To Snap A Silver Stem Novels & Stories

Memory steels me. Then the net drops again lower, a throat of silver. It slams into my ribs. The sting is bright and steady. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from fighting it. Silver is a trap that knows how to take what it needs. I press the heat into my palm and hold it like a stone behind my teeth.

DI Silver had followed me up the slope. “Someone used this to watch people,” I explained. “See how the grass is crushed. Somebody lay on their stomach with their elbows here.” Even as I uttered the words my gaze was snagged by a piece of material caught in a mesh of brambles a dozen yards away. I rose to my feet and closed the gap between the thorny branches until my fingers closed around the material. DI Silver let out a long whistling breath. “It’s this way, John.”

“Don't worry, your good husband will come for you very soon.” “Here.” I stormed into the room, tossing the bottle at silver. “This is not mistletoe.” Silver said, glancing at the bottle and then at me. “What did you do?” “Yes, I got the antidote instead.” “Save her quickly.” “You are more and more like your mother.” Silver smiled. “I love it.”

Sleep State Confirmed. Marcus opened his eyes. The Chrome Diamonds gleamed in the dim light. He raised his hands, staring at the faded, blood-stained athletic tape wrapped around his knuckles. Slowly, silently, he let his silver mana bleed out from his core, soaking into the fabric. The tape shifted, turning into a metallic, liquid state. The Liquid Silver hardened, forming invisible, dense brass knuckles over his skin.

The edges of the leaves were finely serrated, their backs coated in a silvery-white down. Reg crouched and brushed the snow away, exposing the dark soil and the fine, tough root tendrils. He remembered Rex's words. He dug carefully with his fingers, finding the joint where root met stem, and severed it with his thumbnail. Green sap clung to his fingers, carrying a bitter, astringent smell. He held the flower up to his eyes. The silvery-white petals were nearly transparent in the sun. He licked the sap off his finger, bitter and astringent, exactly as Luna had always described.

"Gladly… I’ll let her go if you leave Adrian alone. Take two steps back, open the drawer on your right and stab yourself in the neck with the syringe you will find in there." Glancing at the terrified pup, my heart thundered for her. Any small mistake and her throat will be pulled out. I took a few steps behind and did as Antonio instructed. "What the hell is in this syringe?" I asked just as I jabbed myself with it. Antonio chuckled. "Just pure silver to tame your beast." My eyes rounded just as my insides felt like they were on fire. Silver was often used in small amounts because it was deadly and it was usually diluted. But this was concentrated.

I bent down and picked up the dagger stuck in Brook's shoulder and went back to my side of the arena and sat down on the ground. Silver was one of the things that could kill werewolves, and in the form I had used it was even worse, because it entered through the nose and mouth and sticks to the mucous membranes... But well, the composition of this silver bomb was just enough to disable and not kill, and it hurt a lot, I was feeling the pangs in my chest myself, no matter how much I had held my breath, still, some particles had entered.

Just settled into himself, like he’d decided the exact amount of space he would occupy, and that was final. His eyes were silver. They moved across the room in a sweep that didn’t look like a sweep. They didn’t stop on me. I turned back to the front. The High Elder called the ceremony to order. The lights dropped except for the column of moonlight through the open ceiling—Blood Moon light, redder than ordinary and thick in a way that made the air feel different. Heavier. Like it was waiting. It moved slowly at first. I watched it find a pair across the room, a Delta male and a north-pack female, both going rigid before the gold thread pulled taut between them. The crowd made a soft sound. Th

Snorting through his crusted nostrils, he suddenly knew what to do. Scratching an itch by his mouth, he pinched his nose between his fingers and gave it a sharp yank. He heard something pop, and blood flowed fully once again down his face. This time, he let it run down his shirt, catching it on his fingertips and flicking it out to the side, the droplets touching the Mandragora. The vines immediately flexed, sensing prey nearby.

The sound was a mechanical snap, loud as a gunshot, echoing from the walls. From the walls, the ceiling, and the floor, hidden compartments slid open. I looked up, my breath catching in my throat. Silver spikes. They shot out from everywhere. Hundreds of them. They were six feet long, as thick as doorknobs, and made of pure, toxic silver. They moved with terrifying speed, aiming for the center of the room—for anyone standing near the pedestal. They were heading straight for Nash. Nash was frozen, his hand locked onto the dagger. He was looking at me, his eyes wide with the realization of his death. He couldn't move fast enough. The spikes were seconds away.