The Chain Book Review Novels & Stories

Suddenly, his hands grasped my throat. Choking, gagging for air clutched at his hands with my own. The sting of power that lived within him struck me like an electric shock. “I think in the future you should think about your words more carefully before letting them spill out of that pretty little mouth. I’d so hate to see those lips ripped from your skull, Chief Darksyde.” He snickered before throwing me to the ground.

Some wounds take longer to find than they do to feel. But I never stopped checking my phone for his name. My apartment was small, quiet, and cluttered with secondhand furniture. A chipped table. A bookshelf that leaned slightly to the left. A couch too soft for its own good. It was nothing like the sleek city life I’d once dreamed of. And it was perfect. I got a job at a little bookstore down the street. The kind of place that still used paper receipts and smelled like old wood and dust jackets. It was owned by a woman named Lila—tough as nails and twice as sharp.

Maybe he is the reason why my Chain changed to red last night. Just wait ...and see! ** Hey. How is the story. So more is coming your way. Just read and see. Whom do you think sent those messages and a video. Write your guesses and we found out. My books include. -Ugly and insecure. -My roommate wants a piece of me. -The rejected nagin.

Her eyes fell on a book with a black cover, the gold letters reading: “The Art of Breaking Chains.” She pulled it free, curiosity winning, and curled into his leather chair. The chair was far too big for her, swallowing her small frame, but she felt oddly safe in it. Before she realized, her eyelids grew heavy. The book slipped onto her lap as she drifted into sleep. Hunter returned late, his mood thunderous after the ring, after Geret. His mind was sharp, his body burning with violence he hadn’t been able to unleash fully. But the instant he stepped into the quiet house, he sought her.

Fully standing now. No chains remained around his arms. Or shoulders. Or chest. Only one remained. A massive chain wrapped around his heart. The largest of them all. The First King's smile returned. "There it is." Lucien followed his gaze downward. The final chain pulsed with black resonance. Unlike the others, it wasn't made from failure. Or guilt. Or fear. Althea could feel it immediately. This chain was different. The First King noticed her realization. "Do you know what that one is?"

The chain made a clinking sound. “Do you expect me to believe you?”

Chains: I got up this morning and got ready for my day but didn't know what I was doing anymore. Everyday it is the exact same thing everyday I get up take a shower and go to the diner to see her after that I head to the club. Nobody knows how I feel about her hell I don't even think she knows. I spend most of my time sitting at a booth watching her from afar. I always get put in her section and I just order my food that is it. There is no small talk because I'm afraid if I put myself out there I won't survive being hurt again. To put it mildly I'm terrified of her rejecting me.

Not with the eyes of a woman desperate to save her companion, not with the eyes of a mother trying to model sacrifice for her daughter, but with the eyes of someone who had walked through the Garden of Second Chances, who had spoken truth in the Red Chamber, who had faced the hollow crown of her own judgment, who had built a bridge from her own bones and had learned, finally, that the bridge was not a gift but a structure, not a gesture but an architecture. And she saw what the realm, in its ancient arithmetic, had failed to see. The Chain was not a thread. It was a weave. It was not a line drawn between two points but a mesh, a net, a tapestry whose individual strands were invisible to the

Then she lifted it open. Inside, resting on dark velvet, lay a tarnished silver chain. Its links were thick, heavy, almost unnatural as if it was more than mere metal. Attached to it was a pendant shaped like a crest, its surface etched with strange runes that seemed to pulse faintly, alive. Adira’s breath hitched. The air shifted the moment it was exposed, thickening, as though the chain carried with it not just weight but presence. Richard’s voice was hoarse when he spoke. “That chain was the beginning of everything I became. Every death, every sin, every night I bled for power it all started with that.”

It simply—stopped being whole, silver links falling away from Caierre's chest and hitting the stone in a small, bright, meaningless clatter, and nobody, not one person standing in that pass, could have said what had broken it. Caierre gasped like a man surfacing from deep water. The pull in Alvar's chest eased all at once, so fast it left him dizzy, catching himself against the old man's shoulder before he went down again himself. Silence. Real silence this time, total, even the wolves gone quiet. The Keeper who'd held the chain stared at the broken links in his hand like they'd betrayed him personally. "That chain has held gods," he said, hoarse. "It doesn't break. It's never broken."