The Human Among Wolves (Aurora) novel Chapter 47

Chapter 47

Zayn

ས 92%ཟླ

This one held a human girl, barely older than me. Her cheeks were hollow from hanger, her eyes sunken yet still strikingly blue. She stared openly at us when the door opened, no fear in her gaze–only defiance. But the moment she caught sight of my father, her shoulders hunched, her jaw tightening as if she were holding back words she wasn’t allowed to say.

“Not all break so easily,” my father said, watching her with mild disapproval. “Some take longer. But in the end, they all learn.”

The girl’s eyes burned into mine, and for a fleeting second, I felt like she was silently begging me to do something. Anything. My chest tightened so hard I

could barely breathe.

I wanted to speak, to protest, to tell him this was wrong–but my tongue felt heavy, trapped under the weight of his authority.

He shut the door, and we kept walking.

Each door he opened revealed the same story told in different faces: a wolf girl with chains around her wrists, sitting rigidly on the bed; a young witch with hair so black it shimmered blue, staring at the wall as though she’d already left her body; another vampire with bruises faintly marring her throat, carefully

hidden by a lace collar.

Room after room. Girl after girl. Fear. Silence. Desperation.

And all the while, my father’s voice filled the hallway like a lecture: calm, steady and practiced. Explaining prices, buyers, and the demand for different species. Speaking of these girls as though they were nothing but commodities. Assets. Numbers.

By the time we reached the end of the hallway, I felt sick. My head buzzed, and my hands shook at my sides. I could barely hear his words anymore over the

roar of blood in my ears.

I didn’t want to see any more.

But my father stopped at one last door, his hand resting on the knob. He glanced at me, his gaze sharp and heavy.

“This,” he said, “is what you will inherit. One day, Zayn, this house will be yours. And you will learn–just as I did–that power is not only taken by force.

Sometimes, it is bought.”

He pushed the door open.

The door creaked open, and I braced myself for more of the same–a bed, a chair, another broken body curled up inside. But this room was different.

The bed was the same size, the walls just as bare, but the girl sitting there wasnt hunched over or shrinking into herself. She sat upright, legs crossed, her back straight against the wall. Her dark hair fell loose over her shoulders, wild and unbrushed, and her eyes–deep green, sharp as glass–locked on us the

moment the door opened.

Unlike the others, she didn’t look away.

For a heartbeat, the air between us was electric. Her gaze didn’t waver, didn’t flicker to the floor like the others had been trained to do. She was watching

1. me. Not my father. Me.

“This one,” my father said, stepping inside as though her defiance was of no consequence, “was difficult to tame. Stubborn. Fought back. But even the

stubborn ones can be reshaped, given enough time.”

His words slid over me like poison. I couldn’t look away from her eyes–so alive, so fierce, even here, even after everything she must have endured. She was

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Chapter 47

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young, maybe my age, maybe a little older. Her wrists bore faint red marks, like chains had bitten into her skin not long ago..

My chest tightened painfully. “What is she?” I asked before I could stop myself.

My father’s voice was steady, unconcerned. “Witch. Rare bloodline. Buyers will pay well for her.”

The girl’s lips parted slightly, like she might speak–but she didn’t. She just kept er gaze locked on me, and in her silence, I felt the weight of everything she wasn’t allowed to say. A plea. A warning. A curse. I couldn’t tell which.

“Why are you showing me this?” I asked, my voice cracking. It came out harsher than I meant, but I couldn’t help it. “Why me? Why now?”

My father finally turned toward me, his expression unreadable, though his eyes burned with that familiar steel. “Because you need to understand what your

place will be. You think your future is yours to decide–Charlotte, rebellion, your little acts of defiance. But you are wrong. You are my son. And when I am gone, you will continue what I built.”

My pulse thundered in my ears. “And if I don’t?”

He didn’t hesitate. His voice dropped, low and sharp as a blade. “You will.”

The girl’s eyes flicked between us, her breathing quickening, though she still didn’t move, didn’t speak. My father turned his back on her like she was

nothing, stepping out into the hallway again. I lingered, frozen in the doorway, my hands trembling.

I wanted to say something–to her, to him, to anyone. But nothing came out.

And then the door shut, sealing her away again.

For a few seconds, I just stood there, staring at the wood grain like maybe I could still see through it, back to those sharp green eyes that refused to bow. My hands were shaking again, my chest tight, but this time I couldn’t stay silent

The words tumbled out before I could stop them.

“What about their families?” My voice cracked, sharper than I intended. I turned to my father, who was already walking down the hall, his pace unhurried, steady as ever. “They must have someone–parents, siblings, friends. People who care. They can’t all just disappear without anyone noticing.”

He didn’t slow. Didn’t even flinch.

“People disappear every day, Zayn,” he said, his tone calm, almost bored. “In wars In villages raided by rogues. In border skirmishes. The world is loud with chaos–too loud for anyone to notice a few missing girls.”

I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. “But they’re not just girl. They’re-” I cut myself off, my throat burning. They were people. Alive. Breathing. Terrified. And he was talking about them like livestock.

Finally, he stopped and turned to face me. His eyes were cold, heavy with that unshakable authority that always made my stomach twist.

“You think too small,” he said. “You look at them and see children. Daughters. Bu in truth, they are commodities. Pieces in a system far larger than you can comprehend. Their families are irrelevant. Their worth lies here, in what we have made of them. And one day, you will understand that.”

I felt sick. My voice dropped, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t want to unders and it.”

A muscle in his jaw tightened, but he only stared at me, unblinking, as if my words were the tantrum of a child he was waiting to outgrow. Then, without another word, he turned and started walking downstairs.

And like always, I followed.