Chains Of Gold Book Novels & Stories

She had just — finally, and for the first time — arrived. The Windsor chair stood in the corner of the living room of a house they bought together — not forty acres and a glass tower, but something smaller, with a real garden and south-facing windows. Her mother came to dinner once a month and complained about the drive and ate everything on her plate. On the mantle was a small bottle, found in the workshop when they packed his things. Ghost. She kept it for the reminder: that what looks stripped and pale and lost is sometimes just waiting. That things come back to themselves. That old and tended and cared-for is not the same as broken.

Any chance of a rescue seemed unlikely. A series of growls could be heard from across the camp where a young girl was chained to a post. She couldn’t have been more than five. Anytime a rouge walked past her, she pulling at the chain around her neck and tried to bite or scratch them. Her face looked almost feral, yet each time she missed her target, she dropped to her knees and cried.

Knowledge that had been collected, hidden, forbidden. Aurelian stood in the center of the room. He did not know where to start. He had read the histories. He had studied the records. He knew what the Holts had done, what they had kept, what they had buried. He knew that somewhere in this room, there was something that could help her. He just had to find it. He pulled a book from the nearest shelf. Blood and Bond: A History of Curses. He set it aside. Another. The Veil and the Void. He set it aside. Another. Rituals of Transferrence: A Practical Guide.

The ritual was over, but the chain's warmth still burned against my hip like a brand I couldn't scrape off, and the world had just started watching. Dawn gold bled across the ridge, cold and thin as watered blood. My nose remained clogged with the last of the silver-mercury ash, every breath a jagged scraping of soot against raw tissue. The chain—1.5 meters of quartz and soul—throbbed once: slow, steady, the only thing left of Kael that still answered when I pressed my palm to it.

Elara The gold weighed three and a half pounds and it had bought me nothing, and I'd been sitting on the edge of the bed working that out for the better part of an hour. I'd taken it out of the lining where I'd sewn it and laid the whole of it on the fur in front of me, the chains and the bracelets thick enough to chain a door and the rings with the red stones, and in the lamplight it looked like exactly what it was. A way out with no door on the far side.

The golden highlights probably came from his second unrecorded ability, golden chains. People usually got silver chains and it was a lethal weapon against most types of shifters. Anyone with silver kinetic ability was immune to silver itself and they usually almost always win because they were walking anti-shifter weapons. Now what happens when someone possesses golden chains? According to what I read, when he first displayed that ability, it was said to be useless as gold only affected werelions. That conclusion was reduced to cinder soonest when he killed a powerful noble vampire.

With quickened footsteps, she dashed to the shelf and found only two books still laying. Eyes closed and the outside world shut completely. "Focus and you shall get what you want!" She silently said to herself with hands that were raised halfway to the books. As soon as she opened her eyes, the bold, gold letters glowed on the backside of the two books. They began to mechanically shake and eventually fell from the shelf to her hands. "The Waters Beneath Will Deliver—The Winds Shall Redeem Me From NERIDA." "Why are there two books?" Amethyst halted to browse the black covered book. She only got a glimpse of the inside of the book which was empty. Turning to the gold-covered book, she glimpsed

These chains had been reputedly organized earlier and already mounted into the wall, extraordinarily secure. But as a vampire, if Isabella used her complete strength, breaking the wall need to now no longer be that hard—however she couldn't do it. "Golden, huh..." Because touching the chains produced a sizzling ache similar to being burned, most effective than did she recognise the chain's material. Vampires had been scared of golden itself. These chains had been maximum possibly designed particularly for vampires, making getaway even harder. "You woke, Your Highness the True Original?" "You...!"

Yet the fire did not die. It raged, untamed, licking hungrily at the marble pillars and gilded archways, swallowing the grand halls that once stood tall and proud. My bare feet stumbled over shattered stone, my nightgown torn and damp, clinging to my skin. The storm howled, the wind lashing at my face, but nothing—not the rain, not the thunder, not the fury of the skies—could smother the flames. And above it all, someone called my name. “Eira!”