Vas Blackwood 소설 & 이야기

His chest heaved as pain shot through the old wound from the auction, but he barely noticed it. “You wouldn't dare touch me!” His voice cracked as he shouted, coming out higher and weaker than he intended. “If you dare kill me here today, the powerful Blackwood Pack won’t let you get away with this!” Valkira gave him a faint, mocking smile and stepped towards him, her eyes staying cold as she looked up at him. “The Blackwood Pack?” she asked calmly." Aaron stumbled backward when his heel caught on a broken wooden crate, grabbing the rusted iron rail to steady himself. His chest was heaving, and the old wound from the auction hurt again, but he ignored it.

The scent of roasted venison, cedarwood, and the musk of a hundred wolves was overwhelming. She closed her eyes, trying to find the spark of her own wolf. Moon? Are you there? There was only a faint, distant whimper, like a ghost trapped in a cellar. The trumpets sounded, a low, guttural blast from a ram's horn. Alpha Blackwood stepped onto the dais, his presence commanding instant silence. Beside him stood Silas, looking like a god carved from obsidian. He wore a dark leather vest that showed the intricate tribal tattoos on his arms, markings that told the story of his kills and his heritage.

She knocked lightly on the massive oak door. “Come in.” His deep, commanding voice sent a shiver down her spine. Lila stepped inside the luxurious corner office. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the glittering city skyline. Mr. Blackwood—Victor—sat behind his enormous desk, jacket off, white dress shirt sleeves rolled up over thick, veined forearms covered in dark tattoos. Silver threaded through his dark hair and trimmed beard. At forty-eight, he looked like pure power. “Close the door, little girl,” he said without looking up from his papers. “Lock it.”

"But everyone knows Dante Blackwood isn't an ordinary man. There was a fire at the old sawmill years ago, and they say he was the only one who walked out of the flames alive, while the others... well, the fire didn't leave much for the morgue. Since then, he and his group act as if they own every inch of asphalt and forest." "They say he has scars that didn't come from the fire," whispered the first woman, leaning closer to Helena with a solemn look. "They say he's marked by something no doctor can explain. Stay away from him, girl. The desire of a Blackwood is like the embrace of a storm: it seems fascinating from afar, but it destroys everything it touches."

Ivy continued, her voice tightening, “that a seventy-year-old man walked into a vineyard and murdered his own son?” Marcus tilted his head. “Victor Blackwood isn’t exactly a fragile grandfather.” That part was true. Victor had built Blackwood Global from nothing. People in the industry used words like ruthless and untouchable when they spoke about him. Still— Murdering Julian? Sebastian finally turned away from the screen. “That footage could be edited.” Marcus nodded calmly. “It could.” “And if it is,” Sebastian said, “you’re a dead man for showing it to me.” Marcus didn’t look intimidated.

Roland said. Zeke got to the remote before I did and the images that flashed across the screen were shocking and they caught us by surprise. They showed a desolate scene on a quiet residential street, yellow tape everywhere, and reporters struggling to maintain composure. The breaking story: Gordon Blackwood—patriarch of the Blackwood Dynasty, had been found dead in a gruesome murder case. Authorities have asked anyone with information to come forward.

About Ethan on a rock at the edge of a clearing in the northern forest watching me run with nothing calculated in his expression. I thought about what it meant to be worth the waiting. Then I stood and walked back down the mountain path toward the lit windows of the estate, and the silver light moved through my palms with the easy warmth of something entirely at home in the hands that carried it. Far south, in a darkened study in the Blackwood pack's main estate, Alexander Blackwood was sitting alone in the chair behind the desk where the armrest had cracked six weeks ago under the pressure of a decision he had not been strong enough to refuse.

They turned the night into a nightmare. Blackwood stood at the rear of a black SUV parked near the city center, watching as the chaos unfolded. His gloved hands were tucked behind his back, and his head was slightly tilted as if admiring the chaos. He didn’t speak much, he only raised a hand when necessary, issuing a low command that set the next action of destruction in motion. “Block off the North end, and burn everything south of the checkpoint,” he said coldly. “Make it loud, make them bleed.”

I looked down the hallway and through the other side, and there was actually no one in sight. My heart hammered as I approached the large double office doors with D. BLACKWOOD engraved on the metal plate. I forced my trembling hand to knock. No answer. Great. I knocked again. Still nothing. Screw it. I pushed the door open— —and froze in place. Damian Blackwood sat behind his massive black desk. Sharp suit. Cuffed sleeves. Jaw tight enough to crack a diamond. He didn’t look up at me. Not even a glance. I opened my mouth to speak but was cut off by his deep voice.

I notice from the corner of my eye JJ is standing to the side, smothering his smile with his hand, fucking arseholes. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” I yell at Luke and then turn to JJ, “Are you fucking kidding me? Is that what you two like to do? Jump women in the middle of the fucking night.” JJ stands straighter and observes me carefully, “I apologise, Miss Blackwood.” He bows his head. I turn to Luke, who’s starting to help himself off the ground. He brushes himself off. “Why the fuck did you grab me like that?” I start yelling again. I can feel the tears well in my eyes. I won’t fucking cry in front of these arseholes. Luke looks up at me. Oh shit, his face is swelling fast.