I Rejected My Obsessive Werebeast novel Chapter 66

Aurora’s POV

Saturday night, a little past nine.

Silas parked the car two streets away from the arena’s side entrance. We walked the rest of the way in dark clothes, the kind that blended into shadows.

I had the keycard clenched in my pocket, my fingers wrapped around it so tight the edges dug into my palm. After a block, Silas reached over and pulled my hand out of my pocket. He took the card from me and slipped it into his own.

“I’ll stand in front when we open the door,” he said.

I glanced at him. Didn’t argue. Just fell in behind him, half a step to his left, and kept walking.

The iron door was where we’d left it. He swiped the card. The lock clicked. We slipped through.

The corridor was as dark as always.

We went down the stairs to the underground level, but instead of heading straight for the main iron door, Silas turned left into a narrower passage.

“The security guy gave me this route,” he said, his voice low. “The cleaning crew pushes the old tools up through a side door at the end. There’s a ramp outside it that leads to the surface loading dock. If we crouch there, we can see what’s being brought up.”

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The passage ended at a narrow iron door. A thin line of light leaked through the gap at the bottom. The floor in front of it was scuffed with drag marks the same path worn smooth by repeated use.

We crouched in the dark corner beside the door. Silas positioned himself on the outside, blocking me from view.

I pressed my ear to the wall and listened. From somewhere below came the faint clatter of metal and the sound of wheels bumping over uneven ground.

We waited in silence. Ten minutes passed, maybe fifteen, before the sounds grew louder–footsteps approaching, followed by the rattle of a

cart.

I held my breath.

Silas leaned close to my ear. “I’ll stick halfway out to look. You stay behind and get your phone ready.”

I didn’t speak. Just reached up and tapped his arm once. Got it.

The iron door creaked open from the inside.

A werebeast in grey work clothes pushed a cart out onto the ramp. It was loaded with used gauze, empty bottles, and a few pieces of metal equipment. He stopped at the top of the incline and started unloading, setting things down one by one on the ground beside the ramp.

I raised my phone and angled it through the gap in the door.

The first shot – the cart, the gauze, the bottles.

The second – closer, zoomed in on a tray on the side of the cart. A handful of small labeled vials scattered across it.

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I was lining up the third shot when I heard it.

Fast footsteps from inside the iron door. Then a man in a black coat stepped out, his face half–hidden in shadow.

“Faster,” he said. Short. Sharp.

The werebeast flinched and nodded, his hands moving quicker over the

cart.

Then the flashlight beam cut through the doorway.

It swept across the passage without warning, the white light slashing through the dark. It stopped, right on the spot where we’d been crouching a second ago.

Silas grabbed my wrist and pulled me sideways, pressing us both into a recess in the wall.

But the man in the black coat was already walking toward us. The flashlight beam swung in our direction.

It was almost on us when a voice came from the other end of the passage.

“Who’s there?” His voice was low and rough.

There was a pause before he called again, louder this time. “Hey, someone needs to check the back. There’s something here.”

The man in the black coat stopped. The flashlight beam wavered, uncertain. Then it pulled back.

He turned and walked back through the iron door. The door slammed shut. The bolt slid into place.

Silas kept hold of my wrist for another ten seconds, listening carefully.

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