Silver Shadows Novels & Stories

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.

Ethan Silvermoon is the second son of Alpha Raymond Silvermoon alpha of the spirit mountain pack in Nevada. For generations the spirit mountain pack has put their main focus on being the strongest pack in the country. It has become tradition that the alpha rules with an iron fist. Frequent and grueling training sessions were required for all packs members starting at age 5. The training started out easy focusing on defensive and conditioning techniques. The training would steadily become more difficult with each passing year. On top of everything else only behavior that the alpha deemed acceptable was allowed, there was no drama allowed and anyone who made a scene or did anything the alpha s

But the more I pulled, the more complicated everything became. At midnight, my phone buzzed again. *“The mirror shows what’s hidden. Look closer.”* I glanced at my reflection in the windowpane. The woman staring back at me was pale and exhausted, but her eyes burned with a quiet determination. Slowly, I moved closer, finger trailing the cold glass. And then I saw it — a flicker, subtle but unmistakable. A shadow moving just behind my reflection, a shape that didn’t belong. My heart skipped. ---

Her body began to glow, and color returned to her pale cheeks. "Continue!" the crone shouted. "Don't stop!" I pushed the dagger deeper. More light streamed from my body. I felt myself emptying out, becoming a hollow shell. But it was worth it. If she could live, it was all worth it. The silver blade sank completely into my heart. The altar exploded with a blinding light, illuminating the entire hall like daylight. And then, everything went dark.

I would start with this one, single, perfect moment of peace. I had just set the mug down when the bell chimed again, a more insistent, cheerful jingle this time. A woman came in, shaking water from a bright yellow umbrella that clashed wonderfully with her crimson coat. She moved with a purpose that seemed to bend the space around her, her heels clicking a sharp, decisive rhythm on the tiled floor. Her hair was a sleek, silver bob, and she wore glasses perched on the end of her nose, behind which keen, intelligent eyes scanned the room. They landed on me. For a heartbeat, I felt a jolt, a primal fear that she knew, that she was one of them. But her gaze was just assessing, not recognizing.

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.

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.

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.