Warna Biru Silver Novels & Stories

Hale stated. “See!” River exclaimed. “However, many hybrids are affected by silver as well. It’s not as deadly to them, but it can be harmful. So having silver around would put you and Sage in danger.” Hale explained. River and Sage pouted. “That explains a lot. I thought it was weird that they would have a silver allergy. I used to have a silver locket, and as babies, they tried to chew on it, resulting in a rash on their hands and their lips swell.” I blinked as it all now made sense.

Observing every loop and holes to get the real intent behind her question. "Hmmm... Wonderful...!!!" He said. "Do you mean... that... it's going to be just the last time we're going to be together...?" Somira asked, looking so downcasted. Attending to them, a bar attendant came over to meet them with his oval-shaped tray, and on it were the glasses of drinks which the couple seated behind them ordered for. This time, it was a male personnel. He was looking so handsome and dashing in his sky blue coloured shirt, and a pair of black trousers... well tucked in... with his designers' belt neatly placed in packaging. His hair was obviously black, with a little at one end, tinted in yellowish gold

Daiji continued, introducing the pair of Kitsune flanking them with a jerk of his head in each of their directions. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, girl. Get any angrier and you’ll be as crimson as my nails,” Navin spoke…and wiggled her fucking fingers in my face. “I got them done just before we left to come here. I wanted yellow, but I figured Soaré would be wearing the color.”

And also it was a timber wolves, timber wolves were meant to be a mix of gray and brown with canine and long bushy tails that are often black in color. But he was a silver wolf, so rare to get but easily to attack when a weapon is found against them. He was a timber wolf but in a silver color, the only thing in common was the long bushy tails and his own was in silver color too. Sometimes, he was not being classified as a timber wolf, rather he is classified as a rare species of wolves. The witches in the world have been trying to classify them but it is always hard to get a common gene between the silver wolves making everything hard for them.

And I was done living like a secret. Done being protected into silence. If the world wanted to hunt the silver fox, it was going to learn something my mother’s bloodline had always known: Silver doesn’t break easily. And foxes? Foxes don’t stay caged.

She cries out, body contorting, the light around her squeezing tighter, like it means to wring the life from her bones. Inside me, my wolf thrashes against my ribs, panic and rage burning together. Fix it. The demand pulses through my blood, primal and fierce. “I’m trying,” I rasp, lungs raw, reaching for the silver. It flickers in the air, lurid and alive, surging forward—only to freeze, trembling midair. It doesn’t wait for my command. It waits for something deeper, something older. Judgment.

“Probably because they don’t want to fight either. They looked too tired. Like they needed help more than a fight. Lyra, do you even know Song Pack’s signature color?” Caught off guard, I shrug. “No. I always thought it didn’t matter. I mean… I grew up a Running River warrior. My mate is Running River. This territory’s unfamiliar. Why would I care about a rival’s colors?” “Silver,” Bram says, with certainty. “Their color is silver.” “That’s… cool? I mean, I’ve always been partial to silver, but what does their banner color have to do with whether it’s safe to be on their land?”

He is looking down. He is tall — at least a head taller than me, which is not rare, but the specific scale of him registers differently, the way certain things do when you're standing close enough to notice the detail. Dark hair, slightly dishevelled. A jaw that looks like it was put together by someone who had opinions about geometry. And his eyes — the thing I notice last because I'm working backwards from the hands still at my waist and the chest I just walked into — are silver. Not grey. Silver. The specific clear colour of early water, or a sky before weather.

I looked down. White. Not almost white. Not grey—the light was flattering. White, with silver at the tips of each strand of fur where the moonlight caught it, a coat that looked like it had been made to be seen exactly like this, at night, at the edge of still water. Large. My shoulders were level with the top of the reeds at the bank. My eyes in the reflection were storm-grey, the same eyes I had always had, but lit from somewhere inside in a way I did not have words for.

,he continued,his voice low and measured never taking his eyes off Salvatore. “And what is the price for such….generosity?” Ignoring his question,Don Silver continued. “A realignment of power,Salvatore.”,his tone lowered to a whisper as he leaned forward. “The drug routes you have been eyeing for expansion…..they could be yours.Exclusively if I might add.” The gleam of avarice in Salvatore’s eyes at the mention of the drug routes could not be missed. “What is this proposition going to cost me?”,Salvatore spat,his voice hoarse.