Eye Of Sauron Brooklyn Novels & Stories

He blinked hard, his vision swimming until the haze cleared—and then he saw him. Soren. Standing in the heart of the devastation. But the man before him was not the Soren he knew—the one who laughed softly at dawns, who held him when nightmares came. No, this was something else entirely. Soren’s hair drifted weightlessly, like dark fire suspended in the air, strands shimmering with streaks of ember gold. His eyes gleamed with a divine duality—one gold, one black—each iris swirling with intricate, ancient sigils that moved like constellations. His bare arms pulsed with the same symbols, glowing and dimming in rhythm with the rumble of the storm. Around him, gravity bent; shards of obsidian fl

I moved. I stepped behind the stranger, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as my body sought shelter where my mind hadn’t yet caught up. My brother’s hostility burned too close too familiar. The stranger didn’t push me away. “Ryder,” he said calmly, without looking at Nicholas. “Loworth Ryder of New Orleans.” The name rippled through the crowd. My stomach dropped. “Are you a warrior?” I whispered, my voice barely holding. “You’ll find out soon,” he replied coolly. Then quieter meant only for me, “Prey eye.”

He groaned. Steam had filled the room, so when I was finally able to opened my eyes, Waylon was barely visible but his black eyes were clear as day.

Caroline, a she-wolf who has been considered a monster since she was a child, can she break the tragedy spell and find her MATE?

"You're safe now." Aqua's vision blurred as the exhaustion and emotional toll overwhelmed her. Before she lost consciousness, she felt a gentle touch on her forehead, Aunt Cleo's magic weaving a protective spell around her. When she awoke the next morning in Cleo's home, the memory of the night before was a fragmented blur. Aunt Cleo had taken away the worst of it, sparing her the trauma of remembering how she had killed her attackers with dark magic.

“Look closely.” They did. And what they saw made the air pull taut. It wasn’t a stone. It was an eye. Closed. Still. Rooted in earth like a seed that hadn’t bloomed yet. “Is it watching?” Neve asked, her voice small. “No,” said Siran. “It’s dreaming.” The bloomfield vibrated with agreement the faintest hum of potential. Oru reached forward, but Siran caught his wrist. “Not yet.” He pulled back without resistance.

My name is Elora and I reside at the Blue Mountain Packhouse. I have a slim figure, long curly blonde hair which I usually wear up in a bun so it is out of my face. My eyes are a deep blue which I love. I am not a normal girl though. You see I am a shewolf, my rank at the packhouse is an omega. I don’t know my parents because they passed away when I was just a tiny baby, so I don’t have any memories of them. The only thing I have is a necklace locket from my mother. I have never taken it off because it makes me feel close to her spirit.

He was resplendent in his ceremonial attire, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the golden disc of the sun was being slowly, inexorably devoured by the encroaching moon. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd as the world plunged into an eerie, midday darkness. It was a premature night; stars blinked into existence, shivering in the sudden, biting cold. To the superstitious, it was a terrifying omen of divine displeasure, a harbinger of doom. But for Elena, it was simply the elegant mechanics of the universe—a celestial reminder that even in the deepest, most suffocating shadow, the light remained, waiting patiently to return.

I could noises of things breaking and destroying and I squeezed my eyes even tighter. "Please don’t hurt me. Please." I said brimming with tears. I can’t believe I am begging a werewolf not to hurt me. They are monsters, they will eat me up anyways. "I am not going to hurt you. Just opened your eyes." A familiar voice said placing a hand on my shoulder. I didn’t open my eyes until it got to a point where the noises ruffling in the background stopped. "Now will you open your eyes?" He asked I began to slowly open my eyes, my vision was a bit hazy probably because I was crying. Once my vision cleared, the first thing my eyes set on was a pair of eye, black eyes. It is Ashton.

The kind that says I see you and I am glad and this is everything and I will not make it weird. When she pulls back her eyes are doing something. "Do not," I say. "I am not doing anything," she says. "Your eyes are doing something," I say. "They are fine," she says, blinking rapidly. "Completely fine. Dust." "Hackney dust." "Notorious for it," she says.