Silas Jackson Novels & Stories

“I’m not a fucking monster, Ophelia, no matter how badly you want me to be.” I stood up, needing distance. My phone buzzed in my pocket—a message from Silas. I made my way to the nurses' station where one of my men was waiting with a nondescript duffel bag. Silas, my third-in-command, looked me up and down. He was twenty-six, covered in tattoos that peeked out from the sleeves of his leather jacket, with bleached hair that screamed "trouble." He was the best investigator I had. “Everything okay, boss? You look like hell,” he said, his brow arching in a silent question.

"You smell of fear and the bed of an exiled Alpha. What a fall, Darlene. From the shadows of the fir trees emerged Silas, Jackson's most ruthless tracker. He was a thin, almost cadaverous man with eyes that never blinked. In his right hand, he toyed with a silver dart, the kind of projectile designed to paralyse a wolf in seconds. "Jackson sent me to clean up his record," Silas said, taking a circular step, trying to corner me against the ravine. "He says a traitor like you doesn't deserve a public execution. You'd better disappear into the woods and let the vultures take care of the rest. "Tell Jackson that his messengers are dying very quickly in these lands," I replied, my hand slowly rea

"He's at the safe house," Franklin whispered. "He drugged the guards. He walked right past them like they were statues. He sent me here to give you a message, Jason. He said he’s disappointed." The air in the small room suddenly felt very thin. Jason felt the world tilt. His grandfather, Silas Hale, was the stuff of legends. He was a man who didn't believe in love, or loyalty, or family. He believed in systems. He believed in building machines that could last for centuries. To Silas, people were just parts. And if a part was broken, you threw it away.

It felt wrong but he would not take anything from me. I headed to the kitchen and made a hot drink. The warmth settled me. My house was too busy for my liking. I offered Logan a drink which he gladly accepted. As we were drinking there was another knock at the door which was unexpected. I froze, gripping my hands against the counter. Logan disappeared and returned a few moments later with someone behind him. “Leah, this is Jack, he does security for us. Jack this is Leah.” Jack was shorter than Logan and a lot stockier. He was muscular and had a shaved head. He reminded me more of an army man than anything else. His arms were covered in tattoos, and his stance screamed military. He stepped f

“You’re… her. The Cursed Luna.” The mob turned. Recognition flared in their eyes, hungry and vicious. “Silver eyes!” someone shouted. “It’s the bitch from the videos!” Hands grabbed my arms, my hair. The smell of sweat and whiskey choked me. “Hold her down—” “—cut her head off—” “—government’s offering fifty grand—” A snarl split the air. Silas. He came out of nowhere, a blur of rage in a torn leather jacket. His fist cracked against a man’s jaw, sending teeth skittering across the pavement. He didn’t shift, didn’t need to. He fought like a wolf anyway—all precision and brutality.

“Come on, Dad. Go change. You smell like cheese.” “I smell like love,” he muttered, but he kissed my forehead on the way out, and kissed Elena’s fuzzy head, and I watched my fifty six year old billionaire husband walk out of the nursery with spit up on his shirt and a stupid grin on his face. Ruiz had called that morning. Silas was caught two days ago trying to cross into Canada. No chase scene, no shootout. Just a patrol cop who recognized him from the APB and a K9 unit that did not care about Silas’s monologues. He was in federal custody now. Maximum security. No bail. No keycards. No more games.

a voice boomed from the far end of the hall. ​A man stepped out of the shadows. He was tall, his frame lean and powerful. His scalp was shaved close, revealing a network of old scars, one jagged line running from his ear to the corner of his grim mouth. He wore a heavy leather duster over a combat shotgun that looked like an umbrella in his grasp. This was Silas, the man the Council had tried to execute ten years ago for "insubordination." ​"You blacked out the city," Silas said, his voice like grinding gravel. He looked at me, his eyes narrowing. "And you brought the asset. The one Julian Vane has been crying over like a lost toy."

Carla said hurriedly before he could finish, though she knew what was coming. Hera Diamonds was the only company left that had not terminated their contract with her since her scandal began and that was because she knew and had helped the CEO in the past. When Hera was just coming up and they needed a brand endorser, no popular celebrity or model wanted to endorse their jewelry but she had stood up and had chosen them out of so many endorsements she was offered then.

I was beginning to get a little frightened by the idea of living in the forest with wildlings. I sighed "wow he sounds like a legend amongst your people."I commented,Jake sure did have wild blood running through his veins. I could see it clearly through his orange bloody eyes and that sinister dangerous smirk he always has on him. Even his height and body fit for a Greek God proved it all,he was in every way intimidating,wild but careful and calculating at the same time. Every move he made was clever and had a purpose-an aim-a goal.

His gaze, almost instinctively, sought the anchor in the storm. Silas Vance stood near the grand piano, a statue carved from granite. He was Dominic’s head of security, but for the past two years, he’d been Leo’s personal shadow. Ex-military, Silas possessed an imposing stillness. He wasn’t bulky, but lean and powerful, every line of his dark suit hinting at coiled strength. His grey eyes scanned the room with methodical precision, missing nothing. A faint scar traced his strong jawline, a pale whisper of a violent past Leo could only imagine. Silas was a silent sentinel, impassive, professional, an extension of Dominic’s control.