Fantasy Gifts Blackwood Novels & Stories

His eyes met mine, storm and softness woven together. I turned back. “There will be no new crown. No new dynasty. No next generation of chained blood.” And then I pulled a velvet box from beneath the podium and opened it. Inside was a silver circlet. Wreathed in fire-shaped metal. Twisted. Scarred. Beautiful. “The Blackwood Crown,” I said. “Forged from the original heirloom. Melted. Recast. Not a symbol of rule. But of rebellion.” And I placed it on the podium—not my head.

I always thought that mates were the only aspect of the werewolf community that I liked, having that one person who was made specifically for you, who will love and protect you for always sounded amazing, but I never for even a second thought that I’d get one myself. As I followed him deeper into the room, two boxes sat on the bed caught my attention, they weren’t there when I left for the balcony. Baron, seeing my interest in the boxes, releases my arm and walks towards the bed taking the first box in his hands. “This is what I sorted while you were having some fresh air, once I saw the magnificent photo you were able to create and the story you told me of how much you like drawing due to y

“Draven?” I froze. From inside the packhouse, Ms. Blackwood appeared, her perfect hair gleaming under the sunlight. She was wearing one of those fitted dresses that showed every curve, her lips painted a deep shade of red that matched her sharp smile. And in her arms, she carried a bouquet of roses, roses meant for him, no doubt. Jealousy twisted in my chest before I could stop it. Draven turned slightly as she approached, but his eyes didn’t leave me. Ms. Blackwood’s gaze flicked from me to the child, confusion and something sharper—something crueler—flashing across her face.

Honestly, she’s got more titles than a fantasy book series. He backs up. One. Two. Three. Like he’s got an internal metronome. Blackwood does a bow that probably took years to perfect, all smooth and precise. The whole thing feels choreographed, but you can practically sense Marcus counting every step in his head, terrified of screwing it up. “Your Royal Highness,” Blackwood starts, and wow, his voice has that northern lilt, like he’s about to sing you a folk song but make it sound like a threat. “The Northern Reaches acknowledge your sovereignty and pay respects to the historic claims of your bloodline.”

Two seconds later, he fired back, "Who knows what someone as important as yourself would like, Mr. Blackwood? I should refrain from doing anything." Alexandra had been about to smooth things over, but Flynn was just too sharp-tongued. What he said left her speechless. Phoebe was used to it, but Blake nearly passed out. Gideon chuckled. "Your sister knows what I like. Let her handle it." Phoebe wasn't about to let Flynn keep digging his own grave and immediately jumped in. "I'll make sure to get you a gift, Mr. Blackwood." Gideon nodded. "Alright."

wine stains on new white furniture, broken glass on the floor, cigarette burns on the coffee table. "Can it be fixed that quickly?" "I've handled worse, Mrs. Blackwood." Something flashed in Mrs. Hargrave's eyes. "This isn't the first time this household has faced... unexpected challenges." Before Lyra could ask what she meant, Mrs. Hargrave continued, "About Mr. Blackwood's gift—shall I check with the mail room? Perhaps it was misplaced." The trap was obvious. If Lyra said yes, they would search for a package that didn't exist.

With quivering lips, she asked, “How did you get this, Dommy? You…” Dominic pursed his lips and said nothing. “Grandma, I hope you like my gift.” He looked back and spoke, “Dr. Voss, aren’t you going to wish my grandma a happy birthday?” Elara’s emotions were getting high, but she took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. She moved forward and bowed, “Happy birthday, Madam Blackwood. May you live in peace and good health.” Kristine did not even spare her a glance. As for the gift Elara was giving her, she instructed her assistant to take it. She felt like touching it would make her feel dirty.

; Seer-Lira trailing ethereal, Caelum’s cousin veiled in silver gossamer, third-eye tattoo on forehead pulsing questing-white, blind-gaze piercing. Thorne halted thunderous, nostrils flaring storm-flame reek, voice gravel-roar: “Blackwood! This disturbance *reeks* of your whelp-spawn—rifts cracking *my* border holds like eggshells, shadows spilling wolf-blood! Surrender heirs *and* whatever anchor they’ve forged, or we invoke full council sanction—packs claim your university by rite!”

“I’ll let Zac know to keep tomorrow night free.” “And one more thing,” she said, stepping closer to me. “I acquired these for you.” I turned around to look at her and saw her holding out a pouch towards me. “What’s this?” I asked, reaching for it. “…A little something to help get the message across,” she said. And, upon opening the bag, I found large black feathers inside. …Raven feathers. “Make sure that Zac leaves behind one of the bodies,” she said. “Position the corpse somewhere that Ashwood will find quickly, but somewhere where humans wouldn’t for a few days. Then, when it’s finally in place… leave one of these on it.”

I tell him. Flavius nods in response and begins to pack his things. I fill my satchel with various clothing items and few books. "Why are you packing books?" Flavius asks curiously. "Since we are visiting another horde without sending a messenger ahead, I need to bring something that will serve as a gift. Those of the Horde of Fates are known knowledge seekers. I have many books in my private collection that have not been seen since The Fires. They should serve as a suitable present," I say.