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

Clare POV:

Blaze turned to Reed, his voice dripping with venom.

"And if you’re not, then what the fuck are you doing here?"

Aaah, not again.

Here we go. This was about to escalate into another full-blown brawl.

Why can’t they fight in their own damn places instead of turning my living room into their personal WWE ring?

And speaking about being whipped by me — yeah, that’s utterly delusional.

I don’t know why they were both so fond of me suddenly, but if you ask me, their interest was fueled by jealousy.

You know that childish crap — you don’t care about a toy, but the moment your sister wants it, it suddenly becomes your most precious possession just because you can’t stand her having it?

Yeah. That.

"Last time I heard," Blaze continued, tone mocking and cruel, "the Alpha King heir doesn’t defile himself with silly, weak humans. So why the fuck are you so interested in my pet?"

My pet?

Oh, the audacity.

I wanted to scream at them both.

Like, hello?

Did they just forget I said I was fucking hungry?

Was I supposed to starve while they measured their dicks?

If they weren’t going to help, the least they could do was take their testosterone-fueled ego war somewhere else. Preferably far, far away.

Honestly, part of me hoped they would kill each other.

Would save me a hell of a lot of headaches.

One less asshole to deal with? Yes, please.

I clutched the lukewarm heating pad tighter against my stomach, glaring at both of them like they were the biggest idiots to ever exist.

"Unless one of you plans on cooking or calling for pizza," I snapped, voice sharp as broken glass, "take your lovers’ spat somewhere else."

Both of them turned to glare at me like I’d personally offended their whole bloodlines.

Good.

About fucking time someone put them in their place.

I rolled my eyes at them, not even bothering to hide it anymore, and headed straight toward the kitchen.

"Close the door on your way out!" I shouted back, waving a hand dismissively over my shoulder.

One thing I’d realized — yeah, maybe a little too late — was that I was actually safer with both of them around than just one.

Because no matter how much I pissed one off, the other wouldn’t let them kill me.

At least, not immediately.

It was a shaky assumption, sure.

But look at the facts:

When Blaze had tried to drain me dry at the airport, Reed had showed up and stopped him.

And when Reed had tried to choke the life out of me, guess who had appeared to crash the party? Yep. Dracula-wannabe himself, Blaze.

I didn’t know what their deal was with each other, but whatever twisted rivalry or hate-brotherhood they had going on, it worked in my favor.

At least until one of them figured out how to win without breaking me in half.

Insulting them was starting to feel... cathartic.

Like releasing all the tension I’d been bottling up since this hellstorm began.

But I wasn’t stupid enough to insult either of them to their faces when it was one-on-one.

Nope.

Already learned that the hard way.

Besides, I was blaming the cramping, the hunger, and the general fuck-everything mood for the sudden surge of courage.

Pain apparently made me reckless.

I rummaged through the kitchen looking for anything edible.

Nada.

No snacks. No leftovers. Not even a lonely apple dying in the fridge.

Typical.

With a sigh, I yanked out the dusty old pan and decided, screw it, I was making pancakes.

Quick, easy, and best of all, I didn’t need to rely on either of those glorified cavemen to feed me.

I started mixing flour and eggs, cursing under my breath when I realized there wasn’t even milk left.

Whatever. Water would have to do.

Survival mode, right?

Behind me, I could still hear the low growls and the occasional snap of a snarl between Reed and Blaze, but for once, I chose to ignore it.

If they killed each other, I’d have pancakes ready to celebrate.

Priorities.

Blaze POV:

I turned to Reed, my patience already dangling by a thread.

"And if you’re not, then what the fuck are you doing here?" I sneered, voice cutting sharp and cruel.

I watched his jaw clench, the flicker of his golden wolf eyes betraying just how close he was to snapping.

Good. Let him.

Let the mutt lose control, so I could finally rip his fucking throat out without guilt.

It would be a favor to the entire damn world.

Clara, little minx that she was, rolled her eyes at us like we were two kids fighting over who got the bigger slice of cake.

If only she knew just how close she was to setting off a bloodbath.

I caught her muttering something under her breath as she stalked toward the kitchen, heating pad still clutched against her tiny body like it could shield her from what we were.

It was almost adorable. Almost.

She flung a hand behind her and called out, "Close the door on your way out!"

I chuckled darkly under my breath.

The sheer audacity.

I should have been pissed, really — a human barking orders at me — but instead, it just made me want to smile.

She had spirit. Even bleeding, even hurting, she dared to snarl at predators circling her like wolves.

I turned my attention back to Reed.

"You know," I drawled lazily, stepping closer, "for someone who calls humans beneath him, you’re awfully interested in mine."

Reed’s growl rumbled low, vibrating the walls.

Good. Let him.

"Last time I heard," I continued, baiting him further, "the Alpha King heir doesn’t defile himself with silly, weak humans. So why the fuck are you so interested in my pet?"

The word tasted deliciously cruel on my tongue.

Mine.

Because no matter how much I hated the bond, no matter how much it chained me to her, it didn’t make it any less real.

She was mine, and Reed’s sudden interest was starting to piss me off.

He stepped closer, fists clenched, muscles rippling under his shirt like he was barely restraining himself.

I hoped he snapped.

I wanted him to.

It would be such a pleasure to rip through that royal skin and show the world what their precious heir looked like broken at my feet.

A loud clang from the kitchen snapped my attention away from my fantasy of violence.

Clara, in all her stubborn human glory, was crashing around in the kitchen like she owned the place.

For one brief, absurd moment, both Reed and I just stood there, staring.

The tiny human — weak, bleeding, and half-starved — was completely ignoring two apex predators in her living room because she was hungry.

Hilarious.

Pathetic.

Terrifying.

Because deep down, some part of me liked it.

Liked her fire. Liked the way she didn’t cower.

Liked that she made me forget, even for a second, what I was supposed to be.

"You haven’t fucking fed her," Reed snapped suddenly, breaking the silence, voice accusing.

I turned to him slowly, letting the anger simmer to the surface.

"I don’t see you carrying a takeaway bag and food, mutt," I snarled.

"At least I brought her the heating pad and painkillers," Reed shot back, practically foaming at the mouth now.

I smirked, stepping even closer until we were nose to nose.

"Yeah? Well, I cleaned her fucking room," I fired back.

Silence.

Absolute, stunned silence.

Even Clara, who was busy murdering the kitchen, froze mid-pancake-flip.

The look on her face when she peeked over the counter was priceless — pure, undiluted shock.

Like she couldn’t possibly fathom me, the blood-sucking monster, touching a broom, let alone cleaning anything.

I didn’t blame her.

Hell, I barely believed it myself.

But there I was — picking up shattered mirrors, sweeping splintered wood, patching up the mess I’d made in a rare fit of rage.

Because my demons — those traitorous bastards — couldn’t stand her being hurt in her own home.

Reed looked just as stunned as Clara, and for a moment, I tasted victory.

Bitter, fleeting, but there.

Then Clara rolled her eyes, shouted something about closing the door again, and stomped further into the kitchen.

Typical.

I watched her back retreat, fighting the absurd urge to follow.

To make sure she didn’t hurt herself.

To make sure she ate.

Pathetic.

I turned back to Reed, voice low and dangerous.

"You stay away from her," I growled.

He sneered, flashing the hint of fangs. "You think you can stop me, leech?"

I laughed then — a sound without humor, without life.

"If you touch her," I promised, voice like a blade sliding between ribs, "I’ll make sure there’s nothing left for your precious wolves to bury."

The threat hung heavy in the air, thick with the scent of old blood and newer hate.

But neither of us moved.

Because the truth was, Clara had already sunk her tiny human claws into both of us.

And whether we wanted to admit it or not...

We were already hers.

Even if it killed us.