Olive Silverlock Novels & Stories

Caroline, a she-wolf who has been considered a monster since she was a child, can she break the tragedy spell and find her MATE?

Inside was indeed a ring—the first one he had ever given me. When Karl's pack was just beginning, we had barely enough resources to feed ourselves through winter. Yet that winter solstice had been my happiest. Karl had spent weeks crafting a simple silver band, polishing it by hand until it gleamed. The craftsmanship was obviously amateur, our initials crudely etched inside the band. But I had treasured it more than the elaborate ceremonial jewelry he commissioned when formally proposing our mating years later. Before leaving, I had thrown it into the trash. I didn't know how Karl had recovered it, but seeing it again made me question myself.

I shook my head, forcing a small smile. I had braced myself to face Ethan today, but never imagined Olivia would be here as well—casual, confident, and embraced by everyone as part of the pack family. When Director Davis and Dominic finally relaxed their postures, Davis cleared his throat and whispered, "Rumor is Miss Stone has spent the whole day at Silver Personal Technologies with Alpha Silver. Their bond is really something." His words felt like a silver blade whispered in my ear, my wolf Cora curling deeper into herself with each painful revelation.

What right do you have to blame me? Mike stood frozen, unable to speak. "Stella—" he started, but I cut him off. "I'll help Rosie if you give me all your shares in Cantrell Corporation. Think about it and let me know." He looked like he had been punched in the gut. When he finally left, it was like he was sleepwalking. Shawn glanced at me but did not say anything. After a moment, he turned and followed Mike out of the room. I turned to Seth, who lingered. "Why are you still here? Get out."

"No. The heavy door creaked, the ancient lock cracking like ice under fire. Dust swirled outward, and from beneath came a faint, pulsing noise like a heart thudding under a cover of earth. The light faded around her. She went down. The stairs curved down into the deep gut of the Citadel. The further she descended, the louder the beat, until it kept time with the beating of her own heart. When she hit bottom, the air was different. The walls glowed softly, threads of pale silver streaking through the black rock like frozen lightning. Sira raised her staff. The crystal at the tip pulsed with moonlight no blue this time, but silver, matching the color that had flowed up through the floor when

“Enough!” The sound made her flinch, but she did not move. He stormed out, leaving her alone with the ashes. The next morning, Olivia returned to the attic. She searched the trunk again, this time more carefully. Beneath the false bottom, she found something else, a small bundle wrapped in silk. Her hands shook as she opened it. Inside was a silver locket with strange carvings, almost like symbols. When she touched it, a jolt of heat shot through her fingers.

She was supposed to memorize them all. By the fifth lesson, she did. “Arch your back,” her mother said calmly, one gloved finger tapping a sketch of a faceless woman folded beneath her husband. “That allows for deeper penetration. Increases the chances.” Elara nodded. She had long learned not to ask questions. The room smelled like lavender and ink and sweat. The fire crackled in the hearth, trying and failing to bring warmth to the space. Two of the senior maids stood to the side, silent as shadows, their faces unreadable. Another sat behind Elara with a thick braid of hair coiled around one hand, re-braiding the younger girl’s hair over and over as the lesson continued.

The silver in me rises, not to fight, not to crush, but to listen. Pressure mounts. I can barely breathe. I plant my feet. I don’t move. The silver holds—not exploding, not flaring. It anchors. The land listens too. Roots settle. Stones steady themselves. The surge folds in on itself, collapsing like a wave that meets solid rock. Lydia staggers, eyes wide. “What did you do?” she spits. “I stood where it breaks,” I say, quiet but firm. Silence. Real, complete silence. The observer woman lets out a slow breath. “So that’s the difference,” she says, almost to herself.

"First, I am issuing direct orders for the immediate release and distribution of our hidden cache. I want the massive shipment of pure silver weaponry we have been quietly manufacturing in the northern foundries unpacked and armed tonight." A low murmur of vicious excitement rippled through the men. Normal werewolves feared silver, but Kaelen Blackwood was a terrifying anomaly. His pure-blooded, Supreme Alpha genetics made him nearly immortal on a standard battlefield. "Those specific weapons are explicitly designed with a high-density silver alloy," I explained, looking around the room, making eye contact with every killer present. "They are crafted specifically to slow Kaelen's legendary h