Binding Threads Novels & Stories

"After her abortion, Valerie left the city. "She wanted me to give you this." With that, she set down her cup and handed him a divorce agreement. Nathan's eyes widened in shock as he read the words. Deep down, he had felt this coming. Just last night, he had repeatedly dialed my number. But no matter how hard he tried, the call never went through. Upon waking from his nightmare, he noticed I wasn't the one lying beside him. A gnawing unease settled over him, almost swallowing him whole.

When she spoke, her voice carried clearly across the quiet grove, carrying a weight that felt both warm and solemn. "Welcome to the Threadbinding," she began, her tone rich with the history of generations. "This is not a chain of ownership. It is not a mark of conquest. In our tradition, the thread is a promise woven in the open daylight. It stands for patience, consent, and mutual protection. Once this cord is tied and spoken over, it binds more than just two people—it binds their intentions directly into the manor’s living memory. The spirits witness it. The stone remembers it. It is a shield just as much as it is a bond."

Something closer to fear. "The binding core." Silence. Even the chaos outside seemed to fade for a moment. Rowan frowned. "I’ve never heard of it." "You weren’t supposed to," Kael said. "What does it do?" Kael hesitated. Just for a second. Then "It controls the bonds." Rowan went still. "What?" Kael stepped closer, voice low, urgent. "It’s ancient. Older than the academy. It was used to create the first blade bonds. To stabilize them. To control them."

For a heartbeat, there was nothing but static. Then a familiar presence flared—recognition, sharp as a knife— And slammed down behind a wall. Not gone. Not broken. Blocked. Controlled. The shock of it stole her breath. Her eyes snapped open, wild. Adam pushed forward in his chair, alarm flickering across his face. “What is it?” Haley shook her head, unable to explain. The twin bond didn’t work like mate bonds. It wasn’t pack. It wasn’t law. It was something older, something stitched into bone.

The silence seems to drag on as he waits for me to speak. " I know" my voice comes out low and timid. Looking through my laches his eyes holds mine captive. Looking away unsure, I continue to clean up the blood. Throwing the water down the sink, he stands up dominating the space. Washing my hands, I watch him through the mirror, he fumbles around uncertain. Our eyes meet as he caught me staring. Facing towards him, I stare meekly. "Allow me to stitch your wounds" I offer "Don't worry" comes his prompt reply.

No matter how much I look, I don’t see it, and I can’t examine something I can’t see. I look around the room, identifying the four walls and the door. I even make out the shape of my bag, but with nothing else to explore, I switch back to the connections to my bonds. I lay in the centre of the room, my arms folded under my head as I stare up at the ceiling. The tethers to my bonds glow above me, shifting gently with the rhythm of my breathing. Archie’s is a warm amber thread that pulses steadily like a heartbeat. Dillon’s glimmers in a silvery blue, fierce and flickering like firelight. Finley’s tether shimmers in shades of green, alive with playful movement. Chase’s thread is a deep red tha

Perhaps he needed practice before having to talk with her, for he might not be able to come back to the present easily. He could picture what the guru had said. Practice regularly. It takes practice to get to this point. Keep practicing until you will be able to move across the room. He could still recall when he said that it was safe to come back because of the silver chord. He will be attached to it and wherever he goes and how far he travels, he would still be able to come back. For a first-timer, that was enough, so he slipped back slowly to his body.

Why should our bond be destroyed because of what others would think? Why did this have to happen just when i thought that i’ll finally have a chance of being happy in my life? Fuck this. Fuck everyone. Fuck my life.

“Gee Fox? You're just a toy and always will be—” “Gia?” A voice cut through my haze, and I turned to see Bobby, the manager of the club. “Yes, Bobby?” I replied, peeling off my coat to reveal my micro mini skirt that showcased the black thong underneath, knee-high transparent black socks, heels, and a cropped corporate white shirt, complete with a tie to fit tonight's high school theme. “Private room service. Tobias Whitlock,” he said briefly.

The van sped away, tires screaming as they tore through the night. --- When the hood was finally yanked off, the sudden light stabbed at Matthew’s eyes. He squinted, heart thudding, as his vision adjusted to the grim setting. A single yellow bulb swayed overhead, casting erratic shadows across cracked concrete and flaking walls. The air was damp, stale with the stench of mold and rusted metal. He was bound tightly to a cold metal chair, wrists screaming against the ropes. His mouth was sealed with duct tape, his breathing ragged through his nose.