Fantasy Gifts Blackwood Novels & Stories

The estate was transformed. Huge bonfires roared in the stone pits outside, casting flickering orange light against the ancient trees, while the great hall was filled with the low, thunderous rumble of Alpha voices. The fifteen Alphas who had stood by the Blackwoods during the crisis had returned, not as soldiers this time, but as kin, bringing gifts of furs, carved wood, and silver to honor the birth of Zephyr.

"But he hasn't forgotten his favorite 'nothing.' He heard you found a new pack. He heard you were playing with the Frost." He gestured with a skeletal hand toward the three wagons. "He wanted to remind you that every throne is built on the bones of those who were left behind." The "Gifts" of the Blackwood Silas walked to the first wagon and yanked back the black tarp. I expected corpses. I expected the heads of my old friends. What I saw was infinitely worse. The wagon was filled with people. My people. The baker’s daughter, the old blacksmith, the children I had shared my scraps with. But they weren't dead. They were "Hollowed."

she said, though something in her voice suggested uncertainty. She carefully unwrapped the package, revealing an ornate box inside. Lifting the lid, we found an antique baby rattle, elegant and clearly expensive, engraved delicately with the Blackwood family crest. “This is beautiful,” Isabella said, though her expression remained cautious. “But strange. Who would send something like this without any note?” She lifted the rattle carefully from its velvet lining, and that’s when I noticed something else tucked beneath the fabric, a small folded piece of paper.

Three years ago, on her birthday, I was still paralyzed in a wheelchair. My wolf form was suppressed by high doses of wolfsbane. I had lost all my strength. Even my growl was as weak as a dying pup's whimper. In that hopeless, fallen state, I couldn't even afford a decent synthetic crystal, let alone jewelry. But I wanted to give her something that came from me. Even the most pitiful, clumsily made gift. So, I hid it from her. I went to the dead woods behind the house during a downpour, searching through the mud until I found a piece of blackthorn wood struck by lightning.

Victor stayed buried in her for a long minute, his forehead resting on her shoulder, his breathing a jagged rasp. "Your hands," she whispered, touching the shredded skin of his knuckles. "They’re stinging." "I don't feel it," he muttered. He pulled back, the air hitting their sweat-slicked skin with a biting chill. He looked at her, his eyes still glowing with a faint, predatory amber. "We go back now," he said. The forest was silent. Too silent. As they approached the gates of the Blackwood estate, the purple glow became a blinding, vibrating haze. It didn't look like light; it looked like smoke that refused to rise.

“Close the door.” I obeyed. “I received another message this morning.” He slid a printed email across the desk. “Read this.” I picked up the paper. Subject: Blood Will Tell “The heir plays while Rome burns. But fire purifies. Fire reveals. Soon, the false will fall, and the worthy will rise from the ashes. Count your days, Blackwood. Count them carefully.” My stomach tightened. This was different from the others. More personal. More direct. “When did this arrive?” “Six AM. Routed through the same encrypted channels as the others.”

Then a leather journal, thick pages, wave patterns along the edges. Nerissa watched him. "Three gifts?" "He deserves more." "He will feel overwhelmed." "Then he will know how much I appreciate him." She touched his arm. "You are a good man, Vance Blackwood." He looked at her. "I am trying." He found a vendor who offered wrapping service. He wrote a note on a small card. "For the man who taught my daughter to love the sea. Thank you for being her Papa. – Vance" He folded it into the box with the whale. The knife and the journal he wrapped separately, but he tucked the same note inside each one.

“Maisie, she put so much thought into that gift! How heartless can you be to ignore her like that?” “I seriously misjudged you. In that case, we won’t give you any gifts either.” Left with no choice, I said I appreciated both the gift and her intentions, but I was already wearing a necklace. Zoe’s eyes reddened. “The one I'm giving you is more expensive than that. Doesn’t it deserve a place around your neck?” Just then, Miles Gray's rough voice came from downstairs. “Maisie! C-Come down!” It was my brother.

His weathered hands turned the piece over, checking for authenticity, for damage, for any sign that it wasn't exactly what it claimed to be. Then he looked at the gift. Then at me. Then at Dominic. "You chose very well indeed," he said finally, his voice thick with accent and hard-won approval. "She's not just beautiful—though she is undeniably that. She's strategy wrapped in silk and steel. Intelligence disguised as elegance." He extended his hand to Dominic, and when they shook, I could practically feel the billions of dollars changing hands. "The deal is yours, Mr. Blackwood. With my compliments and my respect."