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

CLARE POV

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

My voice ripped through the room like a whip, sharp and furious — but useless.

They didn’t even flinch.

Blaze and Reed were at it again, fists flying, snarls filling the apartment like goddamn wild animals. I stood there, fists clenched at my sides, my head pounding with a mix of cramps, hunger, and raw, boiling frustration.

"You know what? Fight. Kill each other. I don’t give a shit anymore!" I shouted at them, but they were too deep in their little alpha-vampire dick-measuring contest to even hear me.

Blood smeared across the floor.

Walls shook with every blow.

I was done. So fucking done.

"I hope you kill each other!" I screamed, not even bothering to see if they noticed as I stormed out.

My bare feet slapped against the cold wooden floor of the hallway. The overhead light buzzed loudly — and then flickered. Once. Twice.

I froze.

The corridor was quiet.

Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that made your skin prickle, that made you suddenly very aware of how thin the walls were — and how far away everyone else was. This was an old boarding house. It creaked, groaned, and whispered in the dead of night like it had a soul of its own.

I shook my head. Nope. Not doing this horror movie shit. Not tonight.

I was just going to Sara’s. Two floors up. She was normal. She had snacks. And heating pads that didn’t come with passive-aggressive fights to the death.

The building had no elevator — of course. Just one long, dim hallway, stretched like a spine toward the back staircase.

I started walking.

The light flickered again.

Something in the shadow at the end twitched. I stopped.

Did it move?

No.

Nope.

Just the light. Just old wiring. I kept walking, arms folded tight against my chest.

The walls felt narrower tonight, the shadows longer, like they stretched toward me, waiting.

"This old house feels alive," I whispered under my breath, voice shaky.

My own thoughts laughed at me. Who’s crazy now? You or the house?

I reached the corner that turned to the stairwell, exhaling shakily. Just a few more steps.

Then I froze again.

A soft, wet sound.

Muffled.

Sniffles.

Someone crying.

It was coming from the stairs.

I leaned forward, peering through the dim.

There — halfway up the landing — was a figure. Small. Curled up against the wall, rocking slightly. Crying. Muffled sobs.

It looked like a girl.

Long, dark hair.

Bare feet.

Wearing... was that a hospital gown?

"What the hell...?" I whispered.

I took a step closer.

She didn’t look up.

She just kept crying, hugging her knees tightly, shaking.

Every instinct screamed go back. Every ounce of logic said turn around, Clare. This isn’t your problem. This isn’t right.

But something about it — about her — drew me forward. I couldn’t stop my feet. My breath caught in my throat.

Another step.

Another.

Closer.

The air grew colder. Heavier. Like something pressing against my chest.

"Hey..." I said softly, reaching out. "Are you okay?"

The crying stopped.

Dead silence.

She went still.

I froze, arm still extended, heartbeat thunderous in my ears.

Then — slowly — she began to lift her head.

But what turned toward me wasn’t a girl.

It wasn’t even human.

Its face — my face — stared back at me, eyes hollow and black, smile stretching far too wide.

And then it whispered in a voice exactly like mine:

"Nothing is more scary than what you left behind... right?"

I screamed.

******

I ran.

Back to the madness. Back to the deranged wolf and the mad vampire. I was choosing chaos over the unknown horror that just sat crying in the stairwell like some cursed doll. That’s how far gone things were. I was picking the monsters I knew.

But just as I reached the door to my apartment—the threshold to what should’ve been my escape—there she was. The crying girl. Right there in front of my door, like she had blinked into existence.

I didn’t think.

I changed direction mid-sprint, veering toward the exit door at the far end of the hallway. My lungs burned, my pulse roared in my ears, and I swore the temperature dropped by ten degrees the moment I passed her.

I didn’t dare look back, but I could feel it.

The weight of her gaze. The hunger behind it.

I burst out into the cold night air, gulping it down like salvation. But salvation didn’t come. Not here. Not tonight.

Behind me, the figure didn’t follow—not exactly. She simply... appeared on the front porch. Sat down, like she belonged there. Her dress tattered, the hem soaked in something that looked too dark to be water. Her head was bowed, and she cried again. Those horrible, wet, muffled sobs like someone strangling a lullaby.

She wasn’t following me. She wasn’t leaving the house.

It was like... she couldn’t.

Which meant I couldn’t go back.

Not in there.

But out here wasn’t safe either. The night carried other threats. Creatures with teeth and power and egos the size of kingdoms. Creatures like Reed and Blaze. And it was all their fault. All of it. Every goddamn moment since that stupid airport and the even stupider hoodie disguise.

I clenched my jaw and turned away from the boarding house.

I walked.

Nowhere in particular—just away.

The streets were quiet. Too quiet.

No cars. No people. No distant hum of the city. Just the slap of my sneakers on cracked pavement and the soft echo of my own breath. I passed shuttered windows and flickering street lamps that buzzed and sputtered like they were choking on the dark.

My phone was dead. Figures.

I needed a place to hide. Just a little corner of the world that wasn’t haunted, cursed, or already occupied by some monster-obsessed immortal.

But then I heard it.

The soft pitter-patter of footsteps. Not human ones. Not shoes. Barefoot. Fast. Too fast.

I turned a corner. Another. My breathing sped up. The sound followed. It multiplied.

I broke into a run again, feet pounding, eyes scanning for any open door, any alley, anything.

Then I saw them.

Small. Twisted. Inhuman.

At first, they looked like children—children in ragged, old-fashioned clothes, with hunched backs and oversized heads. But then the streetlight hit one of their faces, and I realized what I was seeing.

Their skin was leathery, stretched too tightly over their skulls. Their eyes were pitch black, no whites. Their mouths... too wide, filled with rows of jagged little teeth.

One of them hissed, and the sound made my spine stiffen.

I bolted.

They chased.

I kicked one when it got too close, sending it skidding across the pavement, its claws scratching sparks from the concrete. Another lunged, and I swung my arm blindly, hitting it with a crunch that made my stomach turn.

But there were too many.

From alleys, from gutters, from the shadows themselves—they came, surrounding me in a tide of pale, snarling faces and clawed hands. I screamed, punched, kicked, even bit when one got close enough. I wasn’t going down without a fight.

But it wasn’t enough.

Hands like claws grabbed my legs. Another wrapped around my middle. I went down, hitting the ground hard, and before I could even cry out, something hit the back of my head.

Darkness slammed into me like a wave.

*******

Darkness enveloped me, but consciousness clung stubbornly. A throbbing ache pulsed at the back of my head, each beat syncing with the distant, rhythmic chants that echoed around me. The air was thick, damp, and carried a metallic scent that turned my stomach.

I tried to move, but my limbs were bound, the restraints biting into my skin. The surface beneath me was cold and uneven, possibly stone, and it radiated a chill that seeped into my bones.

As my eyes adjusted, flickering torchlight revealed grotesque figures moving in the shadows—small, twisted beings with gnarled features and eyes that gleamed with malevolence. Their skin was a sickly hue, stretched taut over misshapen bones, and their movements were jerky, almost insect-like.

Panic surged through me as I realized the gravity of my situation. These creatures, these goblins, had captured me, and their intentions were far from benign.

Suddenly, a sharp pain coursed through my abdomen—a cruel reminder of my period. The scent of blood, subtle to humans, seemed to intoxicate the goblins. Their heads snapped in my direction, nostrils flaring, and a cacophony of guttural sounds erupted as they converged upon me.

I struggled against my bindings, desperation lending me strength, but it was futile. The goblins reached me, their clawed hands grasping, their eyes alight with a predatory hunger.

One of them leaned in close, its breath rancid, and whispered in a language I couldn’t comprehend. Yet, the intent was clear—they were drawn to my blood, and I was at their mercy.

Tears blurred my vision as I braced for the unknown, the darkness closing in once more.