Chapter 32 Aurora
Aurora
You’d think two days would be enough time to adjust.
Spoiler: It’s not.
Eve is verdalora. Thane’s a fallen angel. Louie’s a shapeshifting warrior hellhound. Iain is a wrakh whose powers include chugging whiskey and being an asshole.
And that guy at the bar with the glowing tattoos? The one who claimed flannel-shirt guy in front of the whole bar?
Yeah. Definitely not human.
Ezra is a 4-and-a-half billion-year-old shadow monster.
And me? Apparently, I’m Queen of the fucking Underborne.
And then there’s Lorewood.
This town pulls things in—humans, monsters, power.
And lately, I’m starting to think I’m at the center of it.
No wonder the dumb lump of grey matter between my ears keeps buffering.
I spend the next few days scribbling into a notebook like a woman possessed. No structure, no plan, just questions and anarchy.
The internet was absolutely no help.
Between the endless nymph porn and the preachy angel blogs, I nearly yeet my phone into the sun.
Then I remember Ezra’s hidden library. There have to be books in there that can help.
When I pull aside the clothes that reveal the secret door in his closet, my shoulders slump with relief. Ezra left me the code to get in and a note in elegant handwriting that says:
Little lupine, if you wish to continue your research, here’s the code. All I ask is that nothing leaves the library. And do try not to get too distracted remembering how you fucked yourself on my fingers and begged me so sweetly to let you come.
Behave,
—E
Damn it, Ezra.
How can a single arrogant note turn me into such a thirsty mess? Eventually, I drag myself out of those filthy thoughts and punch in the code harder than I need to. I fold the slip of paper and place it in the back pocket of my jeans.
Am I going to read this note a hundred times while repeatedly getting myself off later?
Abso-fucking-lutely I am.
The minute I step through the secret entrance, I’m overwhelmed.
Was it this big the last time I was here?
There are so many books, I don’t know where to start. Thankfully, Ezra devised a simple system of cataloguing his library, which makes finding books on angels and verdalora surprisingly easy.
I spend hours going over books that look promising and make notes when I find something interesting or new.
I can’t arm myself with magic or weapons yet, but knowledge? That I can manage.
My notes are jagged scribbles, but writing them out gives me a fragile sense of control.
On Sunday evening, I pull myself out of the library, engage the lock, and then trudge downstairs to get something to eat.
While I pick at my wilted salad, Louie comes bounding into the kitchen, full of the energy I wish I had.
“You need to get your head out of them books and do something fun. You’re not doing anyone any good pushing yourself like this. Oh! Let’s watch a movie! I love movies. Well, most of them. The sad ones are shit.
“I get that art reflects human suffering, blah blah blah. That’s what documentaries are for.
Or books. Or tragic indie albums. Movies should come with fight scenes and at least one hot person doing something deeply stupid with conviction.
Can we watch one tonight? Maybe the one with Racacouille and the butt-plug fight and that daughter I want to fight and marry. ”
When I finally look up at the hound, the skin beneath my eyes pulls tight, feeling raw and sore from too much reading and not enough sleep.
And yeah, okay, maybe a little crying.
“You’re right. I need a break. I’m just … tired of feeling scared and powerless, I guess.”
“You won’t feel that way for much longer, Aurora.” Louie flops dramatically onto a kitchen chair. “So … hot dog fingers or what?”
Of course, Ezra doesn’t have a TV. So, thirty minutes later, I have my laptop sitting on the coffee table in the living room playing Everything Everywhere All at Once, one of my favorite movies.
Louie picked it for the kung fu with dildos.
I’m watching it for the bagel and the multiversal mom closure. Plus, ya know, googly eyes.
Louie and I curl up on the couch under a mountain of blankets, snacking on popcorn and sipping on seltzer water. The hound has about a thousand questions while we watch the film, which I happily entertain.
When the movie ends, I’m surprised by how much better I feel. Even that stupid thread doesn’t seem as angry as it did a few hours ago.
Louie yawns, so I send her up to bed, wrapping her in a big hug before she goes upstairs.
As I fold our blankets, the detection chime on the security system goes off, alerting me that someone—or something—is at the front door.
Louie charges downstairs, fire poker raised high, the hellhound under her mortal skin snarling through. Even in her tiny human form, she looks ready to commit murder.
I sneak past the front door toward the control panel and pull up the security camera.
Who the fuck is that? My heart lurches as I squint at the screen, trying to process the blood-soaked man on Ezra’s doorstep. His head rests in one hand, while the other is bound to his body in a makeshift sling.
Is that blood soaking through his clothes?
“Looks like the miserable old twat survived,” Louie says around a yawn. She leans her half-assed weapon against the steps and unceremoniously goes back to bed.
With my heart in my throat, I run to the front door and rip it open.
Ezra turns his head when he hears the security door beep, and my breath hitches.
He has a violently swollen eye and a split lip.
His perfect nose appears broken, his jaw looks slightly askew, and blood drips from the arm bound to his waist.
“Ezra!” I cry, rushing toward him.
As soon as I touch him, something shifts. A shimmer ripples through the dark, the way heat warps blacktop in the summer.
His shadows stir, reaching for me in slow, sinuous curls, wrapping around my wrists to prove I’m not a dream.
One of them trembles violently before disappearing into the dark.
The others don’t follow. They stay. Clutching at me. Afraid I’ll slip through their grasp.
Ezra wraps his uninjured arm around me, hissing in pain.
“Shit, I’m so sorry! What happened? Do you need to go to the hospital?”
Panic creeps up my spine, dragging dread behind it.
He’s so messed up. I don’t even know how he made it home.
“Little lupine,” he whispers, voice rough and strained as he gently strokes my cheek with a trembling, blood-stained thumb.
I lean into his touch, trying not to shake. But as I study his face, a fresh patch of blood, sticky and caked along his chin, catches my eye.
Did he feed recently?
“I made it back to you, as promised.” He leans in, then grazes his lips softly against mine. Being this close to him again makes me shiver. Even battered and bruised, he’s fucking gorgeous. Maybe even more so.
“I’m so glad you’re home. What do you need?”
“All is well, Aurora,” he wheezes. “A minor scuffle with my sister. She was … fast … but she allowed her anger to eclipse her strategy. Don’t worry, I left her and the vampire alive and well.”
I stare at him blankly. Right, because keeping them alive was definitely my top concern.
Ezra hangs his head between his knees, struggling to catch his breath.
Still hunched, he mutters, “Can you help me inside? I need to clean up and check my wounds. I was lucky enough to stumble across a human I could feed on just before I arrived. That should help me heal faster.”
“O-okay,” I whisper, my hands trembling as I ease his uninjured arm around my shoulder.
When we walk through the front door, I call Louie for help. She stomps down the stairs, mumbling all the way. But when she sees Ezra, her eyes go wide.
“Hello, little hell-pup,” Ezra rasps.
Louie growls in his direction, then roughly supports his injured side, making Ezra suck in a sharp breath.
It takes both of us to get him upstairs, and even then, he stumbles—dangerously close to collapsing.
“You look like shit, old man,” Louie says, sounding a little worried. “I thought nothing could touch you.”
“Why, Louie, it almost sounds like you care.”
Ezra chuckles as we carefully sit him on the tiled bathroom floor.
“Well, I care about Aurora, and she cares about you, so …” Louie trails off, growling in frustration. “Ugh, whatever.”
She stomps back to her room, punctuating her irritation by slamming her door shut.
“I quite like the human version of her.”
Ezra stares up at me with those beautiful grey eyes and smiles. I lean down and gently run my fingers along his face, studying every cut and bruise.
I watch in disbelief as the swelling around his injured eyes visibly recedes, the angry bruises along his cheek and jawline already fading to sickly yellow-green.
Now that I know he’s healing, a fierce rage replaces the concern that consumed me only a minute ago.
“Where the hell have you been? You have at least one functional thumb. Couldn’t you shoot me a fucking text? I would’ve picked you up! Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”
My voice shakes as tears burn down my cheeks, caught somewhere between fury and relief.
The shadows writhe, thick tendrils tightening around my forearms, my waist, my thighs, desperately trying to anchor me to him.
They don’t care about his words.
They don’t even care about his healing.
They only care that he’s here … with me.
One of them slithers up his neck, caressing his jaw before curling toward me. Urging me forward. Begging me to take what’s already mine.
Ezra pulls me into his lap with his uninjured arm, burying his face in my neck, breathing me in like he’s memorizing the scent of home.
“Please don’t cry, Aurora,” he whispers. “I’ll tell you everything about my time away. But first, I need to clean up.”
The stress of the last few days crashes over me, and the angry tears shift to tears of relief as I sob against his chest. He holds me tight and strokes my hair, whispering apologies and begging for forgiveness.
Only Ezra could turn me into a blubbering puddle of stupid emotions.