The Human Among Wolves (Aurora) novel Chapter 369

Chapter 369

Aurora

The cold night air hit me the moment we stepped outside the building.

It wasn’t the kind of cold that pricked the skin or made you shiver.

It was heavier than that-the kind that slipped beneath your clothes, crawled under your ribs, and settled there like a weight

you couldn’t shake off.

The house behind us-the monstrous, elegant façade where they sold girls like objects-still echoed with muffled voices. I

could hear the faint hum of the auction continuing inside, each echoing clap and cheer a reminder that someone else was

being handed over to a stranger.

And I was one of them.

Purchased.

Already claimed.

But the man who bought me didn’t seem interested in the usual theatrics.

He didn’t blindfold me.

He didn’t tie my wrists.

He didn’t shove me or drag me by the arm like the handlers before him.

No-he simply took my wrist in one hand, firm and cold, and started walking as if he knew I wouldn’t dare try anything. As if

he understood that every attempt to run would end in something far worse.

And maybe he was right.

Maybe I wouldn’t run.

Maybe I couldn’t.

Not with the stamp on my wrist still searing faintly under the skin, a reminder of what happened the last time I disobeyed.

We crossed the grounds in silence. The gravel crunched under our steps, the sound unnervingly steady. He didn’t look at me.

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He didn’t glance back. He didn’t speak. But the grip on my wrist never slackened-not painful, not tight, but final. Decided.

The kind of touch that didn’t need force to control.

His car came into view beneath the dim courtyard lights, sleek and dark, the kind of vehicle that swallowed reflections whole. It suited him-silent, dangerous, utterly unreadable. Maybe it was a luxury sedan, maybe a black SUV-all I knew was that it looked expensive and out of place beside the crumbling stone of the building behind us.

He opened the passenger door with one sharp pull.

Then he looked at me for the first time since we left the stage.

Just looked.

Those pale, icy eyes swept over my face, trailing down to the dress they’d forced on me, the delicate fabric trembling faintly as the cold seeped through it. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Not because of fear, but because I couldn’t decipher what he was

seeing. What he was thinking.

He didn’t offer a hand.

Didn’t soften.

He simply placed his palm on my shoulder-a quiet, controlled push-and guided me into the passenger seat. The gesture was

gentle, but it held a message so clear it burned:

You’re coming with me.

You don’t have a choice.

The leather was cold when I sat, stiff beneath the thin fabric of the dress. The door shut with a heavy, deliberate thud, sealing

me inside the dim cabin that smelled faintly of leather and winter air.

My pulse hammered against my ribs.

He moved around the hood of the car without speaking, his silhouette cutting through the darkness. For a moment, I could

still hear the auction house behind us, muffled applause echoing as they continued selling lives one by one.

Then the driver’s door opened, and he slid inside.

No words.

No explanation.

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No emotion.

Just the click of his seatbelt, the low hum of the engine coming to life, and the sharp awareness settling in my bones that my

fate was no longer in my hands.

He began to drive without a word, the engine humming low beneath us as the house and its horrors faded into the distance. For a few minutes, the only sound in the car was the steady glide of tires over icy pavement and my own uneven breathing

that I tried desperately to quiet.

I kept my gaze fixed on the window.

Not because the view was comforting-it wasn’t-but because it gave me something to anchor myself to. The dark outlines of trees blurred past, occasional flickers of distant lights appearing for a heartbeat before dissolving back into black. I tried to memorize everything: the curve of the road, the slope of the hills, the faint glow of a distant town. If I survived this, maybe

these pieces would matter.

Maybe they would help me escape.

Maybe they were all I had.

I was cataloging another bend in the road when a sudden shift beside me made my breath catch. He didn’t speak. He didn’t slow. He simply reached one hand back without looking, his arm stretching behind the seat as if he’d done this exact motion a

thousand times.

For a beat, I thought he was reaching for a weapon.

My pulse jumped painfully.

Instead, something warm and heavy landed in my lap.

A thick blanket-soft, plush, still carrying the faint warmth of the car’s heater. I blinked down at it, confused, my fingers

curling instinctively around the fabric.

His voice came a moment later, low and unhurried, as though the act required no explanation.

“I don’t want you to get a cold.”

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