Graveyard Keeper Silk Novels & Stories

“This is not a package. This is a dowry.” I shook my head, overwhelmed. “Why would he do this? We barely know each other. This… this is insane.” “You’re insane if you think I’m letting you return any of this.” Finally, Bree turned to the massive Gucci trunk. She crouched, untying the enormous ribbon and lifting the lid. Inside lay a Versace silk robe in deep crimson, embroidered with gold details. Folded beneath it, a handwritten card rested on thick stationery. Bree snatched it before I could.

he commands, pulling a cross out of his cloak. It's not just an ordinary cross, it's a freaking masterpiece that looks like it could be from the Middle Ages. It's at least fifteen inches long and the surface is beautifully carved in brilliant gold with ruby red stones set on each end. They're the most spectacular sparkling red I've ever seen. If I didn't know any better I'd swear it was yanked straight off of King Arthur's tomb or at least the Smithsonian.

looking helpless as he lost the only thing that made him a god: his land. "You look like you're staring at a funeral," Silas rumbled, standing by the window. His silhouette appeared massive against the grey sky. "I am," I whispered. My voice was a dry rasp, like a dead leaf when crushed. "I'm watching the burial of the Crescent Alpha. I just didn't expect the scene to look so... boring, and ordinary…" My cough broke the silence, a deep, racking tremor that made my ribs feel like they were being snapped back one by one. I pressed a tissue to my mouth that quickly soaked in a dark, thick crimson. I didn't panic; that was for people who still had a future.

"There is still enough time for your heavy thighs to submit, Eloise. Crawl into the changing cave, strip your skin for our recording crystals, and let us take a few large-scale erotic images for the market. Do that, and our fangs will overlook your human tongue, and the gold penalty will vanish from your contract." They truly believe this vulgar transaction is a form of royal mercy for my flesh. The exact second his disgusting proposition leaves his mouth, the keeper’s communication stone vibrates with a violent magical pulse. "What? Our warriors did not... understood, Alpha Lord! Immediately! Forgive our ignorance!" The keeper shivers violently, his face turning the color of ash as he break

When I stepped inside, the scent of sandalwood and politics stung my nose. And there he was. Alpha Ray Walter, my father, sat on the great throne of our pack. It stood tall, carved from dark obsidian stone and veined with gold like lightning in a storm. The Walter Moonridge Pack's crest was etched into the back, with silver wolf heads curled at each armrest. He wore a long midnight cloak, his shoulders straight, and his expression unreadable. His cold eyes pinned me as I stepped forward. "You look a mess, Avery," he said with a flat voice. "Why are your eyes red?"

"That is private." "Nothing is truly private," the Keeper replied softly. "Least of all the memories of the soul." Lydia looked at Ethan, saw the tension in his jaw, the storm brewing behind his eyes. "What does that mean?" The Keeper moved to one of the bookshelves, running their fingers along the spines until they found what they were looking for. A small, leather-bound volume that looked like it might crumble to dust at the slightest touch. They opened it carefully to a marked page and placed it on the table.

"Dr. Graham Mercer gave me this when I survived my first full moon shift. I know Malcolm Ashford never gave you a single pack marker during the twenty years you spent begging for his approval. You can keep it. A little souvenir so you remember what true wolf royalty looks like while you rot in the Blackveil District." "I said," I hissed, taking a sharp step forward, my hands clenching into fists at my sides, "get the hell out." I grabbed the thick oak door and slammed it straight into her face. The heavy wood rattled in its frame, the iron deadbolt sliding home with a heavy, metallic thud that echoed through the quiet stone corridor. Outside, I heard the silver tray clatter against the floor

It had only been a few days since Ricky’s death anniversary—of course, the weight of memories must still be suffocating him. My eyes drifted toward the forgotten collection. Midnight blues, deep purples, and shimmering silvers—all meticulously crafted pieces that had been hidden away for too long. My fingers brushed over the delicate embroidery of the key piece—a gown that at first glance appeared black but, under the light, revealed the breathtaking illusion of a starry night sky, its surface adorned with tiny diamonds that twinkled like constellations. It was mesmerizing, the kind of dress that told a story before a word was spoken.

“You are here about Patrick Carter’s campaign to expose that the police force of Havermouth are protecting the sons of wealthy and powerful families in the area, or you’re here to ask me if I’m the Secret Keeper.” “What would you answer be?” Aislen wondered as she accepted a teacup from him. She liked the glaze he had used, she decided. There was something earthy and yet also opulent about the texture of it in her hands, in the shimmer of green and gold over the cream and brown base. “Are you the Secret Keeper?” His blue eyes watched her over the rim of his teacup as he raised it to his lips and blew across the surface, dislodging steam to disperse like smoke. “You know that I’m not the Secr

Valkyrie examined the inscription beneath the carving. "I can read some of it." "You can?" Zara asked. "Just a little." She brushed dust away from it with her sleeve. "The translation isn't perfect, but..." She frowned. "It says..." She paused then continued. "...The First Keeper." "The first what?" Rynese asked. "Keeper." Silence settled over the chamber then Zara noticed something else. At the foot of the carving was a small stone pedestal, on top of it rested a dagger. The blade still shined silver despite the dust that had covered it.