Chapter 3 Secrets of the Silver Moon

The journal consumed my thoughts. Its pages, riddled with fragmented entries about the "Silver Moon," hinted at rituals, sacrifices, and truths better left in the shadows. But one passage haunted me:

"When the moon rises full and silver, it does not shine for beauty but for revelation. Its light draws the shadows closer yet also unveils them."

Unable to sleep, I sat at the kitchen table, staring at the journal under the dim light of a flickering bulb. The sound of the wind outside felt almost alive, a whisper against the panes. I traced the words with my finger, my thoughts tangled in unease.

A sharp knock at the window startled me, sending my chair scraping back. With my heart pounding, I peered outside. At first, I saw nothing but just the swaying of the bare branches. But then a shadow moved.

"Evelyn?" Rowan's voice broke the silence.

I opened the door to find him standing there, his dark hair disheveled, his eyes reflecting something between worry and urgency. There was an intensity in his eyes that both unnerved and comforted me.

"You shouldn't be alone tonight," he said, stepping in without waiting for an invitation. "Not with the moon like this."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, as I folded my arms to steady myself.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, his gaze fell to the journal on the table. "You've been reading it," he murmured.

I nodded. "There's something about the Silver Moon, isn't there? Something the people here are afraid of."

Rowan hesitated, then pulled out a chair beside me. His presence filled the kitchen, the faint scent of pine clinging to him. "It's not just fear, Evelyn. It's history. The Silver Moon was a time of... revelation, yes, but also blood. Whatever you've read, it's just the surface. And if you keep digging....."

"I'll find the truth?" I interrupted, my voice firmer than I felt.

"You might wish you hadn't." His words were low, almost a whisper, but the weight of them sent a shiver down my spine.

Our eyes met, and for a moment, the tension shifted. There was something unspoken between us, something magnetic. Rowan's hand brushed against mine on the table, and the warmth of his touch was both grounding and electrifying.

"Why do I feel like you're not telling me everything?" I asked softly.

"Because I'm not," he admitted, his voice tight. "Not yet."

The way he said it made my breath catch, but before I could press further, a distant howl cut through the night. It wasn't the mournful cry of a lone wolf, it was guttural, primal, and close.

Rowan shot to his feet, his chair scraping back violently. "We need to leave. Now."

"What was that?" I demanded, my pulse racing.

"Something that hunts under the Silver Moon," he said grimly. "And it's already started."

The forest was alive in a way I had never experienced. The moon's light poured through the tangled branches, casting silver beams that glittered on the ground. Rowan kept close, his hand on my arm as we moved quickly through the woods.

"Where are we going?" I asked breathlessly, but he didn't answer.

Instead, he slowed down as I approached the old oak tree, its massive trunk gnarled and etched with time. It was the same tree I had visited earlier, the one that seemed to hum with an energy I couldn't explain.

Rowan knelt by the roots, brushing away moss to reveal something metallic glinting in the moonlight, a locket.

"This belonged to someone who tried to uncover the Silver Moon's secrets," he said, holding it up. "They didn't survive."

"Survive what?" I asked, my voice shaking.

The answer came before he could speak. The shadows between the trees shifted, no longer static but alive, moving with an unnatural fluidity. My breath hitched as the figures emerged, hulking shapes with glowing eyes, their movements a terrifying mix of human and beast.

"Werewolves," Rowan said under his breath.

My heart thundered. "What do they want?"

"To protect the truth," he said, as he pulled me behind him.

One of the creatures stepped closer, its teeth bared in a snarl that sent chills down my spine. But as it locked eyes with Rowan, something strange happened. It hesitated, its growl faltering.

Rowan's posture shifted, his voice low and commanding. "Stand down."

My eyes widened. "What are you doing?"

"Trust me," he whispered.

And for reasons I couldn't explain, I did.

The werewolf let out a guttural growl before retreating into the shadows, its form disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. Rowan turned back to me, his face pale but determined.

"What just happened?" I asked, my voice trembled.

"There's more to me than you know," he said, his tone heavy with meaning.

"And more to you, isn't it?" My eyes narrowed.

The moonlight illuminated his features, and for the first time, I noticed the faint scar running along his jaw, like a mark of something he'd tried to hide.

"You're one of them," she whispered.

He held my gaze for a moment before his gaze dropped to the locket in his hand. "Not entirely."

The words hung between us, the forest falling eerily silent once more. My world tilted as I realized the secrets of the Silver Moon weren't just in the journal, they were standing right in front of me.