was Margarette.

We were just regular, poor people. Courtney was wearing an off shoulder black dress. She had pearls around her beautiful neck and ear rings that matched them. The make up on her face had been perfectly done to bring out her best features. She had a long straight nose and very pretty, slightly plump lips painted bright red. She had fake eye lashes and well done eyebrows. When she smiled, she looked ethereal. She also smelled really good, and I was sure the unfamiliar sweet smell that had filled the room was hers.

His daughter walks up behind him and I don’t know what I was expecting from Beatrix Black, but it’s not what I saw. Her hair is black and is in a high ponytail, she wears a studded head band, her outfit is simple, a black graphic tee with a popular band on the front along with a pair of jeans. She doesn’t look like she cares about impressing anyone and she doesn’t look ready to lead a pack.

Then I hear someone whisper from behind, “She’s sitting next to him.” Another person gasps softly and my heartbeat picks up. What’s going on? I glance sideways again...and that’s when I notice it. The tattoos peeking from under his long sleeves and wrapping around his wrist like dark vines colorfully and dangerously. My breath catches. Wait. No. It can’t be but the more I look, the more certain I am. The hair.. the eyes and the tattoos. It’s him! It's Ryan fucking Blackwood!

He was the one who begged me to be his fake girlfriend and barely two hours into this arrangement he is suddenly confessing things like he actually means them and somehow I am the problem. A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it because this fucking bastard, it really is a thing with the Blacks, being unbelievably dense. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Kade Black, you’ve got to—” I cut myself off when I notice him pulling his shirt off, revealing blacked out tattoos across his chest and just as I expected full sleeves inked down his right arm. His body is lean and defined in a way that becomes impossible to ignore once he is no longer fully dressed and for a second my brain comple

The doors opened, and a dozen elite Blackwood warriors stepped out, forming a rigid perimeter. Julian stepped out of the packhouse doors, his posture commanding, his eyes bright with an intensity Evelyn hadn't seen in years. He wasn't wearing his tactical gear today; he was in a tailored charcoal suit that made him look like a king ready to receive his queen. The door to the center SUV opened, and a woman stepped out. Cynthia Blackwood was breathtaking. Her platinum blonde hair caught the morning sunlight, and her icy blue eyes scanned the estate with an air of absolute ownership. She moved with a flawless, predatory grace that practically shouted her high-born Alpha bloodline.

This life… still feels unreal. Ethan didn’t stop there. When they reached the counter, he didn’t step forward. He didn’t take the card. Instead—he let her handle it. “Use it,” he said simply from where he sat at the lounge, relaxed, composed, as if this was nothing. As if this was normal. Belle froze. The black card in her hand suddenly felt heavier than all the bags she carried combined. Her fingers tightened around it as she approached the counter, her steps hesitant. A thin sheen of sweat formed on her forehead despite the cool air inside the boutique.

Their deadly looks are only outdone by the deadly Neron weapons they point at the two of us. But there in the middle is a woman. Her eyes are full of wonder and fear, but she’s trying very hard to mask both right now. She’s petite, average height. She has soft, curly brown hair, and warm brown eyes. Her cheekbones are sharp and her hands small and delicate. But I know the power behind her voice. “Valen Nero, Nova Ainsley,” she says, stepping forward. “I’m Arden Black.”