Thin Silver Chain Novels & Stories

I whispered, shutting my eyes briefly to swallow down the emotions before they spilled out. “As you wish.” She stated, having the other maids dismissed, but just as she was about to leave, I stopped her with a question, "What's the signal?” “What?” She asked, turning to me with a puzzled expression. I turned to her briefly, “To know when it's time to leave.” “Ah, yes.” She smiled at once and knocked on the wall thrice. “That's the signal. Is there anything I can help you with, Mrs Silver?”

It rested thick against my thigh, half-hard, twitching every time someone brushed past or a low moan echoed from the center of the room. Deep Voice was stroking lazy circles on my chest. Silver Chain had his head resting on my shoulder, one leg thrown over mine. Their breathing had slowed, but I could feel the tension still coiled in them. They were not done. Neither was I. I turned my face toward Silver Chain. His mask was slightly askew now, showing the sharp line of his jaw and the silver chain still glinting against his dark skin. I reached up, brushed my thumb along his lower lip.

Sliding a long, narrow velvet box across the table, I peered up at Kirill who was giving it to me. “It's a little something for your birthday,” he said firmly and I grinned. “Thanks,” I replied and opened it. Inside was a silver-colored chain with large white and gray pearls spaced out on the chain every inch. “It's platinum and specially made, so you can wear it, and it won't harm you when you shift,” he explained, and I gazed at him with surprise. “Thank you, it's lovely,” I mumbled softly as I lifted it in my fingers.

A rusted hook dangled at eye level. Vane pulled the silver chain from his pocket. It glinted in the dim light like a snake. "Silver," he whispered, wrapping it around his fist. "Beautiful, isn't it? It burns us. It purifies us." He hooked one end of the chain to the padlock on my golden collar. I gasped as the weight of the chain pulled at my throat. "Please," I begged. My voice was broken glass. "Vane, you don't have to do this."

I took a deep breath to collect my thoughts. My eye caught Hazel’s. She had a wide smile. “Go on,” she mouthed to me. Then she gave me a thumbs up. “The chain is pure silver,” I continued. “And it’s embellished with some small but perfectly cut diamonds to resemble a nebula.” I stopped again, eager to see what people thought of my design. I had a keen wolf ear though, and I could hear whispers all around the room. A man near the back scoffed. “Another worthless piece, just like the last one,” he said to the woman beside him. She nodded.

"What… what do you mean?" Mr. Sterling walked over to a small, sleek drawer in the wall and returned with a small, black velvet box. He opened it. Inside, nestled on a bed of black satin, was a thin, elegant silver chain. It looked like a necklace, but there was no clasp, just a small, permanent-looking ring.

“We’re going hunting. No horses. Just feet. The Luna’s crown isn’t meant to sit pretty.” She blinked. What? The words barely registered. Her thoughts were still tangled on his sculpted chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. Then her gaze was arrested by the silver chain. It sat against his skin, nestled in the dip between his collarbones. It laid there like iron between metals. She couldn’t stop staring at the chain on his chest. It was strangely elegant but dangerous. It didn’t look like something for show. There was history woven into its metal. Her hand moved before her thoughts could catch up. Fingers reaching for it.

The sound that came out of me was involuntary, a genuine gasp, quiet but real, pulled out of me before I had finished seeing what I was looking at. Silver chains. Intricate and fine, worked through with tiny stones that caught the light and threw it back in red and clear flashes, rubies and diamonds, set into the metalwork with a delicacy that made the whole thing look like something that had taken a very long time and a very specific kind of skill to produce. A necklace. A bracelet. And then underneath those, carefully laid, two waist chains in the same pattern, the same tiny stones, the same intricate silver work. I stared at them.

things. The way he was looking at her now, she felt like one of them. “Come,” he said simply, turning toward the far end of the room. She followed, her heels muted by the dark wood floor. It was there, under a dome of glass — the chain. She’d seen photographs when his assistant first contacted her, but nothing compared to its presence in person. The links were thicker than she expected, each one engraved with patterns so intricate they seemed to twist under the light. The metal was dark silver, almost black, but it caught flashes of pale gleam when it moved.

The chain was delicate. White gold, I think—like it had been carved from the moon itself. Each link shimmered with powerful elegance. Serving as the pendant was a diamond the size of a thumbnail. Around it were smaller diamonds, curled like petals to form an intricate halo. It made the central gem look like it was floating. It was flawless. It took me a moment to realize I had been gaping at the jewel, mouth wide open. I stared at it like food served to someone who had been starving for decades.