Fictional Owls Novels & Stories

I bit my lower lip as each student announced what kind of shifter they were. I was amazed by the different varieties. There were leopards, lions, tigers, hawks, cats, and then of course wolves and bears. When she reached Penny, she proudly stated that she was an owl. She was the only owl in the class, so she received a few gasps of admiration and she beamed happily. Then Professor Santina’s eyes flashed to me and I felt the color draining from my features. “I… uh….” I stammered. Professor Santina narrowed her eyes.

She gathered her mattress and hurried into her hut, as if afraid to spend one more minute outside. The hooting of an owl was uncommon in the kingdom, especially in a night as hot as this, where most people slept outside because of the heat. Its voice was rarely never heard. The people of Alaocha held its cry as a bad omen. It was said, according to the myth of the people, that an owl and a cricket does not sing together. But when they did, it was usually not a good sign. The people believes that an owl is a harbinger of death. Whenever they heard its cry, they always consult the gods, and perform series of ritual sacrifice to prevent calamity from befalling them.

He continued to question secretly, “Are you going to be just like those fake, hypocritical liars? Are you only lying right now to get on my good side?” His intense gaze locked onto my face, searching for a crack in my armor. I didn’t display a single shred of fear. Instead, I carefully supported Snow and gently stroked the top of its head, treating it no differently than a regular puppy or kitten. Surprisingly cooperative, Snow tilted its head into my touch and playfully flicked its tongue at me as if saying hello. Owen’s pupils vibrated slightly, a profound look of astonishment flashing through his dark eyes. I was nothing like those hypocritical upper-class phonies.

The window creaked open as the fluttering figure hovering outside it zoomed right into my room, crashed against the wall and dropped on the floor in a white ball of feathers. ‘An owl? Snow White!’ Zarek growled in my head. I ran to the bird and picked her up in my palms. It indeed looked like Snow White, but how can she be— No. No. No. It can’t be. I felt adrenaline pumped into my veins. Snow White hooted, stretching her wings as I gaped at her. ‘It’s her scent. Carys’ scent. Her scent is all over this owl,’ Zarek said.

Owen spoke with a firm voice. His old and frail appearance seems to be in contrast to his voice. Lucas gave Aden a pointed look before he nodded and turned to look at Owen. "It must be a werewolf then" Lucas said, looking firmly at Owen who shook his head sideways. "I think it might be the witches," Owen speculated, much to Lucas' surprise and Aden's as they instantly raised their brows. Why, Owen, do you say the witches? "Only the black forests can produce poison ivy. If it isn't the witches but a werewolf, as you claim, I suppose the wolf is a frequent visitor to the black woods "Owen finished as Lucas continued to stare at him.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before. Not in my old pack, not anywhere. And I really don’t get why… why me? Why do I have something like this?” Fiona stayed quiet beside me, but I could feel her eyes on me. Abuela, however, watched me closely, her expression unreadable. “I’m a nobody,” I whispered. “Just an omega. That’s all I’ve ever been. And things like this? Powers like this? They only happen to people from high-ranking bloodlines. To Alphas, Lunas, warriors, not people like me. Not someone who grew up cleaning and obeying orders.” There was a heavy silence in the room after I spoke. I looked at Abuela, expecting her to say something like, “Don’t talk like that,” or “You’re not a n

If he succeeded, he would be unstoppable… … but he didn’t, because in her reality in Fairbanks, Vak Smallchief is still known as the first werewolf in history and the only werewolf ancestor who receives 7 salutation howls on the nights of the Full Moon Feasts. Where did that leave Nikjin? “You are a beautiful sight to behold in wasteland such as this,” he said, appearing in front of her like an apparition.

My brows furrowed as I stared intently at him. “That's what the books say, that they’re all dead. But what if…some survived? And then gradually, they spread across secretly beneath the nose of men. What if they reside near us? Dine with us, and are even our friends. We can't tell.” He shook his head slowly with a smile. “With fake Wolgons roaming the earths, looking so different from what wolgons looked like years back.” Fake wolgons? That would explain the one I saw in the forest. Its yellow and purple flames gave it out. Now I wondered, why was he telling me all these?

’ Ginika hissed silently, he wished he could shut his ears to the ranting of these girls. Something moved in the shadow, drawing his attention. He let his gaze dwell upon the tree on the right, hoping to catch a glimpse of what it was. There, sitting like a King on one of the treetops, was an Owl. His stomach knotted as the realization struck him. ‘Be wary of an owl, especially in the night.’ The voice of the village chief reminded from before. “Zahra, Dodo, wait up,” He shouted and ran after the girls who hadn’t noticed his absence.

In movies they are depicted as crazy old men and women, who wear tinfoil on their heads or talk to cats. He is too good-looking and charming to be a loon, isn't he? Olivia really hopes that he is not crazy. She would hate to be attracted to someone that had lost their mind. “Then what are you here for, if you don't mind me asking.” Owens voice breaks the silence that they had fallen into and she turns to face him.