Davos Blackwood Novels & Stories

My attention had already drifted to the back of the stables, where a heavy wooden stall rattled under the force of a massive, restless animal. I walked over. Inside was a purebred black stallion. He was towering, his coat gleaming like obsidian in the dim light, and he was currently stomping his hooves, snorting aggressively at anyone who walked past. I stopped right at the edge of his enclosure. The stallion turned his massive head toward me, letting out a sharp, warning breath. I held my ground. Slowly, I reached my hand over the wooden gate. "Miss, please step back!" Davies yelled, his voice cracking with panic as he rushed over. "That's Mr. Blackwood's personal mount! He doesn't let anyo

Now I stood in the private lair of the three men who owned half the city’s skyline, and apparently they wanted to own me too. “Miss Voss,” a deep voice rumbled from the shadows near the bar. “You’re late.” I turned, and there he was—Damien Blackwood, the eldest of the Blackwood brothers. Tall, broad-shouldered, with midnight hair and eyes like polished obsidian that seemed to strip me bare without even trying. He wore a black dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle. The kind of man who commanded boardrooms and bedrooms with equal ease.

But nothing with us was ever simple. The gala was at the Blackwood Tower penthouse. Crystal chandeliers, champagne, and predators in suits. Elena looked lethal, dress slit up to her hip, cleavage on full display. Heads turned as we entered. Victor Blackwood himself spotted us immediately. Tall, silver-haired, early fifties, with eyes like a shark. “Elena Voss. And the prodigal stepson returns.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Your father was a thief. Come back, what’s ours?”

Victoria was marrying Damien Blackwood. Even just thinking the name did something strange. Damien Blackwood, CEO of Blackwood Empire, one of the most powerful companies in the country. Thirty years old. Built like someone had designed him specifically to stand at the top of things and never come down. I had seen his photographs in newspapers and on business pages, always in a dark suit, always with that expression like he was already three steps ahead of whatever room he was in. He did not look like a warm person. But Victoria didn’t need warm. Victoria needed powerful. She needed the kind of man whose name opened doors and Damien Blackwood’s name didn’t just open doors. It built them.

Kieran tracked a waiter crossing in front of exit two for the third time — nothing, just someone doing their job — and moved his eyes back to the main entrance. That's when Damien Blackwood walked in. Kieran had read the file. Sixty-one, silver-haired, alpha, CEO of Blackwood Industries for twenty-two years and before that his father's right hand for ten years before that. The photos hadn't quite caught the way he actually took up space — not physically, he was tall but not unusual, it was something else, the practiced certainty of a man who'd spent six decades being told the world was arranged for his convenience and had come to believe it on a cellular level.

It just wasn't the whole truth. She nodded, apparently satisfied, and returned to reviewing our presentation. I looked out the tinted car window. The closer we got, the harder my heart pounded. Seven years. I'd spent seven years convincing myself I was over Ethan Blackwood. Now, in less than ten minutes, I'd know whether that was true. The sleek glass tower came into view. Blackwood Enterprises. It looked exactly as I remembered. Elegant. Powerful. Untouchable. Just like the man who owned it.

Another photo of him holding one of his children in his arms, his woman at his side… Nathan Lockwood and wife spotted at charity gala… and with them attended their little twins… Arina and Jacob, seen for the first time since birth at two years old. My stomach turned. There he was. In a tailored suit. Smiling for the cameras like he didn’t have blood on his hands or a past that meant anything. Like I didn’t exist. A mate that he chose to simply ignore and rather than reject, he couldn’t care less. Like she didn’t exist.

​ He wasn't sitting; he was standing, leaning against the back of his chair, arms crossed over a chest so broad it looked capable of snapping the spine of a smaller wolf. ​ Alpha Kael Blackwood. ​ He was every terrifying rumor brought to life. He was tall—easily 6'5"—with hair so dark it swallowed the light and features so sharp they looked sculpted from granite. The air around him shimmered with suppressed power, the kind that didn't need to be displayed to be understood.

“This is silly! Blackwood is gone, just like his pack. He can't come back.” “No, Balor,” Darius replied, his voice strong but serious, emphasizing the weight of his message. He stood tall, looking directly at each elder one by one. “You can't forget our past. We can't just brush this aside. Bolton Blackwood used to be with us. He was a greedy young wolf, a killer who took his father’s life to become Alpha. Blackwood wanted to take over all the packs, spreading fear everywhere he went.” A shiver went down my back at Darius's words. The old stories about Blackwood came rushing back, tales I once thought were just myths but now seemed very real.

He nodded. The Blackwoods—the most feared mafia family in the city. Their patriarch, Don Vito Blackwood, ran the most notorious criminal empire in the country. His sons were equally infamous: Damian, the charismatic yet cruel eldest; David, arrogant and aggressive; Denzel, the flirt and womanizer; and Dominique—the youngest and most feared of them all. Cold. Calculated. Merciless. They called him The Devil. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. “Dad... of all people… the Blackwoods?”