Vas Blackwood Novels & Stories

Cold focus was. He walked to the bar cart, poured himself a glass of whiskey, and took a slow sip. His hand didn’t shake. His breathing stayed even. But inside, something dark and familiar uncoiled the part of him he had tried to bury since Elena came into his life. He made another call. “Blackwood,” a gravelly voice answered on the second ring. “What do you need?” “I just sent Victor Voss’s address. The old one on 14th. I need eyes on it right now. Thermal, audio if possible. The lady inside is my wife. Confirm she’s there and report back immediately.”

Phantom Wolves, fifteen of them standing in a loose semicircle maybe fifty feet from the gates, all in human form, all watching the fortress with the kind of patience that meant they weren't here to attack. The one at the front was older, maybe mid-forties, dark hair streaked with gray and eyes that were too familiar even from this distance. Hazel eyes that shifted gold when the light hit them right. Vada's eyes. "That's their leader," Kade said quietly. "I know." The man stepped forward and looked directly at me. "Ryder Blackwood, we need to talk." I didn't answer. "I'm not here to attack your territory, I'm here for a conversation about something that belongs to both of us."

the leader of their council said. There was so much hatred in the way he spoke to me, and I wondered what he was talking about. "What did you find out?" I asked him. " You possessed a dark lunar magic and this has brought about some kind of darkness to our pack, we do not accept that kind of magic here and anyone who brings such to us will be punished" he said. It sounded like some lame joke, I am never with such kind of magic, what has this got to do with me?

a soft growl tries to stir from within his chest as he swallows it back down, reigning in the beast trying to stir within him. “But they only came here because of her,” Blackwood glares upwards through narrowed eyes, his fists clenched ahead of him, “-we all know that. They demanded her the last time they ploughed through our City, and what did we do? We refused them. This is likely the cost we had to pay for not obeying their request when we had the chance,” his hate-filled attention fixates on me, “-tell me, girl. Is your life truly worth the countless ones that were lost last night?” he spits, “Does your existence justify the innocent blood that was spilt?”

He howled into laughter at the dubious headlines. "What about the werewolf news?" He asked as he cleared my throat, ready to read. "Every pack in planet earth now knows the name Tristan Blackwood. Whose packs span across countries. A father of four and a mate and husband to the goddess herself, Vanya Jacob Blackwood. " Then I added. "Do I even look like the goddess?" I giggled.

Serena’s phone lit up first. Then Asher’s. Then the wall-mounted market display behind the dining table flickered with breaking alerts. The same photograph appeared everywhere: a twenty-three-year-old Asher Blackwood standing in the rain outside the family estate, security on either side of him, the word DISOWNED stamped across the scanned document beside his face. THE BLACKWOOD DEVIL IS BACK—AND THIS TIME, HE HAS A WIFE TO HIDE BEHIND.

And yet, she ran—slipping through his grasp before he could properly lay claim to her. And now, the past he had buried was clawing its way back to the surface. The moment Mrs. Ellis had uttered that name—Blackwood—something inside him had snapped. Adrian Blackwood. The Blackwoods were once a feared empire that thrived in the filth of the underworld, trafficking women and girls like cattle. But they had been all but annihilated by his own hands. Valerian had personally seen to their downfall, wiping out the roots so thoroughly that there should have been nothing left.

An unreadable, calm smirk split his features as he stared up at my mother, his voice carrying a strange, dark undertone that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. "After all," Adrian said, his eyes boring into Evelyn with a terrifying intensity that made her face turn entirely pale. "Old man Blackwood’s memory belongs to a lot of people in this city. Some of us have been waiting a very long time to finally address the hidden indiscretions of this family bloodline." A sudden, sharp gasp ripped through the front rows.

She was a legend people either feared or pretended not to know. And Blackwood had witches. Hybrid, lunatic, chicken-blooded witches who could sniff secrets out of bones and dreams. “Vivienne Moreau,” he called, voice sharper now, and deliberate. “Open the damn door.” Yep. That was it. Funeral bells. End credits. Roll the fucking montage. I can see my family calling me to join them in hell. “Damn you, Atlas Blackwood,” I muttered under my breath, pacing once, twice, then stopping dead.

"He's demanding audience, Alpha. Says he has a proposition that might prevent... unpleasantness." Unpleasantness. Such a delicate word for the kind of territorial war that could paint these mountains red with supernatural blood. I found Blackwood waiting in the courtyard like he owned it, flanked by three wolves who moved with the particular swagger of creatures who'd never learned proper respect for established territory. He looked older than I remembered—gray threading through dark hair, lines around his eyes that spoke of years spent in exile—but his amber gaze held the same calculating intelligence that had made him dangerous three decades ago.