Phantomhive Manor Novels & Stories

We entered the precinct of the Pheles palace, which was named after Raven’s demon wolf’s name — Pheles. It was yet another wonder of architecture standing in the middle of blooming gardens, glowing greenhouses and dark woods. A dense mist hung heavily around the palace and the woods.

Several minutes later, there was a turn off of the road, and I realized it was the entrance to a huge, imposing mansion - my new home. There was a huge gray cloud over the mansion, covering it in shade. I knew the weather was just a coincidence, but it definitely wasn't a good sign. As the limo drove around the huge angelic-looking fountain in front, it stopped, and one of her servants opened the door. I got out of the limo first, cutting her off on purpose, just to piss her off. It felt kind of childish, seeing as I was seventeen, but so what! She was a horrible person. She pushed me out when I did, but I managed to stay my feet, after stumbling slightly. She got out and we walked into the

“Alaric, it’s past midnight.” “I’m aware. That’s when doctors and broken-hearted men drink,” Alaric replied. “Which one are you tonight?” “I might be both.” “Even better. Join me. I had a bottle of that aged noir from the southern cellars opened. I’ll be at the manor. Come breathe before you lose yourself in whatever storm is brewing inside that head.” Caveen hesitated only a moment before nodding. “On my way.” — Vaelthorne Manor stood proud and elegant on a mist-wreathed hill, its stained-glass windows glowing like jewels under moonlight. The estate bore the mark of the Vellaria lineage—ancient, noble, and steeped in both human and hidden supernatural bloodlines.

It took me a while before the road became familiar until we reached the end of the top hill where his glass mansion was located. “Better start explaining now, Mr. Montreal, or else I will call the police.” I immediately gush out the moment we climb out of the car and march behind Damon as he slightly limps his way inside. He stopped for a moment, turned around, and looked at me from head to toe with a smirk hinting on his lips. “You don’t have your phone, love.” I sneered, abhorring endearment. “Don’t call me that, you bastard.”

Streetlights cast golden pools of light along the way. At the end of the drive, massive iron gates stood open. Beyond them, Blackwood Manor rose like something from a dream. Or a nightmare. The main house was enormous. Three stories of classic architecture, all stone and tall windows. Wings extended from either side, creating a U-shape around a circular driveway with a fountain at its center. Lights blazed from dozens of windows, making the entire structure glow against the darkening sky. “This is…” I couldn’t find words. “Home,” Seraphina said simply. “For over two hundred years, this has been the seat of Nightfall Pack leadership.”

I just hold up my phone and show him the single-time-use access code that Clyde sent last night, sealed by a black crest: a mountain peak under a silver moon. The guard’s face goes pale. He scans it with his own device, and it chimes as the gate unlocks. He steps back, his eyes full of fear. “Clear passage. Safe travels… Luna Coralina.” The gates swing open. The manor is ten minutes outside the border, nestled in the dark pines that belong to no pack, a neutral zone. It is elegant and formidable, built of dark stone. Above the monumental doors hangs the Nightfall Crest: a mountain peak under a sliver of moon.

Dilman Dale. Hudson Crest. Irvington Village, New York. 26th February, Thursday. Next day… Night. I pace the living room of Timothy Shoeman’s residence in Irvington Village. The room smells of pine and polished wood. Floor to ceiling naked Palladian windows showcase the darkness outside. Black water from Hudson River stretches endlessly beneath the moonlight. Silent. Cold and watching. I inhale steadily, trying to calm my nerves. Trying to still the anger raging inside me since my little princess revealed the treachery done by Chase Olympus.

The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and old magic. Deep beneath the grand halls of the palace, where forgotten whispers clung to the walls like specters, Princess Elara stood before the entrance to the Forbidden Vaults. The eerie glow of enchanted torches flickered, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch toward her like clawed hands. At her side, Vesper Moretti, the Phantom Heir, exuded a quiet intensity, his calculating gaze fixed on the ancient doors. His presence was like a dark promise—unshakable, unreadable, and entirely lethal.

Sinclair Manor A black helicopter cut a sharp arc across the blue sky, circling over the mountaintop villa before its heavy rotor blades shattered the peaceful silence. It descended slowly onto a private helipad. The cabin door opened. Murphy stepped out. His posture was straight, his movements efficient and panther-like as he crossed the meticulously manicured gardens toward the manor's heavy, carved doors. "Master Murphy, Master Liam is waiting for you in the third-floor study," the steward greeted him respectfully, taking his coat with familiar deference.

He hadn't even looked at her. The city gradually gave way to trees and darker roads. They passed through a tall, iron gate that swung open silently. The driveway seemed to go on forever. It was lined with old, skeletal trees. Finally, the house appeared. It wasn't a house. It was a manor. A great, stone beast of a building with dozens of windows. Most of them were dark. A single light burned above a massive front door. The car rolled to a stop on the gravel. Julian put his phone away. "Henderson will show you in. I have work to finish." He got out without another word. He walked toward the front door, his figure swallowed by the shadows.