Gotham Wayne Manor Novels & Stories

“That won’t be necessary, Orbot. I need you out here to stand guard and watch the car. Alert me if you notice anything suspicious.” I don’t wait for his reply. I step out of the car, eyes immediately adjusting to the brown cobblestone walls of my father’s massive mansion in the heart of Midtown Manhattan. With the sun already down, the lights from the towering lampposts lined around the property cast a bright glow across the path, highlighting the rich cobbles and the massive gothic-style gate ahead. I know the surroundings like the back of my hand. I practically grew up here. This house was a gift to my mum, but after she passed, Theodore didn’t hesitate to hand it over to his whiny new wif

Not to mention hateful humans who despise werewolf kind—armed with silver bullets and Moon Goddess knows what else. The garden was silent and empty. The gardens are a part of Alpha Cain’s private residence but he allows anyone to roam around them as long as they don’t make a mess. His residence consists of an estate, a manor, a small waterfall beside the manor that snakes down to the long river and flows to the fountain—situated in the middle of the crowded plaza.

“The Archive is only the beginning. The real inheritance is hidden beneath Blackstone Manor. Only the true heir can enter.” My brows knitted together. “Blackstone Manor?” Alfred slowly closed his eyes. “So… he chose that place.” David looked confused. “I thought it had burned down years ago.” Alfred shook his head. “No.” “It disappeared.” Before anyone could ask another question— The entire building shook violently. BOOM! Dust poured from the ceiling. The security monitor flickered. Leon had reached the main gate. The massive stone entrance on the screen slowly began to unlock. “No…” Alfred whispered.

Manhattan rose out of the fog like a jagged crown of glass and light. We didn't go to Hawke Tower. We didn't go to the Reed Plaza. We headed for the "Dead Zone"—a pre-war limestone building in the Financial District that didn't appear on any modern digital maps. This was the Sovereign Trust Repository, the only place on earth where a Van Dyne heir could legally dissolve the Foundation.

- Calla The old Greystone Estate was just as I remembered it: silent, neglected, and surrounded by a thick, protective wall of pine and brush. The small cabin was dusty and smelled faintly of mouse droppings and aged wood, but it was mine. No guards, no Marla, and no scent of Alpha Lucien Thorne. Just freedom, purchased with a ruthless transfer of money and a clean break from a destiny I refused to accept.

Wayne. Wayne was a freelancer known for his notorious character and blackmail. He always had a clue about everything going on in the city. If Mr. Starkov wanted to know anything his men did not know, Wayne was the right person to ask. They stood by an old warehouse, next to a rusted barbed-wire fence. The potholes on the narrow passage were filled with stagnant, dirty water. The tires of the Chevrolets were soaked with brown, sticky mud. Wayne lit a cigarette in front of the Russian, the smoke curling into the damp air.

They didn’t dare to bother, but they were sure lurking around to see what was happening. As soon as I stepped on the threshold of the manor, the gigantic ornamental metallic gates opened, and the two warriors posted at each side bowed in respect. After acknowledging them, I continued walking inside. The main manor was about a few feet away from the main gate. There was a paver pathway in the middle that led to the main manor, and the surrounding grass was perfect for training. The manor was three stories high and mixed with ancient and contemporary designs. At the front, many warriors and omegas were waiting for my arrival; in the middle of them was Albert, who was carrying Aaden in his arms

Grayson Mercer growls, his voice dripping with absolute disgust as his heavy hand clamps down on my wrist like a iron trap. He stands in the center of the Blackthorn Grand Hall, flanked by the Mercer Security Detail. The grand chandeliers cast long, golden shadows across the polished marble floor of the Mercer Estate, reflecting the glint of steel from the blades at their belts. Grayson’s jaw is set in a rigid line, his eyes flashing with the cold, golden light of a dominant wolf trying to crush a lesser strain.

Beyond the gate sat the primary stronghold of the cartel: the Obsidian Manor. ​It was a sprawling, ancient fortress built entirely of dark granite stone, featuring soaring watchtowers, high stone parapets, and narrow arched windows overlooking the valley below. Servants in dark gray uniforms lined the stone courtyard, standing in rigid silence as our carriage came to a halt near the main entrance.

The famous fountain was everything the travel websites had promised - An elaborate timeless confection of carved stone and cascading water, where every droplet caught the light like a jewel. “It’s beautiful,” Camilia said, settling onto a bench nearby. “I can see why people make special trips to see it.” “My mother would love this,” Rohan said, joining her on the bench. “She collects postcards of fountains from around the world.” It was the first personal thing he had shared about his family, and Camilia found herself curious for more details. But before she could ask, he was standing again, ready to move on to their next destination. The haunted house had taken root in Greystone Manor, an a