The Human Among Wolves Chapter 32

Aurora

I stayed frozen in the doorway, caught somewhere between shock and… something else I couldn’t quite name. My silence must’ve stretched too long, because the man leaned one shoulder against the frame, studying me with a sort of lazy amusement.

“Are you lost, beautiful?” He asked. His voice was low and easy, smooth but with something sharp tucked underneath.

My lips parted automatically, but no sound came out. Heat crept up my neck before I could stop it, and I hated the way he noticed, the faint quirk of his mouth giving him away. He raised one dark eyebrow, and that slow, knowing smirk curved his lips as if he were already far too entertained by my reaction.

“I—uh…” I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to work. “Who are you?”

His smirk widened just a fraction, like he’d been waiting for me to ask. “Funny,” he said, tilting his head just enough to let the light catch in his black eyes. “I was going to ask you the same thing. After all, you’re the one knocking on my brother’s door.”

Brother.

The word hit me with a quiet jolt. Suddenly, it all made sense—the resemblance in the jawline, the intensity in his stare. Just sharper. Older. More dangerous somehow.

“You’re… Zayn’s brother?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“Mhm,” he hummed, drawing it out like a secret he enjoyed keeping. “And you are…?”

“Aurora,” I managed, shifting my weight under the weight of his gaze.

His smirk softened into something else, something far too practiced. “Aurora,” he repeated slowly, tasting the name. “A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

I rolled my eyes so fast I thought they might stick that way. “Original,” I muttered, though the flush at my cheeks betrayed me.

His laugh was low, rich, and maddeningly unbothered. The kind of laugh that said he wasn’t in a hurry. The kind that said he had all the time in the world to toy with me.

“So…” His gaze swept over me, deliberate and unhurried, before settling back on my face. The smirk hadn’t moved an inch. “Are you planning to stand there all night looking pretty, or are you actually going to tell me why you’re knocking on my brother’s door?”

I felt my cheeks warm again and cursed myself for it. With another exaggerated roll of my eyes, I folded my arms, forcing my voice into something steadier than I felt. “He told me he would… help me with something. Where is he?”

He shifted his weight lazily against the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest in a mirror of mine. He studied me for a long moment, then finally answered.

“He’s out. With Father.”

That made me pause. My brow arched instinctively. Father? The word carried weight in his mouth, sharp and heavy. Not just some parent, but *the* parent. The King.

My stomach tightened, though I tried not to let it show. “With… your father,” I repeated carefully, buying time. “The King?”

He gave a small, amused tilt of his head, as if the obvious didn’t need to be spoken aloud. “Mhm.”

I pressed my lips together, then asked, “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

Zade shrugged one broad shoulder, the gesture maddeningly casual. “No idea. Knowing my father…” His tone dipped, low and edged with something unreadable. “Not for a little while.”

Something in the way he said it made me hesitate. Like there was more in that answer—more about their father—than he was willing to share.

Zade’s smirk deepened as his eyes flicked past me, toward the hallway. “Well, since my brother isn’t here to play host, it looks like the job falls on me.” He pushed the door wider with one hand, stepping aside in a mock show of chivalry. “Come in, beautiful. Unless you’d rather keep loitering in the corridor like a lost pup.”

My jaw tightened at the jab, but I stepped inside anyway. His presence filled the room the second the door shut behind me—the air heavier, charged. Zayn’s dorm looked the same as it had earlier, but with his brother standing in it, everything felt… different. More dangerous.

Zade didn’t sit. He leaned against the desk instead, crossing his arms, eyes fixed on me like he had all the time in the world. “So,” he said slowly, “why don’t we make this interesting? Tell me… what are you?”

The question hit harder than I expected. My pulse spiked.

I blinked, trying to school my face into something casual. “What am I?” I repeated, buying time.

“Yes.” His black eyes gleamed, sharp and knowing. “You don’t smell like any of the others around here. Not quite wolf, not quite…” His words trailed, a deliberate trap, daring me to fill the silence.

I forced a laugh, light but hollow, hoping it sounded convincing. “I’m a werewolf. Just like everyone else here.”

For a moment, Zade didn’t move. Didn’t blink. The weight of his stare pressed against me like he could peel the lie straight from my skin.

Then, slowly, that smirk tugged back at his mouth. “A werewolf,” he repeated, as if tasting the word. “How ordinary.”

I shifted, uneasy under the way he said it—like he didn’t believe me for a second but was content to let me dig my own grave.

Zade tilted his head, studying me as if I were a puzzle he was already halfway through solving. “Funny. You don’t look ordinary.” His tone dripped with implication, though whether it was flirtation or suspicion, I couldn’t tell. Maybe both.

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught. My mind screamed at me to be careful, to guard every syllable. This was Zayn’s brother—the King’s son.

"Um… uh…" The words tangled on my tongue before I could stop them. I cleared my throat, forcing something—anything—out. “What’s your name?”

The second it left my mouth, I cringed inwardly. Out of everything I could’ve asked, that’s what I went with?

His mouth curved, the kind of slow smirk that suggested he knew exactly how unsettled I was. “Zade,” he said simply, voice low and smooth. No explanation, no follow-up. Just his name, and the weight of it hanging between us.

I nodded quickly, like that somehow made me look less foolish, and moved farther into the room. My steps carried me toward Zayn’s bed, familiar ground in an unfamiliar moment. I sat carefully at the edge, fingers twisting in the hem of my shirt. The silence stretched, thick and awkward, while Zade leaned back against the desk as if he owned the place.

He was nothing like Zayn. Where Zayn’s presence felt sharp and unpredictable, Zade’s was steady, deliberate, and almost suffocating. Older. More put together. And undeniably intimidating. His gaze stayed fixed on me, unreadable, as though he had all the time in the world to watch me squirm.

I bit my lip, fumbling for something to break the tension. The first thought that popped into my head slipped out before I could stop it. “How old are you?”

One eyebrow lifted, like I’d just amused him. “Twenty-five,” he said, leaning forward slightly. His lips tugged into that same insufferable smirk. “And you, beautiful?”

I rolled my eyes, heat crawling up my neck despite myself. That word again—beautiful. Used and casual on his tongue, like he’d said it to a hundred girls before me. Maybe he had. Still, the way it slid from his mouth made my stomach flip in a way I didn’t appreciate.

“Eighteen,” I muttered finally, almost defensively.

Zade hummed low in his chest, like the answer confirmed something he already suspected. His black eyes flicked over me once more, sharp and assessing, and the corner of his mouth curved again—this time slower, almost deliberate.

“Eighteen,” he repeated softly.