Fantasy Gifts Blackwood Novels & Stories

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.

Blackwood walked over to the sofa area and settled into their seats, crossing their legs as though they owned the place. I rubbed my palms together, before forcing myself to speak. “Can I offer you guys anything?” “I’m sure a glass of wine will do.” Mr. Croft leaned back comfortably. I nodded quickly and headed toward the refrigerator. Behind me, I felt Mr. Blackwood’s gaze following me. “Mrs. Ashford, did you like the present I got for you?” I paused with my hand on the refrigerator handle. His present?, I narrowed my eyes slightly, rummaging through my memories of the wedding gifts I’d opened. There had been so many. I honestly couldn’t remember which one was his.

"He's demanding audience, Alpha. Says he has a proposition that might prevent... unpleasantness." Unpleasantness. Such a delicate word for the kind of territorial war that could paint these mountains red with supernatural blood. I found Blackwood waiting in the courtyard like he owned it, flanked by three wolves who moved with the particular swagger of creatures who'd never learned proper respect for established territory. He looked older than I remembered—gray threading through dark hair, lines around his eyes that spoke of years spent in exile—but his amber gaze held the same calculating intelligence that had made him dangerous three decades ago.

The dinner table fell into a dead silence. “Sweetheart, come with me.” Mom led me to the backyard and pushed open the storage room door. In the corner were more than a dozen neatly stacked cases of the exact same whisky. Some were damp and moldy, others were covered in cobwebs. These were all the New Year’s gifts I had my husband, Kevin Zane, buy over the past three years. “W-What is this?” My voice came out dry. My throat was tight.

"Gifts are not meant to be returned! You can’t just take them back because you’re throwing a jealous fit!" "Gifts are for family and allies," Lane replied, her voice dropping into a razor-sharp, chilling register. "Whoever heard of a pack that begs a person for life-saving help, drains her vaults, and then turns around to despise and humiliate her the second they feel safe? You don't get to wear my family's wealth while spitting on my name. Return them, or I will have them stripped from you." Turning away from the trembling girl, Lane gave a polite, icy nod toward the bed. "Have a wonderful morning, Mrs. Blackwood. Expect my next invoice shortly."

I shot one last glance out the window, moonlight slanting across stone walkways, silvered trees that looked like sentries, sparks of magic glowing in the shadows where kids played games that would terrify normal packs. Magic was alive here, thick in the air, humming along every wall, flickering in every glass and mirror. Every inch of the Blackwood compound whispered the same thing... power. The kind that didn’t shout or strut. The kind that sat back and watched the world burn, untouched and unimpressed. Ria turned on her heel and waved me after her. “Come on, then, stranger. Let’s see if you’re tough enough for Blackwood hospitality.”

He offered to get a neighboring mystic healer over but I stopped him. I pushed myself away from the door and moved to the small wooden chest sitting on the table. My fingers trembled slightly as I opened it. The familiar scent of old magic and dust greeted me. I reached inside and lifted the book of black magic. The leather cover felt colder than usual, almost as if it were breathing against my skin. I ignored that and carried it to the bed.

“She adored you, you know. Every time she came in, she spoke of you with such pride. I never thought I’d see the day you’d walk in here, asking for anything.” I smiled faintly. “Well, today’s that day. I need to get some stuff for my wife.” His brows lifted with intrigue, and he gestured toward the glittering displays. “Then you’ve come to the right place. Let me show you what we’ve crafted lately. Only the best for a Blackwood lady, after all.” Piece after piece emerged from velvet trays; necklaces that shimmered like stars, earrings that seemed too delicate for reality, rings that caught the light just so. Stephens narrated each one, his voice filled with pride.

A smirk crawled unto his features as he stretched out a hand for me and I just stared in awe, his words sinking in. Damon Blackwood, as in Black Empire Blackwood. The self made billionaire, that's impossi- I quickly slid my hand into his, realising I had left him hanging. Bad first impression Jasmine! You idiot!! I mentally scolded myself, I needed this job. Don't fuck it up! Don't fuck it up! I played those words in my head like a song on repeat. 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍 Her skin felt like velvet against mine. I had to resist the urge to take her hands to my lips to kiss them and appreciate her effortless beauty.

But today, as Damien’s assistant placed a black box on the table, and Elias laid down a wolf-engraved chest of dark cedar, every head turned. Because these were not ordinary tributes. The older guests remembered the rumors. Blackwood Academy. The graduation ceremony years ago that had turned into tragedy. The whispers of betrayal, the broken boy and his mother fleeing in the night. Few knew the whole truth, but they remembered enough: Damien and Elias had both been there, and both had walked away with pieces of Henry’s heart. The gifts they now placed upon the stage were echoes of that night.