Chapter Three – Shadows That Follow
Aurora didn't stop running until the stone pathways gave way to gravel, the sharp crunch beneath her shoes echoing louder than the pounding of her heart. Her lungs burned, her chest heaving like she had been running for miles instead of minutes. She wanted to collapse, to curl up and cry, but her friend's grip on her arm kept her moving.
"Slow down," Aurora begged, stumbling, nearly twisting her ankle on the uneven path. "Please, just slow down!"
Finally, her friend pulled her behind a row of hedges that bordered the sprawling estate. They crouched low, hidden in the shadows, both of them breathless and shaking.
Aurora pressed her back against the cold stone wall, tears stinging her eyes. "What was that?" she whispered hoarsely. "Who—what was he?"
Her friend's expression was grim, jaw tight, eyes darting back toward the ballroom. "You shouldn't have come," she muttered. "I should never have asked you."
Aurora blinked at her through the blur of fear. "You asked me to come as a favor, remember? You said you needed me. I trusted you. And now—" Her voice cracked, her whole body trembling. "Now I don't even know if I was imagining what just happened."
Her friend grabbed her hand, squeezing hard. "You weren't imagining it."
The finality in her tone stole Aurora's breath.
Aurora swallowed hard. "Then tell me. Tell me what's going on. Why did everyone bow their heads when he walked in? Why did he—" Her voice faltered. The memory of his burning eyes, his possessive growl, the way his hand had wrapped around her wrist like steel, slammed back into her mind. "Why did he look at me like that?"
Her friend hesitated, her lips parting as though she wanted to speak, but no words came. Instead, she shook her head violently. "It's not my secret to tell. And if he—if they knew I brought you here…"
Aurora froze. "They?"
Her friend only shook her head again, her eyes shining with fear.
Aurora's stomach twisted into knots. She wanted to scream, to demand answers, but she bit down hard on her lip instead. The terror in her friend's eyes was enough to silence her.
Minutes stretched into an eternity as they crouched there, hidden. Aurora strained to hear any sound—footsteps, voices, the growl that had shaken her to her bones—but the night had gone eerily still. Even the music from the ballroom had dulled to a distant hum.
Finally, her friend rose, brushing the dirt from her dress. "We need to leave. Now. Before anyone notices."
Aurora nodded numbly, letting herself be pulled along again, her mind reeling.
---
By the time they reached Aurora's small apartment on the outskirts of town, the adrenaline had drained from her body, leaving her hollow and trembling. She sank onto her bed still wearing her torn dress, the fabric wrinkling beneath her, her hair tangled and damp with sweat.
Her friend hovered in the doorway, guilt shadowing her face. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I never should have taken you there."
Aurora lifted her head weakly. "Then why did you?"
Her friend's hands twisted together nervously. "Because I owed someone a favor. And because I didn't think—" She stopped herself, pressing her lips into a thin line. "It doesn't matter now. Just… try to forget tonight happened."
Aurora laughed bitterly, the sound breaking halfway through. "Forget? How could I forget that?" She pressed a hand to her chest, where her heart still raced as though he were standing in the room with her. "He looked at me like… like I wasn't even a person. Like I was already his."
Her friend's face paled, but she said nothing. She only turned toward the door. "Get some rest, Aurora. Please. I'll check on you tomorrow."
When the door clicked shut, the silence in the room pressed down on Aurora like a weight. She curled into herself, pulling her knees to her chest, shivering though the night was warm.
But sleep wouldn't come. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his. That fire, that hunger, that command.
Mine.
She pressed her hands over her ears, trying to block it out, but it wasn't sound. It was in her head, in her veins, crawling beneath her skin.
Hours passed like that—her staring into the dark, flinching at every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of the wind. Once, she thought she heard heavy footsteps outside her window. Another time, a low growl that seemed to ripple through her bones.
But when she forced herself to look, there was nothing. Only shadows.
And yet the feeling lingered—the sense of being marked, of being claimed by something she couldn't see and didn't understand.
Aurora pulled the blanket over her head, trembling. For the first time in her life, she wished she had never left home.
Because now, she wasn't sure if she'd ever be safe again.