Chapter 8: The Council’s Eyes
1065 Words
The dreams were getting worse.
They always started the same: a silver forest bathed in moonlight, my bare feet crunching over frost-covered leaves, and eyes—dozens of glowing eyes—watching from the trees.
But tonight, the dream twisted.
I stood in the center of Moonshade Hollow, only it wasn’t the town I knew. The buildings were cloaked in fog, the moon loomed unnaturally large overhead, and frost crept along the ground like spilled ink. At the center of it all stood a woman in a gray cloak. Her back was to me, but something about her made my heart lurch.
“Who are you?” I called.
She turned.
But instead of a face, there was only a mirror reflecting my own.
I stumbled back—and woke up with a jolt.
My dorm room ceiling greeted me, bland and cracked. Sunlight peeked through my curtains. The hum of campus life carried through the walls—distant chatter, a lawnmower, laughter. Normalcy.
But I wasn’t fooled.
I hadn’t felt normal since that night in the woods.
Since Asher.
Since mate.
He hadn’t returned. Not a text. Not a sign. It was like he’d never existed—except for the burning ache in my chest and the way my silver crescent mark pulsed like a second heartbeat.
I needed answers. Real ones. And I wasn’t going to get them waiting for Asher to come back.
So I went back to the Hollow Library.
Tucked beneath the town hall like a forgotten tomb, the library felt more like a crypt than a place of knowledge. Cool air laced with dust wrapped around me as I descended the narrow staircase.
Mirna, the elderly librarian, looked up as I entered. Her eyes narrowed slightly when she saw me.
“You’ve come again,” she said. “Looking for the same thing?”
I nodded. “Werewolf lore. Especially the older texts. Pre-Council.”
Her gaze lingered a little longer this time before she gestured silently toward the back.
I found the section just as I left it—ancient, cracked volumes that looked like they’d crumble if you breathed on them. But I didn’t need any of them today.
I brought my mother’s book.
The one with the lunar crown burned into the leather cover. The one I found last week hidden behind a shelf, her initials etched inside: E.C.—Evelyn Callahan.
I sat in the farthest corner, the light from the overhead lantern casting golden pools across the worn pages. My mother’s handwriting danced in the margins—urgent, looped script full of warnings and half-written thoughts.
Today, I flipped to a chapter titled "The Watchers of the Council."
The text was dense, translated from Old Lupine, but the message was clear: the Council didn’t just govern werewolves.
They controlled bloodlines.
They monitored magical lineages, marked children, and determined who lived and who disappeared.
“The Council does not fear power—it fears loss of control,” the chapter began. “And any who awaken outside their guidance are seen as threats.”
I swallowed hard.
Awaken.
That word again.
It has been everywhere lately—in dreams, in whispers, in prophecy. Even Asher had used it, right before he vanished. “They’ll come for you when you awaken,” he’d said.
But what did it mean?
My eyes caught a sketch tucked in the margins. A medallion. Round, simple, silver. Etched with a crescent claw—the same symbol burned into the back of my mother’s book.
Goosebumps prickled along my arms.
My mother had drawn this. She’d seen it. Knowing it meant danger.
I didn’t hear the footsteps until they were nearly at the bottom of the stairs.
I froze.
The soft creak of leather boots. The low rustle of a cloak. I shut the book and slid it under my jacket.
A tall figure moved between the shelves, his face obscured by a gray hood. Not Mirna. Too tall. Too smooth in movement.
He didn’t look at me, not directly. But I could feel it—the weight of his attention, like a cold finger brushing the back of my neck.
I stood slowly.
Pretending to browse the shelf, I shifted toward the exit.
The man turned.
And though I couldn’t see his eyes, I felt them burn into mine.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t follow. Just…watched.
I climbed the stairs quickly, heart hammering in my ears.
When I finally stepped into the sunlight outside the town hall, I didn’t stop walking until I reached the edge of the woods behind campus. I leaned against a tree, chest heaving.
“What the hell was that?” I whispered.
But I already knew.
They’re watching.
I pulled out the book and flipped through it again, hoping for something—anything—that could help me understand what the Council wanted.
That’s when a folded piece of parchment fell from the back cover.
I hadn’t seen it before.
Hands shaking, I unfolded it.
“She is the key. Guard her, or lose the Hollow to darkness.”
No name. No signature. Just that cryptic warning.
Something rustled behind me.
I turned—but no one was there.
The woods were still. Too still.
Then I saw it—half-buried in the grass near the tree’s roots.
A silver glint.
I crouched down and picked it up.
It was a medallion.
Simple. Cold. Marked with a crescent claw.
Just like the one from my mother’s drawing.
Just like the one from the Council’s chapter.
My breath caught.
Someone has been here. Someone had left this for me to find.
As I rose, a whisper drifted into the wind.
“She’s awakening.”
I spun around, eyes scanning the trees.
Nothing.
But I knew I wasn’t alone.
I clutched the medallion tight, the edges biting into my palm.
That’s when I noticed the fresh blood on the edge—dark, still wet.
I stumbled back in horror, staring down at the small silver disc now stained with crimson.
The man in the gray cloak had been here.
And he’d vanished.
Without a trace.
Just like Asher.
But this time…he left a warning.
The Hollow wasn’t just haunted by secrets.
It was being watched by eyes I couldn’t see.
And one thing was terrifyingly clear:
The Council knew who I was.
And they were already closing in.
- Writer
