El Silvon Novels & Stories

The heavy door clicked shut behind her with a finality that made my skin crawl. We were alone. I was panting now, chest heaving, fists still raised like weapons that had already failed me. I waited for an explanation. An apology. Anything that would make sense of this nightmare. Instead, Silvio walked to a bar cart near the window. Crystal decanters caught the afternoon light, throwing rainbows across the walls. He poured himself three fingers of amber liquid, whiskey, and threw it back in one practised motion. "Ahhhh." The sound was satisfaction, pleasure. The liquor burned going down, and he savoured it. Then he reached for a cigar from an ornate box, lit it with a gold lighter, and took a

The door swung open with a bang. A tall figure stepped inside. Noel stiffened. Silvio. Elene’s older brother. If Elene was a snake, Silvio was the viper king. He didn’t waste time. His sharp gaze swept over Noel before turning to his sister. "We don’t have time for this." Elene pouted. "You ruin all my fun." Silvio ignored her. "Vincenzo’s looking for him. We need to move." Move? Noel’s pulse spiked.

You could have heard a pin drop. “I have lots to celebrate,” Silvo slurred. “Even though I’m not Beta anymore, there’s still good stuff happening to our family.” He gestured to me. “My oldest daughter is expecting twins.” He sounded bitter. The crowd was quiet, looking at each other and trying to figure out what the proper response would be. “And my other daughter has found her mate. A good guy. Unfortunately they couldn’t be here today. But we’re going to have a party just for her next week.” He held up his glass of beer, sloshing some around. “With much better booze than this shit.”

She watched him move with quiet strength. Selina’s gaze lingered, curiosity pressing at her thoughts. She tried to think what truly set werewolves apart from humans. Silas stood six foot seven, towering and formidable, his presence impossible to ignore. His skin was fairer than the men she had seen working in the fields yesterday, almost as if he belonged to a different world entirely.

I glare at him, my brows frowned. "She most certainly does. See I pretty much know everything about our students except her. She doesn't talk about her family and nobody at The Academy seems to know anything either. Even the information given to the school after she joined was vague...” He takes a sip of his beer, his eyes trained on me, “All the school knows about the Silent Student is that she comes from a rich family that possibly has connections to the chairman and that her name is Atlas Winters. She's practically a ghost at The Academy. Did you know that her age isn’t even in our system?"

A woman with a broken spiral tattooed across her throat. “No,” Dalen spat. “She brings delay. We don’t need silence. We need answers. And if she won’t give them” A quiet ripple through the bloomlight silenced the rest of his sentence. They all turned. Siran had moved. Just a hand. Just a shift in posture. But it was enough. The spiral beneath her pulsed once, glowing faintly in response. And the wind, which had been still, whispered one word none of them could quite catch but all of them remembered differently.

I gripped the railing. Silas—or what was left of him—stood seven feet tall. His left arm was a piston of chrome and carbon fiber. Silver plates were bolted directly into his skull and down his spine. He didn't shift. He stayed in a grotesque, half-hunched position, his eyes glowing with a red, synthetic light.

Tucked into the center was a thick, cream-colored card. “The New Dawn needs a sturdier foundation than a broken heart, Elara. Blueprints can be burned, but vision is harder to kill. I look forward to seeing yours crumble. - S.V.” The card slipped from her fingers. S.V. Silas Vane. The name sent a physical chill down her spine. If Julian Thorne was a lion who hunted in the light, Silas Vane was a serpent who moved in the grass. He was the man who had nearly bankrupted Julian’s father a decade ago, a corporate raider who didn't just buy companies—he dismantled them for sport. He was Julian’s shadow, his mirror image, and now, it seemed, he was her new neighbor.

GAVIN The man standing in front of me had my brother’s face. This was definitely how he would have looked now; older, sharper, and more handsome. But the expression was all wrong. Logan had always been warm, quick to smile, and full of life. This man looked cold. Calculating. Hardened. I opened my mouth, and the first word came out as a broken whisper. “Logan?” His brows drew together, and his face hardened instantly. “I’m Silvio.”