Claimed by My Bully Alpha Chapter 370

Aurora’s P.O.V

“Here’s to surviving school and still having most of our limbs!” Caleb yelled, raising his glass.

“Do not have to pretend to care about math anymore!” Jade added.

“To kiss whoever the hell we want now!” Mia winked at me, and I nearly choked on my drink.

“Stop!” I laughed, fanning my face, while I watched Shane wince from afar. “You’re already tipsy, Mia!”

She held up two fingers and said, “I’m exactly two shots away from legally forgetting my ex’s name.”

I don’t know if Shane heard it, but he shook his head before turning and leaving in a hurry. I didn’t know where he went exactly, but at that moment, I didn’t care. In fact, after the conversation I had with him the last time, I could say that I was happy that Mia was putting him in his place.

We danced until our legs were sore, sweat slicking our foreheads, our laughter echoing through the hall like something sacred. For once, there were no threats looming. No danger. No drama. Just us. Just friends who had survived so much together and made it to the other side of something hard and unforgiving.

I found myself spinning with Mia at one point, our hands locked, both of us laughing so hard we couldn’t breathe. Then I was passed off to Caleb, who sang—badly—into my ear as we slow-danced to a remix of some old love song. Even Caroline and Jade were belting lyrics from the top of a table, bottles raised like microphones, their voices off-key but full of life.

The night blurred in the best way. Not messy or sad, but like a dream you didn’t want to wake from but as the night dragged on, the joy began to peel at the edges. People started to slur their words, collapse into couches, some curled up in corners with half-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks. I found myself sitting on the armrest of a chair, absently swirling the remnants of my drink, eyes scanning the room without really seeing anyone. The buzz in my head was soft now, dulled by exhaustion and the quiet hum of dread that I had buried beneath the music and noise. I should’ve known it wouldn’t last.

I stood up, stretching out the ache in my limbs, intending to head to the bathroom, maybe splash cold water on my face. The hallway beyond the living room was dimly lit, shadows pooling in the corners like spilled ink. My footsteps were quiet, careful, as if some part of me already knew what was coming.

And then I saw it.

At first, I thought I was just tired. Just tipsy enough to imagine movement where there was none. A trick of the eyes, I told myself. A shadow cast by the swaying chandelier, maybe. But my body froze. My skin went cold despite the alcohol, and my breath hitched mid-step.

Because it moved again.

Not just a flicker this time. A shape. A figure. Tall, thin—unnaturally thin. I blinked, leaned closer, half-praying it was a party guest stumbling to the bathroom.

But then it turned.

Just for a second, I saw it. The hollow sockets where eyes should’ve been. The taut, ashen skin pulled tight over bone. That same skeletal form I had seen the night of the rogue attack. The memory came crashing down on me like ice water—the panic, the screaming…and…Violet. I remember standing frozen just like this, back then too, heart hammering so loud I could barely hear anything around me.

“No,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “No, no, no… you’re not real. You can’t be.”

But it was. I know what I saw.

The shadow moved again, gliding across the hallway soundlessly, its limbs long and sharp like broken branches. And in that moment, all the air in my lungs vanished. I wanted to scream, to call for someone—anyone—but everyone was too far gone. Passed out drunk. Oblivious. I was alone. Trapped with that thing.

I stumbled backward, heart jack-hammering, eyes fixed on the hallway as though breaking eye contact might somehow make it lunge.

“Please,” I whispered under my breath, clutching the edge of the doorway like it could save me.

“Don’t come closer…”

But the figure paused. Just for a heartbeat. And then—it vanished into the darkness, like it had never been there.

I stood there, shaking, my chest rising and falling so fast I thought I might collapse. It took everything in me to move, to drag myself back into the living room where the others were still unconscious, snoring or mumbling in their sleep. I didn’t know what I had just seen, or why it had come back. But one thing was clear: this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

And this time, I wasn’t sure we’d all make it out alive.