Page 1 of Secrets Of Blackwood
1
Chapter One
DAMIEN
As I stride through the marble-floored hallways of the academy, my steps resonate with a silent authority that the pandemonium of passing students can’t drown out. The crowd parts for me—not in adoration, but in a blend of reverence and wariness, like I’m a current they’re too afraid to touch. They know better than to get in my way.
Stepping aside, someone mutters “Blackwood” with a tremor of unease in his voice. I don’t bother with names; they’re all just faces blurring in my periphery—subjects in my dark kingdom.
With a voice dripping with a mixture of fear and fascination, a girl whispers, “Damien.” Her friends pull her back, their eyes wide, knowing full well the stories that cling to my name like shadows.
Without breaking stride, I let the whispers wash over me, serving as an undercurrent to the steady beat of my boots on tile. I’m used to this dance, the silent reverence they offer like a prayer. To them, I am an enigma—a tempest wrapped in flesh and bone.
Respect is not a product of love or admiration; They’ve seen the scars, heard the rumors of the fights, the nights spent reckoning with demons that would have broken a lesser man.
As the air shifts around me, there is a charged atmosphere that signifies the unspoken understanding that I am not someone to be underestimated. In these hallowed halls where future leaders are molded, I command the tides as the unyielding force.
As I walk, the noise fades into nothing, while the symphony of my own turbulent thoughts takes its place, marking the quiet before another storm.
Upon the door creaking open, a timid sliver of light breaks through, signaling her arrival. She steps in—a fawn wandering into an uncharted forest—her gaze drinking in the grandeur of the academy’s vaulted ceilings and the solemn rows of ancient lockers standing like stoic sentinels. A flutter of nerves brushes across Lily Whitfield’s face, her lips parting slightly as she takes a tentative breath, her chest rising with dreams yet to be tethered by the gravity of this place.
Whispering to herself amidst the cacophony of laughter and scattered conversations that fill the air like discordant music, she murmurs, “First days.”
Her knuckles turn white from gripping too tight as her fingers graze the straps of her backpack, which serve as a lifeline to the familiarity of home. The world seems larger here, daunting, filled with shadows cast long by a history she’s yet to comprehend. Her bright blue eyes are awash with hope, a stark contrast to the undercurrent of apprehension that I sense will soon color her days within these walls.
I stand, rooted in the tempest, my gaze cutting through the throng of students. Fading into the background noise of my existence, their presence becomes nothing but a blur—until her. As I stand rooted in the tempest, my gaze cuts through the throng of students, and every thread of chaos is pulled taut, snapping back to reveal her, the lone figure bathed in the glow of naivety.
She doesn’t see me—not yet—but I see her. All of her. The way her golden hair cascades down her shoulders, a waterfall of sun-kissed strands that seem to capture the very essence of light. It’s not just her beauty that captures my attention; it’s the sheer untainted aura that surrounds her, a beacon of innocence amid this relentless storm.
“Who is she?” Even though no answer would suffice, my thoughts form the question. There’s something about her—the way she holds herself amidst the unknown—that stirs a curiosity within me, a desire to know the rhythm of her heart, the secrets that lie behind those hopeful eyes.
Moving of their own accord, my feet sense the vulnerability of a potential prey, the predator within, yet there’s a protective instinct that weaves its way through the hunger—a compulsion to shield instead of destroy. Every step feels deliberate, a dance between darkness and light as I navigate the space that separates us.
As our gazes collide, all at once, the world fades into oblivion. Piercing gray locks with vibrant blue, the silent exchange screaming louder than any words could ever hope to achieve. In this moment, it’s just her and me, and the weight of a future yet to unfold rests heavy in the air between us.
As I hold her gaze, I whisper, “Be careful, little doe, for the wolves here bite much harder than you can imagine.”
As I draw nearer, I walk silently on the polished marble floors with my boots. The crowd parts; they always do. Approaching her, I notice how the sea of bodies ripples with whispers and wary glances. Standing there, she is an anomaly in my world of guarded faces and hidden daggers. In a peculiar manner, my lips twitch into what looks like a smile, contrasting with the usual set of my jaw. It feels alien, this gentle curve of my mouth, but she summons it forth like a conjurer calling to light from darkness.
“Hey,” I say, the word a soft growl tethered by the leash of civility.
* * *
LILY
His voice is a low echo that resonates somewhere deep within me. Lifting my gaze, I trace the lines of his tall frame until I meet those eyes, a stormy gray that seems to see right through me. His smile doesn’t fit the hard lines of his face—it’s like watching a thundercloud part for a sliver of sunshine. My chest tightens, heart drumming a frantic beat as if it knows something I don’t.
In a hushed tone, I whisper back, my voice blending into the tapestry of sounds around us.
DAMIEN
As her voice trembles, it finds its way through my defenses, stirring something primal inside me. She’s hesitation incarnate, a fawn amidst the snarls of the forest, and I’m struck by the sudden urge to stand in front of her—to shield her from the predators that lurk in the shadows of these hallowed halls.
“New here?” I ask, tilting my head ever, intrigued by the play of emotions across her delicate features.
LILY
Is it so obvious?” I quip, surprised by the humor that finds its way past the nervous flutter in my stomach. There’s an intensity to him that both alarms and captivates me, a magnetic pull that I’m not sure I should indulge. Yet here I am, drawn to the edge of his orbit, teetering on the cusp of a danger I can’t quite comprehend.