Jordan Silver Books Novels & Stories

The marking was complete, the oaths were sworn, and the moon was our witness. Adrian turned us toward the pack, raising our joined hands high into the air. "The Luna of Silver Fang!" he roared. The forest erupted. Thousands of wolves shifted in a single, fluid motion, their silver and gray furs reflecting the moonlight as they threw their heads back and howled. The sound was ancient and powerful, a song of loyalty and celebration that shook the very ground beneath our feet.

The air shimmered with latent magic, words hanging like dew. Ari raised her staff, channeling a stabilizing ring of energy. “Listen to me,” she said, her voice steady though her heart pounded. “The world is rewriting itself because the pact we made the Silver Pact was never meant to last forever. It was a bridge between silence and renewal. Iluren has crossed that bridge, and now so must we.” A young adept stood. “And what are we crossing into?” Siran answered for her. “A conversation that has no end.”

Silver Dust? My hand froze in mid-air. "Good. Keep giving her the injections. Double the dose. She can't get her wolf back, not until Selene completes the succession and claims her birthright as Alpha of the Red Fang pack." That was Kael's voice. My mate. My Alpha. "But Alpha, prolonged exposure to Silver Dust will shatter her wolf's soul…" "I said, keep injecting her! She thinks it’s Lunar Essence to help her recover. She’ll never suspect a thing."

The first silver light of morning poured through the high, arched windows of Luna’s inner keep, slicing into the war chamber in long, ethereal beams. Dust motes drifted through that pale glow, drifting above cold stone walls etched with centuries of scars. The lingering scent of embers still clung to the air, mingled with the sharp tang of iron—a reminder that the forge and the battlefield were never far apart. Soldiers clustered in dim pools of light, their voices hoarse with fatigue, armor clinking softly as they shifted. Boots scraped against ancient tiles, echoing like whispered warnings.

The rogue looked exhausted now like whatever strength brought him here was fading quickly. Still…his eyes sharpened when he looked at me again. “You truly don’t know,” he continued. I remained expressionless. “Know what?” The rogue swallowed slowly. “The Silver Wolf.” “Speak carefully,” I warned. The rogue nodded once. “There are stories older than kingdoms,” he said hoarsely. “Stories rogue packs pass down when royal bloodlines try to erase them.” I said nothing. The rogue continued. “They speak of a wolf touched by silver moonlight. Neither fully Lycan nor fully werewolf.”

They are desperately after something. A rogue slams into a human girl and I quickly tackle it and throw it into the nearest car, leaving a huge dent. “Run!” The girl doesn’t think twice before taking off. The wolf begins to circle me like I’m it’s next meal, but they made a grave mistake attacking the silver dragon. I use my earth powers, just as my mother has shown me, and snake vines along the ground, piercing the rogues one by one without the humans noticing. Slowly the rogues shooting arrows are pulled to the ground as they struggle to take a breath while my vines tighten around their necks.

I eat absolutely everything in front of me and then sit up straight to let the food settle in my tummy. “So, I ran all your tests and there is a few things I would like to discuss with you before the Alpha King comes to talk to you” I just nod yes “So there is a significant amount of wolfsbane, silver and mistletoe to name a few in your blood stream. Do you know how it got there? And how are you still alive?” She asked with a curious look on her face.

As we walked, the soft thud of our footsteps echoed through the solemn space. Jeremiah, a wise and weathered wolf with a graying muzzle, carried an ancient book in his hands. Its leather cover was worn, its pages yellowed with age. We reached a magnificent wooden table, carved with the same designs, and Jeremiah gently placed the book upon it. "Lyra," he began, his voice deep and resonant, "this book holds the secrets of our pack's legacy, and within its pages lies the tale of the Silver Werewolf." My curiosity piqued, I leaned in closer, my eyes fixed on the book. "Tell me, Jeremiah," I said, my voice filled with anticipation. "What is the story of the Silver Werewolf?"

The man standing in front of me was frail. His height made him stoop. The moonlight captured his sunken eyes just right. He held a tome so thick I feared he would fall over. Despite its size it was a beautiful book. The outside was shiny black. Jewels dotted the front. The back was imbued with bright gold filigree. The man stood on an altar made of the same stuff. It was shiny black. It almost looked like water. I wanted so badly to reach out and touch it but I stopped myself. Something about this felt like a test. I don’t know why I got that impression but I dug my toes into the earth and clasped my hands behind my back.

Early the next morning, Jo looked around Silver’s house, astonished at how warm and welcoming it was. Then again, if the man that she’d met in Nebraska and the man from the hotel the night before was the real Silver, then actually, she shouldn’t be even slightly surprised. Silver’s rental house, Zoe and Keira’s former home, was on a quiet side-street. It had a sprawling backyard, a raised little back porch, two good-sized bedrooms and a lovely open-plan living space and kitchen. The bathroom was airy and bright, the closets were spacious, the furniture was comfy and inviting. Jo loved the way that Silver had used color – sunny yellow, bright aqua, some splashes of cream and mocha – to create