Ty Blackthorn Novels & Stories

We said goodbye and I headed to the address Nick had texted me. As I walked into the shop a friendly gentleman greeted me. “Miss Clarke, Mr. Thorn said to expect you.” “He did,” I sounded surprised. “I have the bottles ready for you.” We walked over to the counter, and he showed me the bottles. First was Chateau Montelena chardonnay and the second was a bottle of Macallan 18-year-old double cask whiskey. I nodded, not having a clue. I watched as he boxed the bottles up and placed a gift ribbon around each of them.

He bellowed in anger. In my entire life, I had never seen Wilder this angry and filled with a murderous intent. Whoever this person was had just pushed their limit, and Wilder would hunt him down to the ends of the earth, even if it meant losing his life. Lily came out of the bathroom with a sober expression on her face, and when she asked me the question about her birthday parents, I felt my blood run cold. * “Blackthorn is dead.” I said as soon as I entered the house. “We need to pack up and leave. People are getting unsettled…"

Her heart beat violently in his ribs, like the wings of a bird in a knot. "Enough, Lyric." The voice that broke the tension was silent, deep and charged, of a guy who didn’t need volume to be heard. The crowd instinctively withdrew and cleared the room for a man who moved like a predator he had never hunted before. Alpha Kale Blackthorn was tall and stable, built all the power and control, but shares his eyes that moved people. Silver gray like the moon on steel, clear, illegible, full of old and unknown things.

"Someone used these on her." Lysandra stepped into the room properly now, her earlier fear replaced by sharp interest. "Wait. Blackthorn roots? Those do not grow anywhere near our territory." I looked up at her, surprised she knew that. "She is right." Killian stood, his face grim. "Blackthorn needs very specific conditions to thrive. Acidic soil, constant moisture, shade. We do not have those conditions here." My mind raced. "So, whoever used these on her brought them from somewhere else."

Maybe if I looked like I belonged, no one would notice. But Silverfang always noticed. A voice, low and commanding, cut through the hum of chatter. “Move.” I froze. The drink trembled in my hand. When I turned, my gaze slammed into storm-gray eyes that made my stomach flip. Kael Blackthorn. Second son of the Alpha of Pack Blackthorn. Future CEO of the Blackthorn Conglomerate. The Academy’s untouchable prince. And, unfortunately, the man whose pristine white shirt I had just baptized in crimson punch.

His dark hair gleams under the silver light, and I know that stance, that aura, that arrogance even before he lifts his eyes. Damien Blackthorn. My ex-lover. My betrayer. The one who cast me into exile with a single word. He is not supposed to be here. Not like this. Not swearing himself before the council, before the moon, before the pack. Not offering blood for loyalty, not kneeling for power. But there he is, standing at the very heart of Shadowfang territory. And as the words of the Blood Oath rise from his lips, the air shifts—sharp, electric, inevitable.

But this one… this younger guy… she hadn’t told me about at all. My gaze snagged on the dark ink curling up the man’s neck. It was a gothic rose. Snakes coiled through the petals, fangs bared. That tattoo… It's…. Familiar? I don't know, but I've seen it somewhere. My stomach twisted, but before I could even process why it felt so familiar, the sound of the front door swinging open snapped my head up. “Thorne?” He stepped inside, and my eyes widened. There was blood on his shirt, blood on his hands, a cold calm in his eyes that was worse than any panic. His jacket was half-open, and I could see the sluggish flow of crimson down his side.

Cierce, sensing my bewilderment, offered a sympathetic smile. “It's a shock, isn't it?” she commented. I nodded, unable to articulate words. Cierce led me to a quieter space, where we could talk without being interrupted by the reception's hustle. “Blackthorn?” I repeated, seeking clarification. Cierce nodded with a conspiratorial smile. “Yes, Fierce. Hunter is the Alpha King, but here, he's known as Blackthorn, the leader of the Blackthorn Enterprises, a conglomerate that spans multiple sectors.”

“And since when do we take Blackthorn at his word?” “Since his information lined up with what I found in my father’s journal.” I shot back, my patience fraying. “Since he fought and bled alongside us against a creature that shouldn’t exist. He knew about the crystal, David. He called it the ‘Heart of the Mountain.’ A weapon.” Alex’s face paled. “A weapon? That’s what this is all about? Not politics, not a grudge… but a *weapon*?”

Orion stated. The name sent a chilling shiver through the room. Hassan Blackthorn was a legend—ruthless, completely disciplined, and the commander of the most feared military force in the werewolf world. He dressed in tailored black suits, ruled his empire with cold logic, and had zero interest in love or political marriages. “Blackthorn?” Cedric scoffed, throwing his hands up in despair. “He’s a goddamn monster! He hates the Ravenscar pack, yes, but he would never agree to a sudden alliance with us. He doesn't take sides in Council disputes.”