Silver Shadows Novels & Stories

female—a silver prize with the mark of the Priestess. Three shadows emerge from the brush on the far side of the clearing. They are ragged, scarred wolves with eyes the color of stagnant water. Silas leads them, his muzzle grey with age and malice. He doesn't see me in the shadows; he only sees the silver wolf standing over a fresh kill. “A stray,” Silas’s psychic rasp echoes through the clearing, oily and invasive. “A beautiful, unranked stray with a feast to share. Move aside, little moon, and maybe we’ll let you keep a bone.”

My voice, now his, fills the room—rich, velvety, commanding. “Silver should be dominant.” Silence. Cassidy blinks, then glares. “Aries, if you’re going to hijack Delilah’s body, at least say hello first.” Aries chuckles through my lips. “Hello, little human.” Alma crosses her arms. “Why silver?” My lips curve into a smirk. “Silver is the color of the moon, the bond that ties mates. It represents strength, purity, and divine right. It will remind everyone that Delilah is not just a queen but the vessel of the strongest wolf to walk this earth.”

I hissed back, watching the man’s pitch-black eyes narrow angrily at me. “Is that a threat? Michael Gotham?” Wolverine Silver whispered so quietly that I almost wasn't sure he had spoken. Icy shards of glass slithered down my back to freeze over at the base of my spine. Of all the wolves at the table, it was Wolverine Silver I was most worried about. He had gotten his name because he was somehow immune to silver. Wolverine was a shredded beast on the battle field who could withstand silver attacks even better than us Alphas. We needed him on our side.

“It’s a woman.” “What is she doing over there? Her hair is painted silver. Is she also a LARPer?” With Arthur at the forefront, he led his men through loosely growing thickets and round sediments until he came within range where he could view Silvia’s form better. “Hey…” Arthur was about to call out to Silvia to inquire about her reason for being there all alone.

Richard wonders aloud, his brow furrowed confused. Silver shakes her head, her eyes filled with anguish. “I don't know, but… but it's like something took over me, something dark and… and powerful,” she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper. I reach out to take her hand, offering what little comfort I can in the face of such uncertainty. “We'll figure this out, Silver. Whatever's going on, we'll find a way to stop it,” I assure her, determination burning bright in my eyes.

he snarled. “Looks like we have company. Sorry, but this is where our chat stops.” Like it was never there, his face went back to normal, and he waved at me as he left. After that, I blacked out, but not before I felt someone approaching. Silver. The color of the moon wolves honored and the color of the metal that was their nemesis. I saw two different silvers, the same in color but different in aura, fighting and intertwining before my eyes.

Silver Claw. "How did they—" I started, but Silas was already moving, pushing me behind a shelf as three figures emerged from the shadows. Their eyes glowed with an unnatural silver light, and their movements were too fluid, too precise. "Get back," Silas said, stepping in front of me. His stance was defensive, feet planted firmly on the ground. No wolf strength, just years of combat training. The assassins moved with unnatural speed. Their scent was off—wolf, but mixed with something chemical and wrong. The first one pulled out a blade, silver glinting in the dim light.

“Silver paid in coin. Silver pays in blood. Silver Fang.” A murmur rippled through Shadow Pack’s warriors. Ryder’s jaw flexed, his rage coiling tighter. He had suspected Silver Fang’s hand in the growing unrest, but hearing it confirmed sent a storm through the night. Crystal stepped closer, her firelight spilling across the prisoner’s face. “Silver Fang does not work alone.” Her voice was sharp, steady. She could feel it… the oily, suffocating trace of something darker clinging to the rogues minds. It was faint, but familiar. Shadows she had felt in Greenwood, and Weeping Valley.

A shimmer of moonlight on steel. Elira’s dagger was in her hand instantly. “We’re not alone.” Figures emerged from the shadows—tall, cloaked, their eyes glinting like stars. Their movements were silent, precise, deadly. Elves. One stepped forward, lowering his hood. His hair was gold as wheat, his features sharp and cold. His gaze swept over Kaelen before settling on Elira. “Liraethiel,” he said, voice like steel wrapped in velvet. “You’ve broken exile.”

My throat hurts a lot, I feel weak all over…grieving over the loss of our own. Sitting here, with my back to everyone, hallowed and lost in my grief…the tears don’t desist their flow as I shut my eyes. I can feel the anger, the thirst for blood, the crave to rip off flesh…all diabolic levels of hostility, defusing from every single wolf back there. Bringing my shattered state to turn around, I’m stunned to see Silver…what are those sparks around him? They go off like the lightning and I’m further surprised to see the coat of frost creating a flooring beneath his paws.