The Human Among Wolves (Aurora) novel Chapter 39

Chapter 39

But beneath the surface, I felt it: the weight pressing down the silence too heavy. It wasn’t the silence of peace–it was the silence of something being hidden.

I hadn’t seen anyone yet. Not a servant, not a resid

upper floor stretched wide, a balcony overlooking the

across my skin. What was behind them?

it echo of footsteps somewhere above us, muffled and distant. The

with more doors. I caught myself staring at them, unease prickling

My father noticed, of course. He always did. But he said nothing.

“Your Majesty.” A woman’s voice glided down the stairs like silk, smooth and warm but sharp at the edges.

I turned to see her descending gracefully–a tall woman in crimson, her black hair twisted into a perfect knot at the nape of her neck. The sway of her dress and the poise in her movements spoke of someone used to being obeyed. She smiled, and though it was polite,

something in it made my throat tighten.

Behind her came a man–broad, solid, his presence more force than charm. He didn’t bother with theatrics, just a curt nod in greeting, his

sharp eyes already assessing me.

“Antoinette. Chris.” My father inclined his head. “The house looks well.”

“Always,” Antoinette purred. Her gaze lingered on me, deliberate, as though she were measuring, weighing, deciding. “And this must be

Prince Zayn.”

Her words sent a chill down my spine. I shifted under her gaze, glancing again toward the closed doors upstairs. I didn’t know what was behind them, but something told me I wasn’t ready to find out.

I followed my father into the foyer, the click of his shoes against polished wood sounding far too loud in the silence. Antoinette and Chris flanked us like hosts at some genteel gathering, but there was nothing welcoming in the way they watched me.

“Come,” my father said, his tone clipped. “You should see.”

We moved down one of the hallways. The air felt warmer here, heavy with that same lavender scent, almost The walls were lined with tasteful art–portraits of serene women and landscapes that looked almost too idyllic

and controlled.

sweetness.

was curated

Antoinette drifted closer, her perfume mingling with the lavender, making my head swim. “The house runs smoothly, Your Majesty,” she said, though her gaze stayed on me. “Our residents are… well looked after.”

“Residents?” I asked, frowning. The word snagged at me.

She smiled faintly, her lips painted the same deep red as her dress. “Yes. Each one is tended to with great care. Fed. Dressed. Prepared,” She let the word linger like a secret, her eyes bright in a way that made my chest tighten. “They must be ready when the time comes.”

1/2

0:22 Thu, Jan 29

Chapter 39

Ready for what? The question burned on my tongue, but I hesitated, glancing at my father. His face betrayed nothing.

Chris spoke next, his voice low and flat. “Upstairs is where they stay. Each with her own room. Kept separate. It makes them easier to…

manage.”

The way he said it sent a shiver through me. Man

We reached the base of the staircase, the carpet runner climbing into shadow. My father stopped there, turning to me at last. His gaze

held mine, sharp and unyielding.

“There are things you don’t know about,” my father said at last, his voice filling the hall the way it always did–calm, steady, impossible to ignore. “And I think it’s time you stopped living in the dark. You are part of this family, Zayn, whether you like it or not. That means

you bear its burdens as much as its name.”

His eyes fixed on me, hard and unyielding. “But before we go further, I need you to understand something very clearly. The nonsense you stirred up with Charlotte ends now. She is your mate. That is final. And you will act accordingly.”

The words stung like a slap. Heat burned in my chest, anger rolling in before I could hold it down. How was it that he always had so much say over my life–my future, my choices? And now this, tossed out like some rule I never agreed to.

I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. “She’s not-” I bit back the rest, swallowing hard. My voice wouldn’t matter here. Not

against him. Not now.

He turned, his cloak sweeping faintly as he started up the stairs without hesitation, as if the matter were already settled. His hand lifted in a simple gesture, summoning me forward.

“Now,” he said, his tone dropping lower, colder. “We will go upstairs, and you will meet our merchandise.”

The word jarred me, sharp and ugly, rattling through my skull. I froze on the step. “Merchandise?” I repeated, my voice tight with

confusion–and fury.

He didn’t say anything else and just kept walking upstairs. And like always, I followed him.

Comments

7

Write Comments