The Black Crow Novels & Stories

Rolling my eyes, I got up. ''I know someone is there. Either you show yourself or leave. I suggest you chose the latter!'' I barked angrily. I could smell a wet dog probably its just the wet stuffy scent of the rain mixed with wood. I need not ask anymore. A big, black wolf with golden eyes emerged from behind the bushes. I gasped at how big it was, dark as the night. It was darker than black.

Against the phantom warmth of his hand on my belly. Then she arrived. Victoria emerged from the shadows like death itself, her cloak a river of crimson that seemed to drink in the moonlight. Her power stained the air around her, thick and choking, making the very atmosphere taste of copper and ash. Her wolves flanked her massive beasts with eyes like burning coals and teeth that gleamed like ivory daggers. "Luna Blackwood," she cooed, her voice honey over broken glass. "How far the mighty have fallen." I didn't answer. My silence was a blade of its own, sharp and cutting.

From the thick underbrush where we hid, I spotted two sentinels standing motionless at the cave entrance. Their faces were completely covered by bone-masked hoods, their forms draped in ragged black robes. It was impossible to tell if they were male or female, if they were even werewolves at all. They didn’t move, not once. Not even when the air shifted with death. When night fell, Xareth moved like a whisper. He stepped forward, his black cloak merging with the darkness. His bow emerged in one fluid motion. He pulled two arrows, and fired in perfect unison.

The first time I really heard the words "old crow" was during the company's Monday morning meeting. Sadie Laurent kept her eyes down as I scolded her, a teardrop glistening at the corner of her lashes. And during the short break, someone muttered under their breath, "She really is an old crow—always picking on the young and pretty ones." For a moment, my thoughts froze. That single line stirred up a storm. Whispers rippled across the room, each one sharper than the last.

Somewhere close—too close—Crowe’s voice brushed her ear, smooth and venomous. “Rite or not,” he whispered as the world lurched, and the first wrench of forced movement tore at her balance, “you’re still Lot One.”

As always, Umbra pushed his portion toward her first, signaling her to take the first bite. ​A quiet laugh escaped her lips. Only then did they eat, and for a little while, the temple didn't feel quite so empty. ​A harsh caw echoed through the courtyard, causing Nysera to pause. ​High atop a broken pillar sat a black crow. Its feathers were dull with age, and one cloudy eye stared directly at her. The bird didn't move; it simply watched, stretching an uneasy silence between them. Nysera blinked, and in the next moment, the pillar stood empty. The crow had vanished.

Damien squeezed her hand without speaking. Marco’s voice came over the radio. He said he had eyes on the convoy. Four identical black SUVs were moving together. He analyzed their spacing and weight distribution. Finally, he said the third vehicle sat lower than the others, likely carrying extra weight. Damien gave the order. They moved fast, closing in on the convoy before it could reach the estate. Damien’s driver pulled alongside the third SUV. One of the shooters leaned out and fired at the tires. The SUV swerved as attackers came from multiple directions.

I was clapping for the same girl I once called ugly—only that now, she was breathtaking. Later, I found Mark waiting at the lounge bar, leaning back with a drink in his hand. His eyes narrowed the moment he saw me. “You look like hell,” he smirked. “What happened? Lose the bid?” I dropped into the seat across from him, loosening my tie. “It’s worse. Much worse.” Mark arched a brow. “Brooks, you sound like someone just stole your empire.” “They might as well have,” I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair. “You won’t believe what I had witnessed.”

The moon above it was veiled, as if even the heavens refused to witness its ritual. A deep breath, slow and measured. It raised one hand, fingers long and skeletal, lined with silver markings that shimmered faintly. With a flick, it whispered something in a language not spoken for a thousand years—“Invoco noctem corvus.” A gust of cold wind cut through the woods, scattering leaves in spirals. Then came the sound—a fluttering, slow at first, then loud and rhythmic, like thunder in disguise. From the shadowed sky descended a crow, its feathers a sheen of obsidian and ink, eyes burning with something too intelligent to be natural. It circled once before landing before the figure, wings folding

I overcame the disgust and charge towards the monster. With the dagger in my hand, I sprint faster but stop midway. The monster picked up my scent right away. He knows that I am within his territory. He knows that I was the one who sent the beetle. He knows that I was sent here to kill him. He roars a deafening roar that echoed all throughout the forest-- a roar louder than that of the Loud Beetle I threw. I shudder at the sound. Flocks of birds flew up in the sky. Black ravens squawked in the pale moonlight. The monster, furious as ever, charged towards me. Shivering, I sprint for an escape. I attempted to evade it but not too much because of course—I was sent here to kill it, not enrage it