Marcus Blackwood Novels & Stories

But instead of helping Marcus, Blackwood called me to give me the information. "Elena? This is Richard Blackwood. I hope you remember me from Sterling Investments." My heart stopped. That was my voice responding: "Of course, Mr. Blackwood. How can I help you?" "I just received the strangest phone call from Marcus Martinez. He was asking for money, claiming he needed help getting back on his feet. I wanted to let you know in case he tries to contact you directly." "Thank you for the warning. What did you tell him?" "I told him exactly what I thought of him. That he was a thief and a liar who destroyed innocent people's lives. I told him that his reputation in this city is so toxic that no leg

“That’s him.” Nathan Blackwood. I recognized that face instantly. CEO of Blackwood Industries, headquartered in New York. The man was always in the news. His face was plastered all over the business magazines I loved to read. He was tall, like his cousin, Julian—handsome, with the kind of presence that commanded attention, even in a photograph. And his fiancée—Kimberly—she looked exactly like me. I swiped back to her picture with trembling fingers, my stomach twisting in confusion and disbelief.

"If you miscalculate even slightly, you could actually destroy the company you're trying to save." "I know." I stopped pacing and looked directly at him. "Are you with me?" "Always," he said without hesitation. "But Scarlett, if this goes wrong—" "It won't." "How can you be so sure?" "Because Marcus Blackstone has spent twenty years hunting wounded prey. He's never faced a predator who was pretending to be wounded." We were interrupted by the sharp chime of my phone. Unknown number, which usually meant either terrible news or a trap. "Scarlett Blackwood," I answered, my voice crisp and professional.

He let our child die. In this life, he thought he'd found something better. A perfect mate. A perfect child. But it was all a lie. "Marcus Blackwood," I said. My voice cut through his mumbling. He looked up at me. "Do you understand now?" I stepped closer. My heels clicked on the marble. "Who is the real waste here?" His face crumpled. Like a child about to cry. Scarlett was still on the floor. She crawled toward Marcus on her hands and knees.

"Ms. Blackwood died on May 20th at Central City Hospital. If you're her friend, the funeral service is being held at Eastside Memorial Cemetery. It started an hour ago." With that, the man hung up. Marcus stared at his phone, his hands beginning to shake. A strange panic crept up his chest, but he pushed it down. This had to be fake. Another one of my elaborate schemes. "Who was that?" Celeste asked from the bed. "Nothing important," Marcus said quickly. "Just some prank call." But deep inside, a tiny voice whispered that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't a game. He knew me too well though. I loved him desperately. I would never actually leave him. I would never really choose to die.

His face was a map of bruises, his arrogance replaced by a hollow, haunting realization. He looked at me, his eyes brimming with a silent, pathetic apology that I wasn't ready to accept. "He's at the perimeter," Marcus hissed, his voice cracking like dry parchment. He was staring at a burner phone, his knuckles white. The billionaire owner of the Glaciers now looked like a common street thug, his expensive suit wrinkled and smelling of cold sweat. "Blackwood is early. He's always so damn early." "Marcus, look at yourself," I rasped, my throat feeling like it had been scraped with sandpaper.

"I told you, Mona. I made a promise to your mother. Today I keep it." Derek grabbed him. "Marcus, this is insane—" "This is necessary." Marcus shoved him back with newfound strength. "You want to reach Alaric? I'll carve you a path. But you have to promise me something." "Anything," I said, tears burning my eyes. "When this is over, when I'm gone, you tell the story right. Tell them Marcus Blackwood died a hero, not a bitter old wolf who lost everything." He smiled, and for a moment I saw the man he might have been if my mother had chosen differently. "Tell them I died for love."

And maybe that’s why it felt wrong because the moment didn’t last. “Seems like you’re getting comfortable", a sharp cold voice booms in our ears. Our eyes slowly darted to the source of the voice and I freeze. Adrian Blackwood was standing with his eyes darkened and face scowled. "Sir...", Davel mumbles. He immediately pulled back his hand like he had been burned. We both stood up in attention but his eyes were cold passing a last glare at us before he leaves without any other words. What's wrong with him?

He places his hand on his shoulder and smiles unwilling to let him go. "Grandpa, I really need your help." Blake hangs his head, his eyes threatening to perk with tears. "What's going on Blake?" Blake's grandpa frowns, his voice going from a cheerful tone to a more melancholic tone. "Grandpa, those archives you told me to look over, you were right. You were right about all of them. There's a vampire by the name of Damian who is seeking revenge on our pack. But that's not the only thing I fear." He sits with his grandfather inside at the table.

A young man got in a bowed before making his statement. "I'm pleased to inform you that yesterday's operation went well. Two men of Stone were murdered and the bag is in our possession." "That's great news. What about the Black moon?" He asked with interest. "He was nowhere to be found and that was to our advantage," he said the last part lowly. "I see, seems Black moon's becoming busy lately. What can he do? He's human too." Matteo added very excitedly. The man dropped a glass of wine before him and scurried out of the room, happy for being alive.