Broken Chains Hands Novels & Stories

She suddenly grabbed my arms roughly. My eyes snapped open and I met a pair of unfamiliar angry blue eyes. I became fully alert and tried to attack the man in front of me, but my wrists stung as I raised them. I looked down and realized that I had chains around my wrists and ankles, sliver chains. The pain slipped in and I felt weak immediately.

The pain is indescribable. But I don't stop. Hours pass. Maybe days. I pull and pull and pull. And then I hear it. A crack. Small. Almost imperceptible. But there. The chain on my right wrist is weakening. Hope surges through me. I pull harder. Ignoring the pain. Ignoring the burning. Ignoring everything except the need to break free. Another crack. Louder this time. The chain is breaking. Just a little more. Just a little longer.

Richard Fuck, these silver chains; if only they weren't binding my body, I could have freed myself and escaped this wretched place. The weight of these chains burns my body and leaves me feeling helpless, like a prisoner in my own skin. And to add to my suffering, wolfbane was injected into my body, causing a constant ache that courses through my veins. The combination of the chains and the wolfbane is a cruel reminder of my captivity, making every movement a painful reminder of my confinement. I yearn for the day when I can break free from these restraints and reclaim my freedom once again.

Hunter cursed, slamming his hands against the unyielding door in frustration. His eyes darted to the chains. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the cold steel links wrapped around the handle and stood frozen for a moment, gathering himself. He closed his eyes and focused. When he opened them again, they weren’t the same—his irises glowed a fierce gold, streaked with emerald green. A sudden surge of raw energy surged through him. Hunter gripped the chains with both hands, every muscle in his body straining as he pulled with everything he had. These weren’t ordinary chains—they were built to stop people like him, so breaking them wasn’t going to be easy.

I pushed harder and twisted my wrist in a way that sent lightning bolts of pain up my arm but finally, finally, my hand slipped through the chain and I was loose. I sat there for a moment holding my broken hand against my chest and trying to catch my breath while waves of pain washed over me. My wrist was definitely broken and probably my thumb too but I was free from at least one chain and that was progress.

Christian orders the people who chained me to leave, he holds me and guides me to a chair “I am sorry for the chains but I couldn’t have you pulling any of your witchy shit again. But he only knew about the fire and earth, he didn’t know about air and water, and my clothes were drenched in water. Fighting against the chains, I loosen the ones behind my back, it burned but it was enough to get my hands out and partially shift so they become claws. The chain around my neck was the biggest problem, it was burning into my skin, cutting the flesh deeply with each swallow. “Let. Tasha. Go!” He rolls his eyes at me “I think that chain needs to be pulled tighter” He pulls a pair of leather gloves on

FAITH I had run out of tears after a few hours and had sat blankly, staring at the cold, brick wall, too terrified to move in case the chains did the same. I had lost all feeling in my hands a while ago, but before I did, I had managed to rip strips off my dress and shoved it between the metal and my flesh. It was my one reprieve from the pain, but they had already soaked through with my blood, and the fabric itself was starting to irritate my injuries.

And he began to murmur again — softer this time, almost coaxing, like speaking to a frightened creature. “…why are you crying, little birdie…?” His voice lilting, almost tender. The chain lay still in his hand, but something in the air shivered. “…who are you calling so desperately, hmm?” His head tilted, listening — to what, no one else could say. “Oh,” he breathed. “Is that so…” His fingers slid along the broken metal, following its jagged curve as though tracing a memory instead of a weapon. “And where were you held?” he asked, tone quiet, intimate. “Show me. Don’t be shy.”

I smiled as I pulled and pulled at the metal, feeling it bite into my skin and then eventually the unmistakable crack in my wrist as I dislocated my thumb and broke a few bones as well. I couldn’t help but hiss in pain, the pain melting to a liquid heat as I feed my right hand. No one seemed to notice what I was doing though as I rolled my body over the corner of the table and hit the ground with a thud. “Ouch…” I bit my tongue and scraped my chin on the cement of the floor, noting that the chains that held me down were just slid onto the legs of the table. I lifted up each end and slid the rings free, leaving myself with chains still attached on my left arm, foot, and right foot.

A jewelry box. I opened it slowly. Inside, nestled on black velvet, was a set of jewelry that took my breath away. A delicate silver necklace with a single emerald teardrop pendant, surrounded by tiny diamonds that sparkled like captured stars. Matching earrings, small emerald drops framed in silver. A thin silver bracelet with a tiny emerald charm. I stared at them, my heart pounding. He thought of everything. I slipped on the necklace. The emerald rested just above my collarbone, cool against my skin. The earrings caught the light as I turned my head. The bracelet clasped around my wrist, delicate and perfect.