Silk And Snow Novels & Stories

The morning sun warmly greets the city of New York. At the most famous and modern photo studio, Lilyana is preparing for a photo shoot for a famous fashion brand, which will take her name to the next level and make her a global model. Today, she will be the new face for the brand's summer collection.

"Maybe we should establish a truce." "What kind of truce?" I asked, my heart starting to beat faster. "The kind where we stop trying to kill each other and actually attempt to coexist," Adrian said, taking a step closer. "Coexist," I repeated, watching him move into my space. "Is that what we're calling it?" "What would you call it?" Adrian asked. "Inheritance," I whispered, and then he was even closer, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair behind my ear.

I couldn't help but return his smile with one of mine; maybe not one as bright and beautiful looking as his, but either ways, a smile. "Hello! I'm Snow and I think you're very beautiful," I replied, automatically throwing in a compliment without even realising it. After getting nothing in reply, I glanced back up in Dylan's face to find him blushing a beautiful pink, a colour I've found annoying whenever it appears on my face, unlike Dylan's face, that colour red was made for his beautiful, feminine face.

Snow—my white wolf with cold blue eyes—lifted her head. The witch froze. Good. Even without speaking, Snow radiated lethal grace. My body felt heavier, stronger, and wild. Every instinct sharpened. My paws touched the floor with silent promise. The witch’s fingers twitched, drawing runes in a desperate attempt to defend herself, but Snow was already moving. A blur of white. A sharp snap of bones. A wet crack. In the span of a breath, Snow lunged at her, jaws stretching wide. Teeth sank into the witch’s neck and tore through flesh and bone with merciless precision.

This woman truly is remarkable. She finishes her statement moving her chair back, the slightly muffled sounds from her shuffling around echoes through the mic, was the only noise to be heard. And that’s how Atlas Winters makes the world bow to her. This woman is a witch. Smiling, I nudge Jon beside me who’s gone completely silent, and his gaze settles on me, his mouth agape in shock. “Close your mouth and stop gapping at my woman.” I say glaring at him. “What was that?!”

Lacey tells him, before she turns around once more to check on the children. Sunny is staring out the window in delight, seemingly mesmerized by the fat flakes of falling snow. Jack is playing his hand held gaming console once more, but he too keeps casting furtive glances out his window at the snow. Both children love the snow. Sunny finds it magical, how fluffy it looks and how it sparkles in the light. Jack just likes throwing snowballs at people and piling the fresh powder up to make forts or snowmen.

I was so speechless that I laughed. “Really?” I said. “Then Ms. Shaw truly is a kind and generous person. “However, are you sure I am the one who needs mercy here? “Because the people who cut power to the lab equipment were you, Ms. Shaw, and your wonderful assistant Elliot.” Jessica shrieked, “That is a lie.”

"Don't talk. Just hold on. The snow's about to stop." However, Janet seemed to see nothing. Confused, she whispered in my ear. "Don't tell him I'm still dumb and a failure. I've been everywhere, but I still can't forget him." Tears and blood streaked Janet's face. "If you get better, I won't tell him how much of a failure you are!" She hugged my neck, her voice barely a whisper. "He made those clay dolls for me—one for him and one for me. We'd never be apart."

Before Father could answer, the silver threads in my gown suddenly flared with violent crimson light. The silk snapped against my skin, pulling me toward the open balcony as though an invisible rope were tied around my waist. A deep pulse vibrated through the floor. It wasn’t a warning. It was a call. Beyond the balcony, a single crimson thread burned through the black fog, stretching from the courtyard to the silk around my waist. And at the other end of that glowing blood-red line, a shadow was scaling the northern wall.

"Philip! You've got the wrong person. Grace is dead! She just looks like her. Pull yourself together!" Philip's eyes turned bloodshot as he roared at her, "Shut up! She's Grace. She's my mate—I know her!" Laila lost it and screamed back, "Both of you are not mates anymore! I'm your mate now! "And can't you see? She already has someone else!" Philip finally saw what I was wearing—a white bridal gown. His whole body stiffened. "No, that's not true," he whispered. "Grace, tell me this isn't real. You're mine. We're meant to be."