Chapter 7: Eyes in the Dark
808 Words
Aria hadn’t seen Rael in three days.
Since the council confrontation and the training match with Kade, he’d disappeared—no message, no trace, not even a whisper in the wind.
And yet… she felt him watching.
Not in the way Kade did, where his presence settled like storm clouds at the edge of her awareness. Rael was colder. Quieter. Like a shadow that didn’t wait for permission to move.
But tonight, that feeling was different.
Tonight, someone else was watching her.
⸻
She stood at the edge of the woods, the trees tall and still beneath the weight of the full moon. Her cabin sat behind her in silence, the only light a single candle glowing faintly in the window.
The mark on her chest pulsed faintly—just once.
Then again.
It wasn’t fear that prickled down her spine. It was recognition.
She stepped forward.
The moment her boots touched the forest floor, a low growl broke the stillness.
Her heart jumped.
It wasn’t close. Not quite.
But it wasn’t far either.
She turned sharply, eyes scanning the tree line.
And then she saw it.
Two glowing eyes in the dark.
Silver—not like Rael’s.
These were colder. Hungrier.
The shape was massive. Wolf form. But not from her pack.
The fur was dark as soot, and it didn’t blink.
It watched her for exactly three breaths.
Then it vanished into the trees.
⸻
By the time Aria reached the training grounds the next morning, Kade was already there.
He leaned against a post near the weapon rack, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.
“You felt it too,” she said.
“I felt you leave the border,” he corrected.
Aria narrowed her eyes. “That wasn’t what I asked.”
He exhaled through his nose. “Yes. I felt it.”
“A rogue?”
He shook his head. “No scent. No trace. And too bold to be scouting.”
“Then what was it?”
Kade hesitated.
Finally, he said, “It wasn’t a wolf.”
Aria’s pulse slowed.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. But I’ve only ever seen one thing that size move like that.”
She waited.
He met her gaze.
“A shapeshifter.”
⸻
Later, Aria stood in the clearing behind the Elder hall, staring at the broken Moonstone altar that cracked during her awakening. Mira had cordoned it off with vines and warnings, but Aria felt drawn to it.
She touched one of the stones, and her mark lit faintly in response.
Visions flickered behind her eyes—too fast to catch, too wild to follow.
A silver-eyed child.
A woman cloaked in fire.
A crown made of bone.
She gasped and yanked her hand back.
And then, behind her, a voice:
“Your blood remembers what you don’t.”
She turned.
Rael.
Back in his cloak, silver eyes glowing faintly, not with menace—but with something far heavier.
Regret.
“You left,” Aria said.
“I needed to see what moved in the forest.”
“Did you find it?”
“No.” He stepped closer. “But it found you.”
She didn’t flinch.
“What is it?”
“Something old. Something cursed.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No,” he said. “It’s a warning.”
⸻
That night, Aria couldn’t sleep.
Again.
She sat on the edge of her bed, staring into the unlit fire, listening to the silence between the trees.
It wasn’t peaceful.
It was waiting.
She didn’t know how she knew that—but she did.
The air felt like it was holding its breath.
She was about to blow out the candle when a knock hit the door.
She froze.
It was too late for guards. Too late for Mira.
Too late for—
“It’s me.”
Kade.
Her pulse jumped.
She opened the door.
He stood there in a black T-shirt, shoulders tense, jaw tight, eyes stormy.
“Something’s wrong,” he said.
She already knew.
He stepped inside without waiting.
“I had a vision.”
That stopped her.
“You?”
He nodded.
“I never have visions. Not even during my Awakening. But tonight, I saw… a mark. Like yours. But twisted. Black. Dripping blood.”
He paused.
“And it wasn’t on your chest. It was on your back.”
Aria’s breath caught.
He stepped closer.
And gently—without touching her—he said, “Turn around.”
She did.
She pulled her shirt off one shoulder, enough to reveal her upper back.
He leaned in.
His breath caught.
“There’s something there,” he whispered. “It’s faint. But it’s forming.”
“What is it?” she asked.
Kade’s voice was tight. Uncertain.
“A second mark.”
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