The Human Among Wolves (Aurora) novel Chapter 344

Chapter 344

Aurora

Cold air rushed out as the door dragged open, hitting my skin in a sharp wave that raised goosebumps along my arms. The man beside me shifted his grip, fingers digging painfully into my arm as he pulled me forward.

Boots scraped on concrete. Someone else stepped closer.

Their presence pressed into the space in front of me–tall, heavy, radiating authority so sharply it made my stomach twist.

Another low exchange of Russian followed, the words bouncing off the walls, impatient, irritated. I couldn’t see their faces, but I could hear the shift in posture, the sudden snap of attention.

Then one of them leaned in close to my ear.

His breath was cold, his voice colder.

“Твой конеи, девочка,” he murmured–like he wanted the sound of it to sink into me even if I didn’t understand.

I didn’t know what it meant.

But I knew it wasn’t good.

His hand flattened between my shoulder blades, and with one cruel shove, he forced me inside. My feet slipped on the dusty floor, the air thick with the smell of rot and rust. The door yawned wider, creaking around me as I stumbled inside.

Footsteps followed.

Two sets.

Then the door slammed shut behind us with a final, echoing clang.

His hand clamped around my arm again, fingers bruising, and he yanked me forward without warning.

My shoulder nearly wrenched from the force.

“быстрее, шлоxa,” he growled–low, sharp, right beside my ear.

The floor beneath my feet was uneven, gravel crunching under my boots as he dragged me deeper inside. Every step was a stumble, a trip, a desperate attempt to keep my balance with my hands bound and my sight gone.

Cold air seeped through the walls, biting at any exposed skin. The place felt abandoned–hollow, echoing, too quiet except for our footsteps and

the muffled voices behind us.

My heart hammered against my ribs as he shoved me forward again, harde this time, like he was done being patient.

A few minutes passed like that-

him shoving me forward,

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every step a fight to keep my balance.

I kept telling myself not to fall.

Because something in the way he gripped me…

in the way he breathed out those guttural orders…

in the way his fingers dug into my arm-

told me he’d hurt me if I did.

Really hurt me.

So I forced my legs to keep moving, even when they shook under me, even when the floor shifted from concrete to something rough and uneven. The air grew colder the farther we went, thick with dust, something metallic lingering beneath it.

Then-

we stopped.

Abruptly.

The hand on my arm tightened, keeping me in place.

I froze, breath caught in my throat.

And on my right, clear and close, I heard it.

The heavy creak of a door being opened.

Old hinges groaned, scraping against themselves like they were waking from decades of sleep. A gust of colder air rushed out, brushing against my cheek, carrying with it the faintest scent of damp stone and something else I couldn’t identify.

The man grabbed me again, fingers clamping around my arm like a vise, and yanked me forward. I barely had time to brace myself before he dragged me with him.

The air shifted immediately–colder, denser, smelling of damp stone and something old, like rust and mold that had settled deep into the walls.

Then, without warning-

he shoved me.

Hard.

My foot caught on something–maybe my own boots, maybe the uneven tor–and I went down fast. My knees slammed into the concrete with

a sharp, jarring pain that shot up my thighs. A small cry escaped me befor I could swallow it.

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Not the same ones.

Rougher. Faster.

Someone crouched behind me, fingers digging into my wrists as they toret whatever was binding my arms to the seat restraints. The rope scraped against my skin before it fell away, leaving a burning sting around the joints.

Before I could even turn, fingers hooked under my chin from behind, lifting my face with a cold, deliberate pull. My breath stuttered as they reached past my shoulder, searching for the knot at the back of my head. Then, in one harsh, fluid motion, the fabric ripped free and the pressure vanished.

and the world exploded into blurry shapes and harsh, unforgiving light.

I blinked rapidly. Once. Twice. My eyes watered. My vision burned.

I blinked until the blur sharpened, my eyes stinging from the sudden assault of light.

The room was small.

Really small.

Cramped, suffocating–like the walls had been pushed inward on purpose. The air felt stale, heavy, clinging to my skin as I forced myself to

take in every detail.

There were no windows.

Not even a slit or a barred opening. Just four grimy concrete walls, stained with damp patches and time.

In the far corner sat a bed–if you could even call it that.

A thin, foam mattress lay on a metal frame so rusted it looked like it would collapse under the weight of a pillow. The blanket was a scratchy

gray sheet, wrinkled and worn, like hundreds of others had used it before me… and none of them willingly.

To my right, a small faucet protruded from the wall, its metal discolored and dripping steadily into a narrow basin below it. Above it hung a

cracked mirror, spiderwebbed with fractures that distorted every reflection into something wrong, something broken.

A toilet sat beside it, bolted to the floor, as uninviting as everything else. No privacy. No separation. Just… there, in the open.

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