Silas Scratch Novelas e Histórias

“We negotiate. Silas, can you still access the emergency manual overrides? The mechanical ones?” ​Silas struggled to sit up, his face contorting in pain. He looked at the shards of his silver arm scattered across the floor like diamonds in the ash. He reached out with his remaining hand and picked up a single, jagged fragment of the translucent glass. As his skin touched it, the shard flared with a dim, flickering blue light.

Alpha Conor shouts while raising his glass. “Son, I mean Lumiere Silas. Let’s see that new mark of yours.” Silas’ dad David Sr. roars and slaps Silas on the back. I’ve never really seen Silas wince before, but he did when his dad slapped his back. I look, and there’s a giant handprint on his back.

Just him and her and me and the music screaming about heartbreak like it’s funny. For three whole seconds nobody moves. Then Samantha whispers, “Silas…” like that’s gonna help. He lets her go so fast her feet hit the floor and she stumbles. He turns toward me, hands out like he’s gonna cover himself and realizes it’s pointless; his cock is still wet, still up, shining with her. I look at it. I look at him. I look at the red scratches down his back. Silas says my name, cracked, desperate. “Lyra…”

Silas added, sharpening his nails with a pocket knife. "I'm in control now, Elias. I'm planning on getting my empire back. There's nothing more you can do now except to rot in the dark. How sweet revenge is. Who knew such a wimpy thing as Scarlet would be enough to trap you easily. Just a cry sounding like hers in your head, and you're here running like a mad man. Silas' magic is really something else." Brad said, and let out a bark-like laugh, while Silas went behind the table.

I was powerless. ​"Fascinating," Silas said, walking toward me. He tilted his head, studying my face. "You look like her. A sister? A clone? No... you look like a version of her that has seen the end of the world." ​He reached out to touch the scar on my wrist. I flinched away, but he was fast. He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into the bone. ​"The Scythe is here," Silas whispered, his eyes widening with a predatory hunger. "But it’s old. It’s tired. Why wait for this child to wake up when I have a goddess standing in front of me?"

“Silas—” Silas moves. He’s fast. Faster than Wrath. Faster than Draven on his best day. He crosses the glass in a blink and his hand goes for Moira’s throat. Null meets Hunger. For a second, nothing happens. Then Silas screams. It’s the first sound he’s made. High. Wrong. Like metal tearing. His hand turns black at the fingertips. Not bruise. Not burn. Empty. The same off he puts in others, Moira’s giving back to him.

And then Layla’s. The woman who built something sacred out of scraps. I grabbed my phone and typed: Meet me. Midnight. My office. — Silas arrived exactly on time. Of course he did. He looked surprised when he saw my face. “You don’t look like a man who just got everything he ever wanted,” he said. “I didn’t.” He tilted his head. “So?” “It’s a no.” Silas blinked. “You sure?” I nodded. “If I burn everything for power, what do I even stand on?”

Behind us, a guttural, furious growl tore through the air again in rage. Silas. “I told you,” he snarled, thrashing around viciously, voice warped and jagged, “she belongs to me. The only one worthy…worthy…to carry my seed. Let me go with my woman, and I swear…I swear…I will not harm anyone again. Ever.” My expression went cold. Utterly. He dares call Kira his? Before I or any of the priestesses could respond… “OH MY GOD, CAN YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR A SECOND?!” Kira blurted out like she had had enough already.

There, just beneath his collarbone, was my name—PAULA—etched with the edge of my blade weeks ago and healed over in smooth scar tissue. “Good boy,” I said. “Do I get to speak at the next meeting?” I tilted his chin up. “Only if I let you sit at the table.” “And if I don’t?” I leaned forward, dragging my tongue over the scar. “Then you can sit under it.” Silas smiled. The kind of smile that could’ve belonged to a wolf if I hadn’t already taken his bite and made it mine. END

Chloe looked at the hand offered to her. Just moments ago, it had been tipped with lethal claws; now, the nails were trimmed and blunt. "Are all Lycans like this?" she asked, sighing as she rested her wrist in his palm. At the touch of her skin, Silas's fingertips gave a microscopic tremor. He hovered his other hand over the scratches, hesitant to touch her. The dim light turned his grey-silver lashes translucent, casting long shadows over his cheeks.