The Human Among Wolves Chapter 144

Aurora

After what felt like hours of sitting in quiet beside Zayn, I finally pulled out my phone. My fingers hovered over the screen for a moment, heart racing. I had to let my roommates know—Lira, Riven, Mira—they needed to understand why I’d left the dance so suddenly.

Hey… left the dance early. Going to crash at Zayn’s tonight. Don’t worry.

I reread the message once, twice, and then hit send. It felt strange to admit I was staying with him, even though there was no romance in the air at that moment—just safety. A small part of me wondered if they’d question it, but I didn’t have the energy to explain. Not now.

Zayn leaned back against the pillows, watching me with those careful, unreadable eyes. “Done?” he asked softly.

I nodded. “Yeah… they’ll understand.”

He gave me a faint smile. “Good.” Then, almost casually, he reached for the hoodie he’d handed me when we first got back. “Here,” he said, tossing it gently toward me. I caught it instinctively and hugged it close. It smelled like him, faintly of wood smoke and something warmer, something I couldn’t name but couldn’t stop inhaling.

We changed quietly, the routine mundane enough to feel grounding. I tugged the hoodie over my head, slipping into the familiar warmth, and Zayn shrugged into something comfortable. We didn’t speak as we settled into his bed, side by side, the blanket pulled up around both of us. For the first time that night, I felt myself relax, curling into the soft weight of the fabric and the quiet hum of the dorm around us.

Sleep came eventually, slow and heavy, but it didn’t erase the gnawing tension in my chest. My wolf was restless beneath the surface, sensing something I couldn’t yet name. Even in dreams, there was a pull—an urgency. A connection.

*** * ***

Morning light spilled through the blinds, soft and gentle, coaxing me awake. I turned to see Zayn still half-asleep beside me, hair messy, lips slightly parted. For a moment, I just watched him, memorizing the quiet rhythm of his breathing. Then reality hit me again—the thing I’d been postponing.

I reached out slowly, my fingers brushing along the side of his face, tracing the warmth there. His skin was soft beneath my touch, the kind of softness that made my chest pull tight for no reason I could explain.

“Zayn,” I whispered, barely louder than a breath. “Wake up.”

For a moment, nothing happened. He just lay there, still caught somewhere between sleep and consciousness, lashes resting against his cheeks, brow relaxed in a way I rarely saw when he was awake. I kept my hand there, steady, letting my thumb glide gently across his cheekbone.

Then he stirred. His eyebrows pulled together just a little before his eyes finally blinked open, slow and unfocused at first, like he was trying to figure out where he was—or maybe who was touching him.

His gaze drifted upward until it found mine, and something softened in his expression, something quiet and warm that made my stomach dip.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice rough from sleep, low in a way that sent a shiver down the back of my neck. He didn’t move right away. He just lay there, looking up at me like he wasn’t quite ready to let go of the last remnants of whatever dream he’d been pulled from.

I let my hand linger for another second before pulling it back slowly, careful not to break the calm settling between us. It felt delicate somehow, like the kind of moment that would collapse if either of us moved too quickly.

He blinked again, taking a quiet breath as he shifted onto his side, the blankets rustling around him. His hair was a mess, sticking up in places, falling into his face in others, and there was something unfairly endearing about how unguarded he looked like this—half-awake, half-mine in the dim morning light.

“Did you sleep well?” he murmured, eyes still half-lidded.

I nodded, watching the way he was still trying to wake up, still trying to fully come back to me.

His hand reached up lazily, fingers brushing my wrist in a slow, almost absent-minded gesture, as if he wasn’t even aware he was doing it—just reaching for me on instinct.

The morning felt quiet and soft around us, wrapped in a stillness that made time feel slower. And for a moment, just one small moment, nothing outside that room mattered.

“I need to tell you something,” I said quietly after a moment.

The shift in him was instant. His eyes cleared, fully awake now, every trace of sleepiness gone as if someone had flipped a switch inside him. His attention locked onto me like nothing else in the world mattered.

“You can tell me anything,” he said—calm, firm, certain.

Before I could even inhale enough courage, his hand slid beneath the blanket, under my waist, warm and sure. In one slow, unhurried pull, he lifted me and guided me onto him. My knees straddled his hips, my palms pressing softly against his chest for balance. The movement wasn’t rushed or teasing—it was grounding, steady, a way of making sure I didn’t pull away.

I exhaled shakily. He held me there, his hands resting lightly at my hips, not pushing, just holding.

I tried to gather my thoughts as his heat seeped through the thin layers of fabric, as his eyes searched mine with a focus that made it difficult to remember how to speak.

“Um…” I swallowed, trying again. “About yesterday.”

His grip stilled. “Okay,” he murmured, voice low. “Go on.”

“When I was walking toward the bathroom…” I paused, looking down at his chest for courage before lifting my gaze again. “I heard something. Voices. From one of the classrooms.”

His hands tightened just barely—not possessive, just alert.

“What voices?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know who they were,” I said. “I didn’t see anyone. I… I didn’t stay long enough.”

Zayn nodded once, encouraging me to continue.

I took a breath. “They mentioned my mom.”

His expression changed so subtly I might’ve missed it if I weren’t this close. A flicker of something—concern, tension, maybe both.

“My real mom,” I clarified, voice dropping even lower. “They said her name. Cecilia.”

Zayn’s jaw worked once, a faint tic I felt beneath my hands resting on him.

“And…?” he asked carefully.

“And that she’s been involved with something.” My throat tightened around the words. “Something I don’t understand. Something that sounded… bad.”

His thumb rubbed a slow, steady line along my hip, grounding me, giving me something to hold onto that wasn’t fear or confusion.

I kept going, even though my voice felt small. “I don’t know what they meant. I don’t know who said it. I just—” I shook my head a little. “I can’t stop thinking about it. So I decided I need to go and try to find her," I said, the words slipping out softer than I expected. "She’s somewhere in the northern woods. I… I’ve postponed it long enough."

For a moment, silence settled between us—not heavy, just… still. Like even the air paused. I kept my eyes on him, waiting for the fight I was sure was coming. Zayn didn’t let people he cared about walk into anything dangerous. Ever. I half-expected him to tell me I was being reckless, or that we didn’t have enough information, or that there were better ways to handle this.

But he didn’t say any of that.

He just watched me, his expression unreadable at first, then something calmer moving through it. Acceptance. Understanding. Maybe even something protective, but not the kind that tries to cage you—the kind that stands beside you.

Then he nodded. Slow. Deliberate.

It caught me completely off guard.

I blinked at him, unsure if I heard it right when he finally spoke.

"Alright, baby," he murmured, reaching up to brush his thumb across my knee like he was grounding both of us. "I’m with you."

My chest tightened.

"We’ll go together."