The Black Crow Novels & Stories

That was her curse. In her dream, she stood at the head of a new pack—hundreds, not dozens—and somewhere in the crowd was Derick, older, his eyes hard and golden like Donovan’s, his mouth set in the same cruel tilt as Damon’s. She watched as he beckoned to the outcasts, the failures, the monsters, and they came. Not docile, but fiercely, fighting for a place at the edge of the fire. She woke with the certainty that whatever was coming, they would not merely survive. They would thrive. And the world would learn new stories about Black Claw, none of them kind.

As Maya gathered her charcoal sticks, a heavy, obsidian-black crow suddenly flapped down onto the stone ledge outside the tall lecture hall window, tapping its sharp beak twice against the glass. Elena’s posture went instantly rigid. She materialized beside Maya’s desk without making a single sound, her hand dropping onto Maya's shoulder. "Do not look at the glass, Maya," she whispered, her velvety voice laced with a freezing, razor-sharp tension. Nadia looked up, her breath catching as she noticed the bird. Tucked tightly into the leather strap around the crow’s leg was a small, rolled cylinder of heavy, cream-colored vellum—the unmistakable seal of the Blackwood Sanctuary.

He looked older than Damien remembered — gaunt, eyes burning with decades of hatred. “Damien Blackwood,” Crowe sneered. “Finally came home to the gutter where you belong.” Damien stepped forward, voice ice-cold. “It’s over, Elias. Turn over everything and I’ll let you walk away with your life.” Crowe laughed, a wet, bitter sound. “You still think you’re better than me? You left your brother to die. You abandoned your mother. And now you’ve corrupted Holt’s little girl just like I knew you would.”

Detroit~ Detroit watched the footage. He saw how two people in black climbed over the hotel walls with a person slung over their shoulder. He saw the precision in their movements, the lethal quiet, the way they scaled like shadows born of smoke. His brows creased. He knew those skills. These weren’t ordinary men. These weren’t mercenaries or random thugs hired for a night’s work. These were The Obsidian Crows.

Though clarity followed soon enough. “Let go of me, you bastard,” he growled. “Who the hell are you?” Damien asked. “You aren’t one of my pack.” “I’m a rogue, and damn proud of it,” Crow said. He grinned, that same shit-eating grin was even more unnerving without the skull mask. His eyes were wild, even with the large bruise blooming over half-his face. He looked crazed. “Feel that, Alpha? It’s shame. A rogue destroyed your warriors.”

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.”

It should be illegal to look this nerve wrecking. The first three buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a patch of clear slightly tanned skin. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, showing off the prominent veins that ran up his back hand. I felt the breath hitch in my wind pipes as our eyes met, his mesmerizing green stare made my cheeks flush and my knees go weak, it was like I was paralyzed as I stood there while his eyes still roamed me. "I don't think I've introduced myself. Damon Blackwood" his husky voice made my heart rate pick up. A smirk crawled unto his features as he stretched out a hand for me and I just stared in awe, his words sinking in.

If her feet were actually touching the grass, I couldn’t say, I was so busy trying to figure out how she was giving the appearance of gliding on air. Verina Crow. She stopped in a spot dead in the center of her wolves and looked at me. She was about my mom’s age, but not as tired looking as Mom. She had her hood up around her face, but I could still see that she had a youthful appearance, only a few wrinkles around her eyes and mouth giving her age away. Her hair was dark, like a crow’s feathers, and she was dressed all in black beneath the deep purple cloak. It settled around her shoulders, the length of it trailing on the ground behind her.

Well, she's the one holding the most number of bread they have stolen. It was winter and the freezing wind brushed her skin made her hug herself. Hearing the noise of cats and crows in the junkyard of their hideout, gave her goosebumps. She successfully lost the vendor that was chasing them. She looked at the crow at the top of a trash bin, and she felt this bird was staring at her intently. The crow was tilting its head while looking at her. Mizu knew what this bird wanted. She tore a little bit of the bread and gave it to the crow, but just after the crow gulped the piece of bread, she heard footsteps. So she hid immediately and the crow flew away. "Mizu! Mizu!" As she found out that it wa

She turned back to the castle, looked around the cliff — she had no one to wait for help from. The cliff was skirted by a path washed by waves and led to a stone bowl with a hot spring. The Black Cliff was located next to the underwater volcano, but it was so deep under water that its warmth reached only the bowl, heating water inside it. The sea itself remained cold, resentfully hitting a rocky prominence fencing off the bowl. There was a narrow strip of land stretching along the cliff and leading to the spring. At high tide, the strip was flooded, blocking the way to the hot "bath".