Novel Patrick Kellan Black House Novels & Stories

pleasant, marked out, the control reasserting itself layer by layer. "But I want him afraid. I want that entire family afraid and in debt and waiting." A pause. "And Gregor." "Sir." "Find out everything there is to know about Kai Blackwood. His schedule. His school. His movements." His eyes moved to the window. "Every detail." --- The Blackwood mansion was really quiet, more than it had been before. It wasn't the nervous quiet from the past weeks, where everyone was stressed and bumping into each other.

Rows of towering bookshelves stretched into the gloom, filled with books bound in leather that looked suspiciously like skin. "Where do we start?" I whispered, overwhelmed. "Section X," Killian said, walking straight to the back. " The Anomalies." We spent hours pulling books. The Red Moon of 1402. The Feral Plague. The Betrayal of the South. Dust coated my fingers. My back ached. But I kept reading. "Here," Killian said suddenly. His voice was tight. I rushed over to the table where he was standing. He had a massive, crumbling book open.

They are packed with ancient, heavy leather-bound scrolls and dense files on hockey franchises across the Duskwild Expanse. "This is the playbook that redefined my family's team on the ice," Charles says, reaching for a thick, blue-bound ledger on the bottom shelf. As his arm sweeps forward, his sleeve catches a heavy silver photo frame on the edge of the desk, sending it clattering face-up onto the rug. I bend slightly to look, and my breath hitches instantly, my heart hammering a chaotic rhythm against my ribs. Evelyne Blackthorne. Kaelen’s late mother.

Before I believed him. The phone rang again. I rejected it. Again. And again. And again. Finally, I powered the device off completely. Silence returned. This time, it felt permanent. I sat on my couch and stared out the window. The rain continued falling outside. Hours passed. The city grew darker. My thoughts grew heavier. By midnight, one truth became impossible to ignore. Everything had changed. I was pregnant. I was alone. And Ethan Blackwood was no longer part of my future.

My vision was still foggy from the anesthesia's lingering effects as I squinted, attempting to acclimatize to the intense lighting, and moved my gaze about the room. On the bedside table, within arm's reach, just a stretch away, was a newspaper with bold, captivating headlines that instantly grabbed my interest. The words sprang from the page, slicing through my foggy daze with cruel clarity. I was taken aback by the unexpected headline that read: "Mr. Sherman Colton Abandoned by His Second Spouse."

I pushed the door open and stepped inside and the first thing I saw was him. Of course. Chance Black. Sitting at the far end of the bar, back straight, shoulders squared, one hand wrapped around a glass. He was dressed in black again. Always black. Sleeves rolled just high enough to show the edge of a tattoo, hair pushed back from his face, eyes sharp. I froze for half a second. Then I muttered under my breath. “Of course he’s everywhere I go.”

"The precision here is... unusual and a lot more confident than the other three. As for the name, the Blackwood family is old money. If one of their heirs is returning, someone might have been looking for them for a long time. Well known for their antique and large art collections worldwide.” Casie's mind raced as she tried to maintain her composure. The doctor's casual mention of her family name made her realise how thin the barrier between her worlds had become. Old money, art collections—polite fictions the Blackwood family had crafted over generations to explain their wealth and influence in human society. "Any toxicology results from the previous victims?" she asked, deflecting attentio

he repeated, his voice quiet, calm, and carrying a finality that left no room for argument. He turned and walked toward the private elevator lobby, his slow, deliberate strides silent on the dark marble. The doors slid open and closed, leaving me alone in the vast, empty boardroom. I stood entirely still beside the obsidian table, my hand rising to my jaw where his touch had just been. What could possibly make a man like Killian Blackwood freeze? The database was secure. Arthur was bankrupt. The board was silenced. Yet, as I looked out at the rain-lashed skyline of Manhattan, a cold, heavy dread began to settle deep in my stomach.

He also switched on the lights so Blaine turned off his flashlight and put his phone back on his pocket “This is your room. I already ordered it to be cleaned as soon as your friend confirmed that you’re coming today. There is no bathroom here so you can use the one at the kitchen.” Blaine is shocked. This room is really huge. It is twice as huge as his apartment. The walls are painted black which is also his favorite color. He roamed his eyes around and he really can’t help but to be amaze. “Do you like it?” He nodded continuously “I like it- no I love it! It is so much better than the apartment I previously rented in”

Inside— There was no restoration. Only torn, dusty files. Water dripping from the ceiling. And in the very center— A black wooden door. Written on it in white paint: ROOM 509 — DO NOT OPEN A chill crawled up my spine. I wanted to leave. But Megha said— “Just two minutes.” She pushed the door. It opened without a sound. More terrifying— As she pushed it, the door pulled itself inward. As if something inside had grabbed it. Inside was darkness. Deep, swallowing darkness.