Claimed by the Alpha and the Vampire Prince: Masquerading as a Man

Reed POV:

This mate shit is seriously getting on my nerves.

I don’t know what sick, twisted joke the universe is playing on me — but I swear, if I ever meet Fate in a dark alley, it’s dead. I left the room for what? To get some clarity? To put some distance between me and the girl-who-was-definitely-not-supposed-to-be-my-mate? Yeah, good plan, right? Except I came back carrying a heating pad and some crap I googled at Walmart, like some soft-ass teenage boy trying to impress his girlfriend on her period.

I hate the way she’s curled up on that ratty couch like she didn’t just curse us out with more venom than a coven of pissed-off witches.

"Gone soft," my wolf snickered again.

I ignored him.

Because if I opened my mouth right now, I might just agree with the bastard — and that would make it real. And I’m not ready for real.

I walked in expecting resistance — screaming, snarling, maybe a pillow hurled at my head — but she didn’t even flinch. Just laid there, curled on that beat-up couch, hugging an cold water bottle like it owed her rent. Her eyes cracked open, and she looked like she hadn’t slept in years, like she’d fought a war just to exist in that moment. And what did my mouth say?

"How you feeling?"

Idiot.

Even my wolf cringed.

"How you feeling?" Really, Reed? That’s what we’re going with? I swear I’ve been in mortal combat with rogue packs and ancient vampires that made more sense than this moment.

She didn’t answer — probably because she was weighing whether to curse me into next week or just die of period cramps on the spot. So, like the socially awkward werewolf I apparently am now, I dropped the bag at her feet and mumbled, "Got you something that might help."

She eyed the bag like it might explode. Smart girl.

Then I started naming the items like some clueless boyfriend in a cheesy romcom: "Heating pad... chocolate... painkillers... uh, tea?"

It’s pathetic.I’m pathetic.

And yet I stood there like an idiot, holding that heating pad like it was some sacred gift from the gods — as if a hot water bottle was going to fix the mess in my head. frёewebηovel.cѳm

She took it from me without saying a damn thing, which — considering her mouth usually ran faster than a loose hellhound — was already enough to throw me off.

She had cut me off — took the heating pad like it was holy salvation, switched it on, lifted her shirt slightly, revealing the soft skin of her stomach, placed the pad there, and melted back into the couch like she’d been carrying the weight of the entire fucking moon and finally got to rest.

And that’s when everything inside me shut the hell up.

No more sarcasm.

No more angry inner monologue.

Even my wolf went dead quiet, just... watching her.

This girl. This tiny, moody, sharp-tongued human. She had every reason to hate me. I’d snarled at her, misgendered her, threatened her, fought in her room and trashed her stuff. And now? She was curled up like a wounded pup, finding peace in something I brought her.

What. The. Fuck.

I stood there like a complete idiot. I didn’t know whether to sit, to leave, or to say something. My wolf, that proud, violent piece of my soul, started whining in my head like a kicked dog.

"She’s strong," he said.

"She’s ours."

I didn’t respond.

Couldn’t.

Because suddenly, all the reasons I’d used to push her away — that she’s human, that she’s weak, that I never wanted a mate — sounded hollow. Like excuses I made because I was scared. Yeah. Scared. Of what she meant. Of what this bond was turning me into.

She didn’t even look at me when she got comfortable again. Just sighed like the war inside her had paused for five seconds. And damn it, I couldn’t look away.

She didn’t ask why I brought the stuff. Didn’t thank me.

And weirdly... I liked that.

Because if she had, I think it would’ve broken me right there.

I was still standing like a dumbass when she gave me this side-eye glance — not hostile, not amused — just calm. Like she saw right through me and didn’t feel the need to comment. That somehow made it worse.

My wolf wanted to reach out to her. Wanted to nuzzle her, hold her, curl around her like she was something precious. My wolf had imprinted — and I was the only idiot trying to pretend it didn’t happen.

And then?

My wolf — that big, brooding bastard who never even liked being inside me — whimpered.

I swear to the bleeding gods of the underworld: he actually whimpered like a kicked puppy."She’s in pain," he said."She needs comfort.""Why won’t you ask her name?"

Her real name, apparently. Because "Clause" was some made-up alias she gave the world to keep her secret. And of course, she wanted me — me — to ask her what it really was. As if I was some wide-eyed idiot in a teen drama. Like this was some kind of trust-fall love story and not a nightmare bond from the cruel hands of fate.

I refused.Obviously.

Do you know what it feels like to refuse your wolf something like that?It’s like trying to resist sunlight after a century in darkness.He clawed at my chest, howled in my head, snarled and barked and bit at me from the inside, threatening to shred my sanity if I didn’t just say the damn words: "What’s your real name?"

But I didn’t.Because I’m stubborn.

Yet somehow, I stood there, watching her. The way her lashes fluttered as the pain dulled. The way her breathing evened out. And that face — the one that moments ago was twisted in agony — now calm and soft and maddeningly human.

And my wolf? He practically rolled over, paws in the air, sighing like an idiot."See? She’s strong. She’s ours. She’s everything."

I wanted to punch him in the soul.I wanted to punch myself.

Because yeah — I was supposed to be this cold, calculated nightmare. This creature that kingdoms feared. But here I was, behaving like a background character in a slow-burn enemies-to-lovers fanfic written by a hormonal teenager.1

I didn’t even realize I was still standing there like a damn statue until she peeked at me out the corner of her eye. Not glaring. Not rolling her eyes. Just... observing. Like I was some strange exhibit in her personal museum of absurd moments. And you know what?

I couldn’t even blame her.

I was absurd.This whole situation was absurd.And all because the gods, or fate, or whatever sick joke runs the universe decided that she — a sarcastic, angry human with a bad attitude and a uterus that hated her — was my mate.

Fuck the stars.Fuck destiny.And fuck that tiny smile playing at the corner of her lips as the heating pad did its job — because it made my chest twist in a way I didn’t know was possible anymore.

And no, I still didn’t ask her name.But goddammit... I wanted to.

I didn’t get soft.But here I was.

Willing to fetch heating pads...

For a human.

For my mate.

Fuck. My. Life.

If my father ever found out about this... about her...

About the fact that not only was I interested in a human — a human — but that said human, who I originally thought was a guy, turned out to be a girl and apparently my mate?

Yeah. He’d have a heart attack on the spot.

And after he woke up from it? He’d march me into the pack council chambers, parade some random she-wolf in heat, and force me to pick her, choose her as my mate. Probably tattoo her name on my chest and declare my actual mate a hallucination. Denial and arranged mating — that’s how we handle scandal in my family.

But let’s not even get to the big picture yet.

Right now, I’m stuck in the smaller one. Which is her. In that oversized T-shirt, lying on the couch, hair a mess, skin pale, breathing all labored, a heating pad tucked under her shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her alive.

And yeah. She’s a girl. Like, boobs and curves and soft skin and a scent that could drive any full-grown alpha wolf to insanity.

Which... is exactly what’s happening to me.

Because holy fuck, her scent.

It’s richer. Heavier. Warmer. Every second I stay here, it clings to me like heat in the summer, like I’m drowning in it. It’s different than before. Sharper. And for the life of me, I didn’t know human women even had a heat cycle. But whatever is going on with her body — this period thing — it’s doing things to me. To my wolf.

It’s like a signal. A red flag screaming "MATE" and my damn wolf is circling in my head like a lunatic, panting, growling, pacing like it’s his time to go into heat too.

And the worst part?

My body’s reacting. Hard. And I don’t just mean metaphorically.

One whiff of that raw, natural, bleeding, vulnerable scent — that scent that should’ve repulsed me — and something inside me cracked. It wasn’t blood. It was her. It was the pain she was in, the strength she had to act like it didn’t destroy her. And yeah, the fact that she was still a firecracker, even while looking half-dead.

My wolf wanted her. Savage, relentless, possessive. The only thing that was holding him back was that she was bleeding. He care that she was hurting. But wanted her right there and now, to claim and mark her.

And that scared the shit out of me.

Because if I didn’t leave soon, something would snap.

And I don’t think she’d appreciate it if I lost control and decided now was the perfect time to mate her. Not when she was vulnerable, bleeding, and glaring at me with those tired, suspicious eyes.

It was her pain that kept me in check. That stopped me from lunging. From letting instinct take the wheel and wreck both our lives.

And I hated that I was even having this thought.

She was fragile. Human. Too soft for this world — let alone someone like me. A werewolf. A dominant one. With a bloodline so dark and cursed even other wolves kept their distance. I was the last person who should be tied to someone like her.

And yet... my wolf was purring like she was the answer to every ache we ever felt.

So yeah.

I needed to get the fuck out of this apartment.

Before I did something I’d regret.

Or worse... something I wouldn’t.