The Song in the Silver by Faberge Nostromo



A vampire’s bite.

A werewolf’s love.

Burned by silver and called by its song, he walks the night forever, protecting

those he loves.

His mortal life stolen by a vampire, his undead life saved by a werewolf, William

walks now in darkness. Scarred by her silver on the night he was turned, he secretly

protected Mary until the day she died.

And now the fading song of their daughter’s life has called him back to the glen.

Will tonight be the night he can reveal to her the eternal love that has kept her

safe, and that will now protect her son?


He sat on the side of the hill, beneath the wind-stunted oak, and looked down on the

thin stream of smoke drifting from the croft into the star-littered sky. A faint wisp of the

Northern Lights swept like a wraith across the inky black. The wind flicked his raven-black

hair from his face and stung his eyes.

She was in there. The time was coming. The conflict in his heart hoped that it might

not be tonight, but that if it was, it would be before the dawn broke over the hills opposite.

The howl of a wolf echoed across the valley. He recognized Aatu’s cry. She had been

here always, before him. She’d been here all the time he’d been far away, far from the pain.

She would still be here after he left.

A bird splashed in the dark reeds along the side of the beck at the cry, protecting her

young from the night, just as he’d protected the woman in the croft when he could. And when

his presence had threatened her, he’d left to take the threat far away.

He wrapped his cloak tight around him, though he didn’t need it against the cold. He

felt neither cold nor warmth—only loss.

He touched the deerskin pouch that hung from the leather thong around his neck. The

soft vibrations of the uisge, the life force, from the silver cross inside were fainter now. One

pattern of vibrations, one of the harmonies within the song, was fading. The pattern had lived

with him for nearly a century. It was what had brought him back, the realization that one part

of the song was coming to an end.

The journey had been long and hard. The dark highways of his existence had made it

so, but he had come. And he would leave again. After he had had one last moment with her,

to tell her. So that she would, at the end, know. Just as he had with her mother.



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About the Author




Faberge Nostromo’s career has been one in the true sense of the phrase “move

swiftly and in an uncontrolled way.” After being expelled from school, he finally

arrived, through blind luck and belligerence, at a stage in life where he can genuinely

claim to be a writer and musician. Whatever you do, do not encourage him.



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