Novel Patrick Kellan Black House Novels & Stories

"If you don't like it, you can leave." Kenny looked ready to shift and tear the place apart. "Sir, let's go. She’s crazy. You're still injured! If anything happens, your father will skin me alive." Patrick leaned heavily on his cane, his knuckles white. He stayed silent for a moment, listening. He could hear a heartbeat inside. Calm. Steady. "Get Kenny a room to rest," Patrick ordered quietly. "Sir!" "Go. I will be fine." If Serena Blackwood wanted to kill him, she wouldn't do it in a public brothel. She played deeper games than that.

He was simply stating facts, and that made them hurt more. “I want to prove myself,” I said quietly. “I need to. For Adele. For the crown that was taken from me.” Tyson flicked ash from the cigarette. “Good. Because I need you to prove it too.” He looked at me directly. “Do you know about the Black Book?” I shook my head. “No.” He took one last drag and dropped the cigarette into the water. It hissed and disappeared. “It’s a book that holds the darkest secrets of the royal family. It will deliver the royal family straight to my hands.”

She wanted to explore this part of his life, the part that he kept hidden from her. With a deep breath, she reached for the light switch and bathed the room in brightness. The study came to life, revealing rows of heavy books neatly arranged on shelves. There were no decorations or personal touches, just the presence of a man consumed by his work. Her eyes were drawn to his desk, positioned near the window. It was a large black desk, almost as if it mirrored the darkness within him. On the desk, she saw a few stacks of documents, a desk lamp, and a white stationery rack.

“Get up.” Black stood up and turned to face Kelley. Remorse shone in his eyes and Kelley looked at the man who had worked for him for three years. Black was good at his job, extremely good and he’d saved Kelley’s life once so his betrayal was a bitter pill. “You’re going to tell me everything Charles is planning. Every last detail, do you hear me?” “Yes, Sir.” “Report to the basement, Black.” Black turned and walked into the house, leaving the front door open. Kelley followed close behind him and watched as he turned into the kitchen and opened the door for the basement. He pressed the number nine on his phone and within a minute Connor ran into the foyer.

********* Metal grates extended, forming a walkway above the black water, leading toward the glass cell where Lilian hung suspended in drugged stillness. Jack forced himself forward, bullet wound in his shoulder aching, but his stride was steady. Kelvin followed, breaths ragged and uneven— His mind shattering under the weight of twenty truths finally colliding: Darcy’s syndicate. Evelyn Chase’s murder. Bill Darcy’s threats. Sandra’s fall. Doris’s secrets. The phone calls. The blackmail. Chris Newton’s name whispered in every shadow. And now— here. At the center of it all—

Black magic surges, a void-like wave slamming into Kaelen. He freezes, eyes glazing, sword trembling in his grip. “Kaelen?” I call, heart lurching. He turns, stormy eyes blank, now glowing with an eerie purple haze. The novel’s pull, amplified by black magic. He roars, charging me, blade aimed for my heart. “No!” I dodge, rolling across jagged rocks, pain shooting through my ribs. Kaelen’s rampaging, sword slashing wildly, eyes unseeing but locked on me.

He was built like a brick wall, with cold eyes and scars on his knuckles. "Evening, Mr. Black," the man said with a stiff nod and heavily accented English. Mr. Black? Was that Lorenzo's surname? Lorenzo reached into his jacket and pulled out a small black card with golden scribbles that I couldn't make sense of from where I stood, handing it to the security guard. The man examined it briefly before stepping aside with another nod. That's when I saw it - an elevator built right into the exterior wall of the building. The doors were sleek and modern, completely out of place against the crumbling facade.

No matter how much he stared, he could never get enough of her. His girl moved with such quiet purpose, so ordinary and entirely captivating. He barely glanced at the rest of the flat. It was cozy, simple and perfect for one person. Killian stepped closer. His gaze roamed the small living room, imagining her living so simply. When he reached the television stand, his cold eyes fell on a white book resting neatly in front of it. He picked it up and scanned the title: ‘How to Get Rid of Depression.’ Curiosity piqued. Killian flipped it open and noticed lines carefully highlighted.

He refused proper meals, drinking only thin, watery oatmeal—days old and sour—muttering, "Eli survived on this in the past. So will I." When winter descended and snow piled high against the windows, he stripped the fire from his room. He wore nothing but thin rags, letting the drafts cut through him. His skin turned purple with cold, his lips blue—and still, he smiled. "Eli was colder than this in that mass grave." When he fell ill, coughing until his ribs ached, he refused the doctor George brought. He refused every medicine. "Eli had consumption, and no one helped him," he rasped. "He died in agony. What is my pain compared to his?"

A black helicopter lifted into the darkening sky. Inside sat Elena. Adrian. Luca. Dr. Amelia Grant. And a heavily guarded Victor Kane. No one spoke much during the flight. The ocean stretched endlessly below them. After nearly an hour... The pilot's voice came through the headset. "We're approaching Blackwood Island." Everyone looked out the windows. An enormous island emerged from the darkness. Dense forests surrounded towering sea cliffs. At the highest point stood an ancient mansion. The Blackwell Estate. Elegant. Silent.