Jordan Silver Murder Novels & Stories

“She is Carla Jones.” “Wait? The drug trafficking model? Why would Steve like a woman like her?” “She wasn’t always like that.” Jude smacked his lips nonchalantly again. “So what? He is in denial that she committed the crime? She was found with drugs hidden in a strategic place in her home, one on her body, she’s most likely a distributor. How could that possibly be a lie?” “Well, maybe she was framed by someone close to her or something but I don’t think I want you to prove that.” Jude shrugged.

I’d happily kill Harriet, and now that I can feel the full force of our bond, I can understand why Jericho wants to kill Easton so badly. I’m no longer taking joy in Easton’s suffering anyway. He lost weight. His eyes have sunken into his skull. His once shiny hair is lacklustre and falling out in clumps. In places, his skin has broken open and is weeping with pus and blood. The silver is slowly killing him. “Before you do it…I want to ask him a few questions. Can Magnolia hear him through all the silver?” Jericho nods. “I’ll make sure she hears. Give me two minutes.”

All the alive rouge wolves ran away. All pack wolves slowly started shifting back. The white wolves that killed the red wolf was Alpha Aston Silver and gamma Ryan Silver and the honey she-wolf was Ryan's mate. I checked my unconscious mate. I nudged her with a snout. She had a bite wound on her left leg which wasn't healed. I sniffed her and nudged her with the hope she might wake up.

His hand shot up, grabbing my wrist with enough force to nearly snap the bone. "Jordan, let go!" I gritted my teeth, digging the blade deeper into the hot muscle. I felt the tip hit something hard. A small, flattened piece of silver lodged against his rib. Hooking the tip of the blade behind the metal, I pried upward. With a sickening *pop*, the silver slug flew out of the wound, landing on the floorboards with a tiny, ringing sound. Jordan screamed again, his body going limp as his wolf finally began to force the skin to knit together.

There is a large balcony where you can see a beautiful pool. The man who opens the door for us seems like a servant. Maybe because he is wearing black pants, a white shirt underneath his jacket and a black blazer, and looks like an average guy. The house itself has two floors. This place is amazing, really. That man took us to John and without wasting time we started our investigation. But he kept denying it. "Your wife is murdered and the case is filed as homicide," I began my interrogation. "And it's not like you killed her money or property. Then why did you kill her?" I looked around once again for clarity.

"She smells of old ink and terror. Tell me, little Scribe, can you see the way we all die just by touching our wine glasses? Or is your gift as limited as your lifespan?" I felt a surge of cold anger. These weren't just mobsters; they were nightmares in silk ties. I reached out and picked up my silver fork, feeling the history of the metal—the hands that had polished it, the mouths it had fed, the secrets whispered over it. "I see enough," I said, my voice projecting with a strength I didn't know I had. I looked Ligeia straight in her iridescent eyes. "I see that this silver was mined from a grave. And I see that the woman sitting across from me is deathly afraid of the dark. Is that why you

An hour later, her fingers stopped on a passage: In the year 1793, the founding families entered into what was later called the Silver Pact. A covenant between man and beast. The Hales, the Red moors, and the Thorne lineages formed the Triumvirate. Each bore the mark. Each carried the blood. It was not a curse it was an agreement. Below it was a faded image three figures standing beneath a crescent moon, surrounded by wolves. Ari turned the page. The pact demanded sacrifice and secrecy. Betrayal of the pact was punishable by death. One family broke the bond. The Thorne line was hunted and extinguished. The others scattered, hiding their bloodlines among the unknowing.

One raised its head to the dawn and howled, the sound tearing through Kaelen’s bones. Werewolves. The pack fanned out, circling. There were at least six, maybe more in the shadows. Kaelen gripped the useless remains of his poker before realizing it had melted to slag. He had no weapon. Only the fire inside him, and that was as likely to kill Elira as their hunters. The largest of the wolves padded forward, towering over the others. Its silver eyes locked on Kaelen. “The blood stirs,” it growled, its voice a gravelly rumble that no beast should possess. “He belongs to the Moon.”

By the time I was close enough to see what they were all staring at, I already knew. Jordan lay motionless on the forest floor, his eyes staring up at nothing. A dark stain spread across his chest where his heart should have been beating. The metallic scent of blood filled the air, mixed with something else that made my wolf recoil. Silver. Whatever had killed him had been designed specifically for werewolves. I dropped to my knees beside his body, my hands shaking as I checked for a pulse I knew wouldn't be there. His skin was already cooling under my fingers, and the wound in his chest gaped like an accusation.

I couldn't wait any longer, I had no more time to do so. “The car is ready!” Marco said breathlessly, like he had read my thoughts. We ran through the scattered hall. The metallic stench of blood clung to everything I could think of. Outside, the hall had gone scattered, everyone was driving out in a panic, but one thing caught my attention. Silver was the only one shot. Which meant someone had intentionally targeted her. But why? I shook my head, this wasn't that time yet. She needs to survive, answers may come later.