Rusted Chains Novels & Stories

No plants, no sign of water, nothing to suggest life had ever existed here. And yet… Something did exist. Something he could feel. His gaze dropped, and his blood ran cold. Chains. Black chains coiled around his body, slick and alive, as though they were a part of his very shadow. They weren’t solid—not quite. At moments they seemed tangible, iron links etched with faint runes, and at others, they flickered like smoke, half-illusory, melting into the darkness at his feet. Kael scrambled back, hands clawing at his torso, but the chains moved with him. They weren’t wrapped around his skin—they sprang from him. From the hollow pit of his own shadow.

My werewolf senses, dulled though they were, picked up traces of rodents, old wood, and the metallic scent of rusted pipes. I drew a careful breath, testing the limits of my movement. The chains around my wrists allowed perhaps two inches of play, enough to flex my fingers but nothing more. My ankles were similarly restrained, bound to the legs of what felt like a wooden chair. It creaked as I shifted my weight, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet space.

It is not rusted like the rest of the dungeon, but instead, it glows with an otherworldly sheen. I can feel its weight pulling at my wrists, and I can't help but wonder what sort of magic has been woven into this chain. It is as if it has a life of its own, pulsing with an energy that seems to flow through me. I try to resist its pull, but it is too strong, too alluring.

Rebecca froze where she was, hoping no one saw her walk in with the guy who had just alarmed everyone. After everyone settled again, she looked up at the crowed. Finally, Hunter thought. “Shackles.” Rebecca began. “Shackles and chains holding me down. They are tight and burn around my wrists. Oh God, they burn so much. I know where the keys are, but I can't reach them. These chains are short and prevent me from moving immoderately. Don't pity me, no. I'm used to the rough grinding sound they make when I tilt, I'm used to carrying their load on my wrists.”

He linked back with a purr. I silently tried to check how strong the chains around my wrists were, I am pretty sure I could break them when the paralysis was over but judging from the rash on my skin, the chains were probably made of silver and they were toxic to my health. I chuckled, if Melody was trying to render me weak, she would have to do better than this.

Chapter 68: Iron and Ash The world was a blur of gray and throbbing pain. I woke up to the smell of rust and gasoline. My head felt heavy. It felt like it was filled with wet sand. The wolfsbane was still in my system. It kept my limbs heavy and useless. I tried to move my hands. Clank. Metal hit metal. I looked down through blurry eyes. My wrists were shackled to a bolt in the floor. The chains were short and thick. They were made of iron etched with runes.

And he was supposed to be a wolf, he didn't know how it could get better than that. He could scent the lingering scent of rain and wet grass, as it had rained earlier that day. His knees shook as he was kneeled on the ground with the chains holding both his hand to the wall. Suddenly, he heard a snapping noise. Looking towards his right hand that was chained, he saw that he had managed to rip one side of the chain into two. Fuck, he throught. That hasn't happened for a few years. These chains were of top quality induced with silver in them, it was used for torture mainly.

The freed wolf’s head jerked up, ears flattening, a low growl vibrating from its chest. And then the chains came. Not iron, not steel, but shadows—vast, spectral chains that writhed out of the ground like serpents. They coiled through the air, each link etched with runes that burned violet. They didn’t just bind; they hungered, dragging the air down with them, suffocating, crushing. At their center stood Aravelle.

Not when I wasn’t sure myself. The warehouse loomed ahead, a dark silhouette against the night sky. Its metal walls were scarred with rust and neglect, the windows dark and lifeless. It looked abandoned—an unassuming place to house a kingpin like Vasquez. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that was exactly what he wanted. A place to blend in, to hide in plain sight.

He felt it of course, curling his fingers until my thighs quivered. “Beg,” He demanded. “Please,” I gasped, voice cracking. “Please daddy, let me finish.” He chuckled, satisfied. He pulled his hand free again, smearing my wetness across my inner thigh. “Not tonight princess. Tonight you’ll understand just who owns you.” The chain around my neck loosened suddenly and the collar slipped into his palm. He pocketed the item, straightening his suit like nothing had happened while I was left trembling against the SUV.