To Snap A Silver Stem Novels & Stories

Her mouth opens—probably to argue. Then the next attacker appears at the far end of the hall with something in his hands that makes my blood go ice. A brinks strap. Not cuffs. Not a pair. A single reinforced band designed to cinch fast. Like a muzzle for power. He throws it. It whistles through the air toward the bedroom door. I throw myself sideways and catch it mid-flight with my paw. The strap bites into fur, metal teeth catching, trying to clamp down. Pain sparks up my arm.

Brooke felt profound recognition as he observed the procedure. She remembered Gunnar using these same needles to save her. These needles were not made from standard silver but from the leaves of a plant called Glacial Silver Cypress. Hence, they were also known as Glacial Silver Needles. Glacial Silver Cypress grew in places where it snowed all year. Moreover, it only produced needles once a decade. The needles needed for acupuncture required leaves from a hundred-year-old Glacial Silver Cypress, which were exceptionally rare.

I breathe it in, letting the crisp mountain air fill my lungs, while Darian, Lysander, and Elysia are already at work among the rows of herbs. They are surprisingly efficient, though I can see the occasional clumsy twitch, new hands still learning the delicate dance of pruning, weeding, and tending plants that hold more magic than most mortals could imagine. “Careful with the silverleaf,” I say, kneeling beside them to inspect a particularly wilting patch. “If you pull too hard, you’ll lose the entire stem. It’s rare for a reason.”

See how safe the betas are going to feel under the rule of their idiot alpha. I approach the truck closest to me and break the lock. Mars comes over to me with her massive guard dog. She buries her hand in the fur on his neck. The two of them watch me push the door up. I release my claws and cut through the plastic wrap. There are bricks inside. I take one out and jump down next to her. She gives me the okay to open it. As soon as my nail hits what's inside, I drop the package. "Silver," I pushing her back so she doesn't get hurt. This shit burned throught through my claw. I pick it up again and cut a little more. "Silver powder,"

The Silver Moon Grass's value needed no further explanation. That that moment, Severin's breathing quickened. He rushed over in a streak of light, tearing through the air with an explosive sonic boom. In the blink of an eye, Severin had reached the location where the Silver Moon Grass was growing. Overwhelmed with joy, he exclaimed, "I would never have thought that I'd find an eighth-grade herb here!" Severin then delicately harvested the Silver Moon Grass along with its soil and placed it carefully in a box to preserve its potent medicinal properties.

The same Lamen who used to hurt me, who pushed my face into the dirt so many times I know exactly how it tastes. Biting my bottom lip, I walk carefully through the corridors of the Silver Moon Pack house. My heart races as I prepare for the mating ceremony. This is a big moment, and I’m not sure I’m ready. I came to the hall early because I need a few minutes alone to take it all in.

She said putting her hand on Stacys shouldler. Stacy nodded closing her eyes and enhaled and exhaled slowly consintrating on what she wanted the flower to become. She out her hand down to the flower "Po tro num Alt imus Potronum Altimus." she started pulling her hand up slowly breathing slowly and consintrating as hard as she could. Even with her focus and consintration nothing had happened once she opened her eyes they lit up with red flakes throughout her blue eyes.

DURING THE COURSE OF THE OUTER VALLEY RIDGE TRIAL LEAH’S POV I turn my back on them and walk toward the stream, my chest tight. ‘Let them talk,’ I tell myself, my inner voice cold and steady as I kneel by the rush of clear water. ‘Let them order me around. Let them act like I am nothing more than a servant girl catering to their whims.’ I pull three small clay jars from my leather pouch. Inside the dark glazed clay sits the thick, pale amber resin of the silver-root, mixed carefully with the fine, fragrant dust of the red-leaf extract.

I muttered to myself, forcing my palms down flat against the rough edge of the wooden potting bench. I took a deep, shuddering breath, desperately trying to count the seconds to calm my racing heart. But as I exhaled, my eyes caught a flash of shaking, metallic silver near the rear glass wall. I frowned, my brow furrowing as I stepped closer to one of the isolated, heavily climate-controlled soil beds. My breath caught painfully in my throat. There, nestled deeply beneath the dark shadows of the iron framing, my incredibly rare, highly toxic silver-leeching blood-orchids had unexpectedly bloomed.

Bellamy’s voice echoed smoothly from the shadows near the entrance. Rose froze, her hand hovering an inch above the metal container. She slowly turned my head around. Bellamy was stepping out of the dark, but he didn't have his guns drawn. Instead, his hands were wrapped tightly around a thick, heavy length of braided rope woven with silver wire and dried rowan wood—a traditional witch-binding snare.