Heir of The Werewolf Blood

Chapter 10 The Aubrey Family Mansion

“If you step outside now, Harry,” Arthur’s voice was stifled by heavy breathing, “you might never come back.”

Harry stopped at the warehouse threshold, but he didn't turn around.

“I haven’t been back in too long,” he replied softly.

He walked away, leaving the foul-smelling warehouse without looking at Arthur’s face once. He knew Arthur worried. He knew this decision was selfish and dangerous. But the truth about the Aubrey Family, about the Black Hand, and about Marcus called to him more strongly than any safety the hiding place could offer.

He couldn't stay silent anymore.

For a whole day, Harry disappeared into the city shadows. He moved without visible purpose, but his senses were fully engaged. He listened to the whispers of dock workers, fragments of conversation in cheap pubs, the complaints of old people who still remembered the city’s past. Information about the “old Aubrey family residence” was never spoken out loud. The name still carried fear.

As dusk fell, Harry finally arrived in a neighborhood different from the world he knew.

The streets here were wide and clean, lined with old trees. Large houses stood in rows, some appeared well-kept, while others were abandoned like husks of the past. The air was quiet, too quiet. The silence wasn't calming; it was oppressive.

Harry stood in front of an old Victorian-style mansion. The building was large and magnificent, but the paint was peeling, the iron gates were rusty, and the grass in the yard grew wild, reaching knee height. This was the Aubrey house.

The place where he was once a baby. The place where his life should have begun.

He swallowed. His wolf instincts wanted to sniff, wanted to recognize this place as his territory. But all that remained was the smell of dust, rotting wood, and old sadness.

Harry moved along the side of the house. He looked for signs of life, anyone who still remembered this family. Near the kitchen, he saw fresh footprints. A pair of low-heeled women’s shoes. They led to a small door that looked more maintained than the rest of the house.

Harry approached. The door was closed tightly, but unlocked.

He knocked. Gently. Three times.

Silence.

He knocked again. “Excuse me. I’m looking for Mrs. Gable.”

A few seconds passed before an old lock clicked. The door opened slightly. An old woman peered out from behind it, slender body, neat white hair, and an old-fashioned house dress. Her eyes were tired, full of wariness.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m Harry,” he answered carefully. “I… I came for Mr. Aubrey.”

The woman froze. Her hands trembled on the doorknob. Her gaze dropped to Harry's neck.

“That’s…” she whispered. “The family pendant.”

“It belongs to me,” Harry said firmly. “I found it in the ruins.”

The door opened wider.

“Come in,” the woman said quickly. “Now.”

As soon as Harry stepped inside, the door was shut and locked three times. The woman leaned against the door, holding her breath.

“I am Mrs. Gable,” she said. “The Aubrey family’s head housekeeper.”

“I was raised in the forest,” Harry said without pleasantries. “I want to know about that night. About my father.”

Mrs. Gable led him to a small study, far from the windows. Harry sat stiffly on the velvet chair. He took out his necklace.

“That’s a family heirloom,” Mrs. Gable whispered. “Mr. Aubrey said it would protect his descendants.”

“Why are the port people looking for me?” Harry asked. “They mentioned Victor Thorne.”

Mrs. Gable’s face paled. She looked around the room frantically.

“Mr. Aubrey… wasn’t as clean as you imagine,” she said softly. “He was involved in night business. But he wanted out. For your sake.”

“What business?” Harry urged.

“I don’t know the details,” she burst into tears. “But I heard him say… he would hand over ‘the key,’ but he wouldn't hand over his son.”

Harry tensed.

“The car wasn't an accident,” Mrs. Gable continued. “It was murder.”

Harry stood up. The world felt sharper.

“Is there a secret place?” he asked. “A place where my father used to speak honestly?”

Mrs. Gable nodded slowly. “The Silver Fox. A small bar in the Old District.”

Harry noted down the address. As he was about to leave, Mrs. Gable held his arm.

“Be careful,” she said. “If Thorne knows you’re alive…”

Harry looked at her, his eyes dark and steady.

“Let him know.”

He stepped out into the city night. Streetlights turned on one by one. The small piece of paper in his hand felt heavy.

“The Silver Fox,” he muttered.

In the distance, someone picked up the phone.

“He’s moving,” the voice said quietly.

“To the Old District.”

Harry walked away from the Aubrey house area without looking back again. The streets began to fill with yellow lamplight, and tree shadows stretched out like fingers trying to pull him back. But his steps were not slow. The bar’s name repeated in his head, ringing like a warning bell.

The Silver Fox.

He walked along the sidewalk toward the Old District. The neighborhood changed slowly. Buildings grew closer together, darker, and the smell of sea mixed with cheap alcohol began to fill the air. A place like this didn't like strangers. And Harry knew he wasn't just a stranger now,he was prey walking openly.

At a street corner, Harry stopped suddenly.

His wolf instinct trembled.

Someone was behind him. Not hiding. Not rushing. Just following.

Harry didn't turn around. His hands slowly clenched into fists, his body tensed, ready to move if necessary.

The footsteps approached, then stopped just a few meters behind him.

“You’re too careless for someone who wants to survive,” a man’s voice sounded calm, almost relaxed.

Harry finally turned around.

The figure stood under the streetlight, his face half-covered in shadow. His suit was neat. His shoes were clean. Not a thug.

“Who are you?” Harry asked coldly.

The man smiled thinly. “Someone sent to make sure you really exist.”

The man's gaze dropped, stopping at Harry's chest, right behind the fabric of his shirt.

“And now,” he continued softly, “I want to know…”

He stepped one step closer.

“Are you going to hand over the

necklace willingly… or should we make the Old District remember the Aubrey name again?”