Sirius Black House Novels & Stories

She had meant every word. A choked sound tore from his throat; his fist slammed the wall. He never wanted divorce. He had believed he could walk two lines—one, his marriage to Lena; two, his careless indulgences. Today, both snapped. He unleashed the full might of the House of Black. Ghouls surfaced from Wall Street trading floors to Washington corridors. “Find Lena Black. Scour every database. Every shadow.” He summoned the Black Clan elders at midnight, obsidian rings glinting under candlelight. "Mobilize every asset," he commanded, voice cracking with raw authority.

Night hung heavy over the private estate. Inside the screening room, the massive projector cast a cold glow across the leather seats. Ethan sat still and silent, his expression carved from stone. Beside him, Noah held a tablet projecting a detailed investigation report. “Mr. Blackwood, Sophia’s file is complete.” He swiped across the screen, pulling up a set of photos. The images showed an old courtyard house with three low, worn tile-roofed rooms. Large, medium, and small.

I won't give him the satisfaction of riling me up. ••••• ••••• ••••• ••••• ••••• We arrived at the blood moons mansion, its territory marked with a flag of a black wolf and the mark of a red moon high above the wolf's head. The blood moon's territory was grudgingly beautiful with tall olive trees surrounding the house and a wide space filled with gravel. The interior was almost similar to the White House but much wider with silvery chandeliers and hard marble floors. One long staircase was leading to a passageway that obviously had different wings. Skye led Camila to a room and me to another.

“Yes. I need to remove the largest problem from that company. Birch has to go. I have people in place waiting for my signal, stickler. I’m not going in blind. You know that.” We reach the office. The building is made of black glass and is at least twenty stories tall. Above the main glass entrance, in a big, bold, silver, masculine font, it says ‘BLACK ENTERPRISES’. I take a deep breath and smile at Isaiah. “Project: Hostile Takeover – is about to begin,” I said with a smile. “Don’t do anything that will give me a heart attack, trouble.” I laughed. “I can’t help it if you get scared easily, stickler.”

“OH MY GOD I HATE THIS HOUSE.” From the distance, the House hummed irritably—offended. “Sorry, Brenda!” Samantha yelled. The House buzzed once—accepting the apology. --- Then the hum changed. Turned sharp. Frantic. Panicked. Samantha stiffened. “Lucien. That’s Brenda. What is she saying?” I listened. Varyn House was screaming through the roots of the earth. One word. Over and over. Danger. “Sebastian,” I said softly.

Nyra. I forced a polite smile. “Thank you, Siora. You can leave.” She nodded and slipped out quietly. The moment the door clicked shut behind her, I picked up the vial and uncorked it cautiously. A pungent, sulfurous odor immediately stung my nostrils. I recoiled slightly, and without a second thought, I poured the black liquid onto the cold stone floor. It didn’t behave like any liquid I’d ever seen.

"Just what we need, an audience for this disaster." The main house appeared around the final bend, a sprawling timber and stone structure that dominated the central clearing. Three stories of rustic elegance with wraparound porches and large windows, it had been home to generations of Blackwood Alphas. Standing on the front steps, waiting with the unmistakable authority of his position, was Marcus Blackwood.

“I’ve been watching. All this time. Do you remember how it ended for us? Do you remember who screamed first?” Sophia raised her gun. “Show yourself.” “Oh, Sophia,” Seraphine purred. “I’ve seen what you are to him. It’s adorable, really. But love doesn’t survive in the dark. Only power does.” A door slid open at the end of the hall. Beyond it: chaos. A room filled with flickering monitors. Live feeds of government buildings, satellite intercepts, private conversations. A data fortress. Seraphine had turned Blacksite 47 into a digital blackhole, collecting secrets to hold the world hostage.

Amelia whispered directions in their earpieces. “Third floor, north wing. Maintenance room. He’s setting up for a satellite burst. You’ve got minutes.” The service elevator groaned as they ascended. On the third floor, the faint hum of equipment guided them to the right door. Then the whirr of a satellite dish. They burst in. Silas Blackwood in his late fifties, thinning grey hair, and panic etched into every line of his face was hunched over a briefcase. Cables connected it to a dish pointed through a cracked window. His skin gleamed with sweat.

“Perhaps you know him? It’s a small town. His name is Hunt Rivet.” I huff a small laugh, recognizing the name. “Rivet? Of course, I know him. Not personally, but I know of his bar—The Glory Rivet.” “That’s the one,” Sirius confirms with a nod. “But your family name is Black,” I say, confused, as I glance between Sirius and the others. Sirius chuckles softly. “His mother is my aunt. She married a man of less noble standing—Rivet is his name. They moved to Wyrm after the marriage.”