The Blackwoods--Prologue

Okay, so let me start this off with some trigger warnings: heavy violence (creative fiction).

I’m honestly not sure if Patreon will flag this chapter, but here goes.

If it does get flagged, I’ll repost it as a BookFunnel link. And please remember, The Blackwoods is not a pretty book—it just has happy endings for some of the couples.

And So It Begins….

Angie

Steam rises from my sanitizing bucket as I wipe down the last table in the academy cafeteria.  I've been on my feet since before dawn, preparing breakfast for three hundred supernatural children who eat like they're starving to death 24/7.

I pull out a chair and collapse into it, finally letting my shoulders slump. Just five minutes. That's all I need.

I close my eyes and drift back to a different kitchen. The green linoleum of the group home where Tami and I worked afternoon shifts as CNAs. The smell of disinfectant and the soft mumbling of Sally as we helped her eat her pureed dinner. The way Julie would grip my hand too tight with her arthritic fingers.

"One day, Tami," I'd told her. "One day I'm gonna get on that Island and finally be free."

Tami had laughed at me, rolling her eyes. "Girl, you waste too much money on those lottery tickets. It's a scam."

"What I'd give for one of those big shifters to pack up me and my kids and haul my ass off to Wintermoon," I'd said, not even caring how desperate I sounded. "You know they worship their women there, right?"

I smile at the memory, but it shifts, darkening. I remember the night Tami called me. How my heart shattered into a million pieces while I tried to sound happy for her.

"I met someone," she'd said, her voice breathless with wonder. "He's a wolf shifter, Angie. I'm in Wintermoon."

I cried that night after we hung up. Cried until my eyes were swollen and my throat raw. Most would call me a hater, but I did want happiness for Tami. The jealousy was just so real, so raw. Why her and not me?

Six months later, I was sitting in that diner on Mackinac Island with my four kids, on the vacation I couldn't afford, when pregnant Tami walked in. 

"I got you something," she'd said, sliding a folder across the table.

Inside was a job offer. 

"I wanted you to have your dreams," Tami had said, pressing a wad of cash into my hand. "I asked Kade to rig the lottery."

I remember the shock, the disbelief that someone would do that for me. "Oh my god," was all I could say.

And then a year later, Jacob walked in. My Jacob. He took one look at me, threw me over his shoulder, and burst right through the diner window like a caveman.

My fairy tale. Not everyone's idea of romance, but it's mine.

I open my eyes, returning to the present. I've been putting it off too long. Henry and the first Blackwood book. Nearly a thousand years he's had it, studying Blackwood magic. All because I wanted to be a mom. Because Seth's decision to give up his magic and be more wolf than warlock broke something in me.

The air around me suddenly thickens, and a cold dread washes down my back. Something's wrong. My body starts to panic, and I stand so fast the chair clatters to the floor behind me.

Someone I care about is in trouble. Which is everyone in Wintermoon, really. So who?

I close my eyes, channel my magic, and focus on the source of the disturbance. Blue and gold threads flow from my fingertips as I open a portal. When I look through it, my breath catches.

Woodward Avenue in downtown Detroit. A bright, sunny day—perfect for a Tigers game. But the streets are empty of civilians, blocked off by a line of police officers and military personnel, their weapons drawn, aimed at a single figure floating above the street.

Anora. My cousin. Her eyes are completely black even from this distance, her gown billowing beneath her feet.

"Oh shit," I whisper, stepping through the portal, still wearing my apron.

The portal snaps shut behind me. Twenty feet away, Amir stands with his hands clasped behind his back. His face is usually impossible to read, but not today. 

The King of Wintermoon is alarmed.

I walk over to him, pointing at Anora surrounded by police. "What the hell is going on?"

Amir glances at me. "My queen has had enough of human radicals. For years, I have done my best to keep her calm, help her understand that reasoning with them, finding a solution for cohabitation would be best for all of us." He looks back at Anora. "We cannot afford another Great War."

I slap his arm, though he doesn't flinch. "So this is why Anora's been on the Royal Island all this time? Why didn't you say anything, you ass?"

"You would never understand, Angie. You are my replacement. The Baileys should be no more." His voice drops lower. "Yet here I stand, and so does Hazel. We are all that is left." His gaze returns to his queen. "Anora means more to me than you will ever be able to comprehend in your tiny little lifespan."

I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. "Oh please, give me a fucking break. You always play the age game."

"It is not a game, Angie. It is a fact. If you lived as long as I have, you would understand why I fight for Anora."

Amir's gaze softens as he watches his mate floating above the armed men. "It doesn't matter if Anora is wrong. I love her all the same."

"Why is she here? Did someone try to hurt you again?"

He shakes his head. "Solomon was at the border. He believes he can reason with radical humans."

My stomach drops. "Oh shit."

"They shot him." Amir confirms.

I clutch my belly, understanding immediately why that was the dealbreaker. Solomon—her son. A grown bear shifter now, but still her child. 

I call out to her, waving my arms. "Anora! Get down and come here!"

Anora turns her face toward me, and a slow, terrible grin spreads across her face. Black and blue magic pulses from her fingertips.

I whirl on Amir. "Why aren't you doing something?"

He looks down at me, a grim smile on his lips. "Would you like me to fight humans? They know how to harm me. And you know what the future holds if they do."

I open my mouth to argue, then snap it shut. He has a point. Fuck! I press my fingers to my temples, trying to think. Last time Anora went apeshit was years ago on the tourist island, over Amir. And the only person who could stop her was—

"Carla!" I say aloud. "We've gotta find Carla."

Behind me, a portal rips open. Through it, I can see the main level of Medina Shadow. Tofi, Moria, and Kemnebi skitter past, massive spider legs tapping on the floor like it's just a normal day.

Moria pauses, turning toward the portal. Images flash through my mind, spelling out the word BITCH.

I put my hands on my hips. "You know what—"

Moria skitters away, catching up with Tofi and Kemnebi before I can finish.

Josiah appears at the portal's edge with Layla by his side. He guides her through first—Layla in a tight, elegant black gown that hugs her curves and flows over her feet. Josiah follows in his sheriff's uniform.

Layla walks over to me and kisses my cheek. "Hey Angie!"

"Hey," I reply flatly, my eyes locked on Josiah.

Amir's posture stiffens immediately. "Go back. This is none of your business."

Josiah looks offended for a split second before he grins. With a snap of his fingers, the portal closes, and Amir hisses through his teeth.

I've never understood why Mother Fate forced this lunatic vampire to keep Blackwood magic, but that's a mystery for another day.

Josiah steps forward, clasping his hands behind his back, mimicking Amir's stance. "My, my, this is quite the dilemma. Anora's pissed."

"Tell me about it," I mutter.

Layla tilts her head, watching the officers training their weapons on Anora. "Well, if it was my boy Joseph, I would've done the same."

I look at her, biting back the urge to tell her to shut up, and turn around.

"I need to find Carla. She can help stop Anora."

Josiah chuckles. "Carla is in limbo. She can't come out for this."

"So what are we going to do?" I ask. "Just let her blow them up?"

Josiah shrugs. "Why not? They did shoot at her son."

"Have you no good sense?" Amir snaps.

"No, I don't," Josiah confirms cheerfully.

The man is fucking nuts.

Josiah clears his throat. "You know, sometimes stalling can inhibit growth, and growth requires action, even imperfect—"

"I love you, Jo, but don't quote that fucking book to me."

"Yes, ma'am," he says immediately.

Layla steps forward. "Hey, don't talk to my man that way. He's only trying to help."

I raise my finger, ready to zap her mouth shut, but think better of it. Josiah may be family, but he's the one you just don't fuck with. I lower my hand.

Layla gives me a wicked grin, sauntering over to Josiah. He wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her close, kissing her cheek.

Josiah looks at Amir, and I can see the trouble brewing in his eyes.

"Jo, don't start," I warn.

"I simply want to offer some advice to our king." Josiah's tone is innocent, but his eyes are anything but.

Amir turns to face him fully. "Advice? What kind of advice could you possibly offer me?"

Josiah gestures toward the humans with their weapons drawn. "You know, the humans don't truly know what Anora can do. And if they knew, I doubt we would continue to have these problems."

"You know nothing about strategy," Amir snarls. "I have been fighting with humans since the beginning of time."

"And yet, still they don't have a problem challenging you."

Amir rushes forward, getting right in Josiah's face. His ears twitch, and wisps of smoke curl from his nostrils. "What are you saying?"

"Humans don't respect you," Josiah replies calmly. "And they don't respect you because they don't fear you."

He looks to Layla, who's grinning beside him. "Beautiful Layla, go tell Anora that it's time to come home."

Layla kisses his cheek. "Okay, baby."

He releases her, and she walks toward the police line, her hips swaying with confidence.

"Are you insane?" Amir and I shout in unison.

Josiah grins. "Yes, I'm clinically insane, remember?" He watches Layla and steps forward. "Now watch."

Several officers turn and point their weapons at Layla, but she keeps walking, clearly unperturbed by their defensive stance. Josiah steps out from behind her, taking one hand from behind his back to give them a casual gesture. Then he bows slightly.

"Gentlemen..."

The men fall quiet and immediately lower their weapons, stepping aside so Layla can pass. She stops by one of them and taps his helmet playfully.

"I like your hat," she says, beaming at him while the man trembles, looking like he's about to piss himself.

When Layla reaches Anora, my cousin begins to lower herself to the ground. Layla leans in and whispers something in her ear that I can't hear. But judging by the way Amir bares his teeth, it isn't good.

"What is happening?" I ask, in a whisper.

Layla steps back, and Anora simply grins at her, then nods. Layla turns and walks confidently back toward us. The opening in the police line closes, and the men draw their weapons again, aiming at Anora.

Josiah kisses Layla's cheek when she returns. "Thank you, my love."

Layla giggles and starts to walk back to where Amir and I stand. I narrow my eyes at them both. Those two are the absolute worst.

But then it happens.

My eyes widen and my mouth falls open as Anora's magic surges from her hands. She rises into the air again, looking up at the sky.

"Mother Fate, we have tried," she calls out, her voice carrying across the empty street. "We cannot help these humans. They want a war."

She looks down at the men, grinning. "And now you will have one."

She raises both hands, and dark magic crackles between her fingers.

The first wave of men simply explode. Twenty officers in the front line burst simultaneously, their bodies erupting into red mist and chunks of meat that rain down on their comrades behind them. Helmets clatter to the ground, some still containing partial skulls.

A second wave tries to retreat, but Anora twists her fingers. Their bones crack through their skin, jutting out at impossible angles. One man's ribcage inverts, puncturing his lungs from the inside. Another's jaw dislocates and stretches until it tears free, dangling from threads of sinew before dropping to the asphalt.

"Run," she singsongs, her voice eerily playful. "Please run. It makes it more fun."

Three officers break formation and sprint toward an armored vehicle. Anora flicks her wrist, and their legs fuse together. They topple forward, faces scraping against the pavement. She clenches her fist, and their bodies compress like soda cans. Blood spurts from every orifice as their organs liquefy under the pressure.

A SWAT officer raises his rifle. Anora looks at him and smiles. His trigger finger explodes first, then each finger in succession, then his eyes, his tongue, his ears—pop, pop, pop—until his head is nothing but a red cavity. His body stands for several horrible seconds before collapsing.

The street is already slick with blood and viscera. More than thirty men lie dead, their remnants painting the asphalt in wide, wet swaths. And still Anora continues.

She moves her hands like a conductor, guiding a symphony of death. Five men levitate, then their skin peels away from their muscles in long, bloody ribbons. Three others melt from the inside out, their skeletons visible for a brief moment before dissolving into puddles of organic slurry.

One brave officer charges forward with a knife. Anora's laugh echoes across the carnage as she points at his chest. His heart explodes outward, still beating as it flies through the air, spraying arterial blood in a crimson arc.

I try to surge forward, my own magic glowing blue and gold at my fingertips, but Amir grabs my arm and yanks me back.

"No, Angie. The declaration of war has begun. Let them die, or others will if you allow yourself to get harmed."

I snatch my arm away. "You are a horrible fucking king!" I pound my fists against his chest, but it's like hitting marble.

The massacre continues. A group trying to radio for backup clutch their throats as their vocal cords twist and tighten, strangling them from within. Their eyes bulge, blood vessels bursting as they suffocate. Two men attempting to flee in a police cruiser scream as the vehicle implodes, metal folding in on itself like paper, crushing them inside.

Bile rises in my throat, hot and sour. I double over, vomiting onto the pavement.

Amir places a hand on my back, but I slap it away.

"You have never seen the horrors of war," he says quietly. "Being a king means making choices that are never easy. Sometimes sacrifices must be made."

The last man standing—a young officer—drops his weapon and falls to his knees, begging for mercy. Anora tilts her head, considering him for a moment before snapping her fingers. His body erupts, adding to the gore already painting the street.

And then it's over. More than fifty men dead in minutes, their remains scattered across Woodward Avenue like a scene from a nightmare. The silence that follows feels obscene after such violence. The only sound is the soft patter of blood dripping from street signs and nearby buildings.

When all the men are dead, Anora finally lowers herself and approaches us. She's covered in blood. Magic still pulses from her fingertips, but it's fading now.

Josiah and Layla are grinning, plainly pleased with Anora's display of violence.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. "What did you say to her?" I demand, glaring at Layla.

She shrugs. "I told her she must do what needs to be done and come home." Her smile widens. "I asked her what would Josiah do?"

My eyes widen, and Layla giggles while Josiah kisses her cheek. "You did a great job, beautiful Layla," he says, and she preens under his praise.

"See, this is how you get results," Josiah says. "Action."

"No, Jo." I shake my head, my voice breaking. "We're going to war for this now. Do you know how many supernaturals are going to die? How hard we worked to keep our home a safe haven?" I gesture to the carnage spread across the street. "What Anora just did... there's no more negotiating."

Anora approaches, and I finally get a real look at her. The Anora I knew is gone. I gasp, taking her in.

She walks past Layla and Josiah, moving to Amir's side. She gently brushes a bloodied hand over his chest, leaving red streaks on his shirt.

"Don't be angry with me," she says, pouting her lips.

Amir takes her bloody wrist and gently presses his lips to the back of her hand. "I could never, my queen."

"I like this Anora," Layla says, leaning against Josiah.

I stare, stunned by the scene playing out before me. "You knew all along, didn't you, Amir? That this... Anora was inevitable."

Amir just stares at me and doesn't answer.

Anora yawns and rubs her belly. "I've killed too many men today. I'm hungry and need a nap."

Amir kisses the back of her hand again. "Let me take care of you."

Anora looks back at me and laughs—a cold, evil sound that chills me. Then Amir teleports them away in the blink of an eye.

I fall to my knees in the middle of the street. Sirens blare in the distance, growing louder. Through windows of nearby buildings, I can see the flashing of cameras, the gleam of cell phones recording everything.

I thought all I had to do was get rid of Henry and retrieve the Blackwood Book. That I could finally have my happily ever after here in Wintermoon.

But Mother Fate has something much bigger in store for me.

Anora. The queen of dark magic.

I'm going to have to kill my own cousin. And it looks like Amir is content to join her down the path of darkness.

I realize I'm in much greater trouble than I ever imagined.

The Second Great War has begun.