The Enemy At The Gates Novels & Stories

Everything was going exactly as she had predicted, and the excitement of victory started to build up inside her chest. “Close the gates,” Zara said in a voice that was steady and clear, cutting through the silence of the room. Immediately, heavy metal barriers dropped down from the mountainsides, blocking all exits and entrances and trapping the enemy forces inside. Lights turned on simultaneously, blinding the enemies and revealing hundreds of armed men waiting for them in strategic positions.

He went alone. He always went alone. No driver waiting at the gate. No Marcus with a schedule. No phone calls stacked behind it. Just Damien and his car and the grey morning pressing down on the city like it hadn't decided yet whether to rain. Greywood Cemetery was forty minutes outside the city. He knew every turn by heart. The headstone was exactly where it always was. Gerald James Blackwood. Beloved father. A man of quiet honour. Damien stood in front of it with his hands in his coat pockets and said nothing for a long moment.

He would certainly flip if he knew how much I was fantasizing about the son of the enemy. Not only was Athan a man, but he was a rival. Of course, my father wouldn't be thrilled to hear that, which was why I vowed to keep my business a secret from him. I wouldn't want him to sniff around and hurt Aithan in the process. Aithan was mine to hurt, and no one else. The men by the gates bowed as I drove in. The gate had a sensor and could detect the cars that were ours, which was why they didn't have to own the gate for me.

The Russo estate was intimidating, even in daylight. A sprawling mansion that spoke of old money and silent power, it sat on acres of land, secluded from the rest of the world as if it were its own kingdom. The gates alone were taller than me, lined with security cameras and guards that didn’t just look at you—they assessed you. I shouldn’t have been nervous. I had survived Matteo. I had survived the debt. I had survived betrayal, heartbreak, and the kind of chaos that could break a person.

because it did. Desperation took hold of me as I reached the back door of the house. My hands trembled as I struggled with the lock, but it stubbornly refused to open. I pounded on the door, my voice filled with desperation as I begged for someone to let me in. Before me, a fierce battle raged, with blood being spilled in every direction. Time was running out. It wouldn't be long before someone noticed me and I became another target in this brutal conflict.

My men line up beside me, their faces are hard, but their hands are clean enough to do work — and tonight, their hands will know the debt a family owes to the one who belongs to it. Guards at the gate look like shadows until I step out and give them a face to fear. They remember me — most men do.

The journey was a smooth one, we got to my new residence of choice a few minutes before the gates were closed for the day. The gates of Norsen Military Academy rose like the jaws of some ancient beast—iron and carved stone, etched with runes older than my bloodline. My father hopped out first and opened the trunk. “Leave the heavy ones. I’ve got them,” he said, already hauling out my overstuffed bags like they weighed nothing. I grabbed the smaller pack and my weapons case before he could insist on those too.

He went still. I stood there, breathing hard, trying to steady myself as I wiped the dirt off my face with the back of my hand. The door was right in front of me, thick wood, strong, and locked. I quickly searched through the first guard’s pockets until I found a bunch of keys on a ring. My fingers moved fast as I tried them one after the other, and on the third try, I heard a soft click. I pushed the door open slowly, careful not to make too much noise. The hinges creaked a little, and I stepped inside.

A man in a dark hood pulled his cap lower as he passed the gate with a boarding pass in hand, he slipped into the queue, his glance shifting down to the plain watch on his wrist. It was Raymond Colt…the mechanic, saboteur and wanted suspect…he was already vanishing into the clouds, a one-way ticket carrying him beyond reach. And soon…in just a matter of a few minutes, the sky swallowed the plane whole. The game has shifted now. With the suspect gone and Isabella trapped, Isla was now standing in a war that was just becoming tougher with fewer tools and more enemies than before.

A thunderous boom echoed from the front gates. Wood splintered slightly under impact. They were battering it. Again. Another crash. The heavy doors groaned under pressure. Ava shifted her grip on her sword. “Open the gates,” she muttered impatiently. “Let me at them.” “Not yet,” I replied calmly. Control wins wars. Rage loses them. More arrows flew from our walls. Enemy archers answered in return, black streaks crossing midair. One of my men above grunted as an arrow grazed his shoulder, but he remained standing.