Faustus Blackwood Novels & Stories

That was precisely the point. Gasps rippled across the marble, sharp as snapping fans. One girl near the refreshments dropped her crystal flute of sparkling elderwine; it hit the floor with a crystalline shatter no one dared acknowledge. All eyes pinned to him—on his leisurely stride, on the razor-cut smile beneath his storm-colored eyes, on the insult made flesh. And then the room shifted again—not from Theo, but from across the floor. Atlas Blackwood moved. It wasn’t gradual. It wasn’t civilized. It was as though something ancient had been torn awake beneath his skin. The change in him was immediate and absolute—a command rippling through the bones of the room.

Which have aided them in their money laundering. Mr. Edward Blackwood, the current head of the family, was married to Violet Blackwood née Conner. Their marriage was not initially founded on love. When the Conner family found themselves in significant debt, the Blackwoods lent them a helping hand, leading to the arrangement of Violet's marriage to the Blackwood's eldest son. Edward and Violet Blackwood had three children who stood to inherit their father’s legacy: two sons and one daughter. The eldest son, Sebastian Blackwood, was the golden boy of the family, the one everyone cherished. He maintained a spotless reputation, never getting his hands dirty as he delegated difficult tasks to oth

Killian POV I kicked the door of the chancellor’s office open without knocking. He jumped out of his chair, adjusting his glasses. “Mr. Blackwood… what can I do for you?” I ignored him and looked around the room. “You can’t just storm in here. I am in the middle of official university…” “Cut the crap, Vaughan,” I hissed, closing the distance in three strides. I leaned my weight against his desk. “Why was Hazel Frensby in here minutes ago? Why was she crying?”

"The woman you are screaming at currently owns forty percent of the empire we are building over your lover’s ashes. If she tells me to make sure your father loses his house too, I’ll have the eviction notice signed before lunch." Lauren stared at Caleb, her mouth opening and closing in horror. "You... you can't do that. Who do you think you are?" "We are the Blackwoods, doll," Asher’s rough, gravelly voice barked from the entrance. He walked into the room, his massive shoulders blocking the light from the hallway as he glared down at Lauren. "And you’re trespassing. Security should have broken your legs the moment you crossed the outer gate."

Only one man sitting above the Board. Only one person powerful enough to bury deaths. Erase records. Control corporations. And manipulate governments. The founder of Blackwood Holdings. The man Damian had admired his entire life. The man who supposedly retired years ago. The man Damian called grandfather. Arthur Blackwood. The room went completely silent. Then a gunshot shattered the window. Glass exploded inward. Everyone ducked instinctively. A second shot followed. Then a third. The mansion erupted into chaos. Charles immediately spun toward the darkness outside.

“Ethan Cross, he’s probably the only booksmart guy in their group and the only reason he is in their group.” “And that one, the deadliest of them all.” She did not need to point this time because the only one left was the guy I bumped into that morning. “Cyrus Blackwood.” I snapped my head at her as she said his name, “Blackwood as in…” “Yes, this entire college and its franchise is owned by his family. He is the worst of them all. He’s also the captain of their football team. He acts like the golden chosen child but one wrong move with him and your life will be hell.”

It was a single, devastating word. BLACKWOOD. Elena stood up, her long black hair swaying with the movement. Dante Blackwood. The King of the North. The man who had been her father’s shadow and Grant’s greatest rival. "He’s back," she whispered. "He’s not just back," Marcus replied. "He’s hunting in our woods." Elena walked to the window, looking down at the city lights. Grant thought he was losing a wife. He had no idea he had just become the bait in a war between two gods.

My heels clicked against black marble as I stepped inside, the sound echoing back at me like a warning. “Miss Voss.” The voice came from the shadows to my left, low and velvet-rough. “You’re early.” I turned, clutching my small clutch like a shield. He leaned against the doorway in a perfectly tailored black shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, revealing ink and muscle. Damien Blackwood. Forty-two, according to the sparse information I’d found. Billionaire. Recluse. Owner of half the city’s secrets and, apparently, this entire building hidden behind an unassuming downtown façade.