Novel Patrick Kellan Black House Novels & Stories

Calla’s POV: It's been a week and a few days. Finally time to go home. The car rolled to a slow, deliberate stop before the Blackwell estate—grand, cold, and twice as suffocating as I remembered. Even now, after everything—the resort, Nyla’s death, the whisper of sickness curling in my gut—it was this house that made my skin crawl most. Not for its gothic shadows or its silence, but for what waited inside. Home, sweet hell.

He was all alone. And I was here, in a stranger’s world. No. Not a stranger. Sebastian Blackwell. The man who hated me. The man I just married. I inhaled deeply and I came out of the car. They were guards, dressed in black suits standing by the gate. They looked at me, and I nodded once, and opened the gate. They didn’t even smile. I walked past them and my legs were shaking. A maid opened the big giant door. She wore a black black uniform. She didn’t say hello. She just turned and walked inside.

The power went out in my apartment building at dawn. I was boiling water for tea when the lights died. I stood in the dark, listening to the rain, until a knock came—heavy, uneven, like someone leaning against the wood to stay upright. I opened the door. Vincenzo Blackwell fell into my hallway. He wasn't wearing a suit. He wore yesterday's shirt, wrinkled and stained with coffee. He smelled like sweat and expensive cologne gone sour. In his hand, he held a leather folio—the kind he used for billion-dollar contracts.

Tall windows framed in black showed rain still streaking down the glass. Sitting casually behind the desk was a man. Killian Black. She knew him the instant she saw him—though they’d never met. He looked more handsome than he did in papers. Everyone knew Killian Black. The man who’d built an empire from blood and backroom deals. He was the man Damien hated more than anyone in the world. Killian sat back in his leather chair, swirling a glass of whiskey lazily in one hand. His other hand drummed fingers against the desk—slow and bored.

Nick knew that the key was patience and precision, and he was prepared to wait for the perfect moment to strike. The lights flickered momentarily as he adjusted his strategy. He knew that to defeat Mr. Black, he needed to understand him fully—his habits, his weaknesses, and his schedule. Elizabeth’s presence in the mansion was both a complication and an opportunity. Nick had always been skilled at turning obstacles into advantages. He picked up a pen and began to draft a new set of plans, his mind a whirlwind of dark schemes and calculated risks. As he worked, a grim smile spread across his face.

His fingers were cold, but they held on tight. --- The inside of the house was even more overwhelming than the outside. Marble floors, crystal chandeliers, paintings that looked like they belonged in museums. Every surface gleamed, every corner was perfect, every detail had been curated by someone who believed that beauty was a weapon. A butler met them at the door—because of course there was a butler—and led them through a maze of hallways to a room at the back of the house. A study, Ella realized as they entered. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes that had probably never been read. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting warm light across the Persian rug. And beh

he trusted her and hoped that maybe one day they could finally live the life they wanted in peace. ________________ _________________ "Is this the house?" Patrick asked the private investigator he hired when they arrived in front of a house that looked completely abandoned... "Yes sir, this is where Glenda Reynolds lived for a while before she started working with the Graham family" Patrick got out of the car the P.I following behind him as they walked towards the run down house... he was sure he wasn't going to find anything in there... the house was set to be demolished soon after being abandoned for more than twenty years... "I tried to see if we could delay the demolishion, but there was

“Erebus,’ Kallum said softly. The Darkforce pried deeper into what the book was about, and it showed him that the witch In this house, may not have just crossed paths with Erebus. She might have him. With the Darkforce's acknowledgement, Kallum pressed his palm flat against the book, his eyes rolling backwards as he allowed the Darkforce to pour through the object. Images slammed into him. A forest, mist in the air and a cottage-like house. The cottage was old and isolated, perfect home for an ancient witch. Perfect place to hide a dark witch. Kallum found chains and sigils and noticed the caged presence of Erebus. So Erebus did find Killian but he wasn't smart enough not to get caught.