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

BLAZE POV

I don’t fucking share.

And especially not with mutts.

Reed walks beside me like we’re equals. Like we’re not one spark away from tearing each other apart. His silence isn’t peace — it’s pressure, coiled tight and barely contained. And I can feel it under my skin too. The burn. The tension. The relentless need to find her.

But not for the same reason.

He wants to protect her. I want to possess her.

He wants her safe.

I want her mine.

And gods help anyone who stands in the way of that — even if it’s him.

I see it in his eyes when he catches that fading trace of her scent, the way his shoulders snap straight, like he’s going to shift on the spot and run until the world ends. It makes my skin crawl. Makes my fangs twitch behind my lips.

Because he’s feeling it too — the pull.

And that’s what sets my nerves on fire.

Because he shouldn’t. He can’t.

He’s a wolf. She’s human. And more importantly — she’s my Beloved.

Not his.

I claimed her in blood. Marked her in ways his precious Moon Goddess couldn’t understand. She’s the silence in my madness, the only warmth I’ve felt in a hundred years of rot. And I’ll burn this entire rotten world before I let her fall into anyone else’s hands.

Including his.

This truce between us? Temporary. A necessity, not a fucking bond. I’ll milk the wolves for their ears and eyes, and Reed can rip through the alleys and rooftops all he wants — but the second she’s found, this alliance ends.

He better not mistake cooperation for permission.

Because I don’t care what his instincts are whispering to him.

She. Is. Mine.

And if the gods made a mistake tying her fate to both of us?

Then let the gods bleed for it.

*******

They call me a prince in whispers — a relic of a bloodline older than most of their memories. But tonight, I am no prince.

I am wrath.

The air trembles around me as I move through the underbelly of the city, smoke curling at my heels like a loyal hound. Most vampires here think the old bloodlines are extinct — diluted. They’ve forgotten what true power looks like.

Let me remind them.

See, I’m not like the others. My blood runs deep — old as the First Flame. I don’t just thirst.

I burn.

Fire, water, and air have always answered me. But I love the fire — a gift and a curse passed through the scorched veins of my lineage. Most don’t know. I’ve kept it hidden, buried beneath fangs and charm and centuries of cruelty. But tonight?

Tonight, I let it breathe.

I raise my hand, and heat ripples off my skin, distorting the air like a mirage. A nearby lantern flares and shatters, scattering embers. I don’t even blink.

I’m hunting.

The first rat I find — a gutter-blood with red-rimmed eyes and twitchy fingers — drops from the rafters when the wall beside him explodes into flame.

He lands hard and scrambles backward, staring at me like he’s seeing a god — or the devil.

"P-Prince Blaze," he stammers, trying to kneel.

Too late.

I’m already in front of him, eyes glowing molten gold. "Where is she?"

"Wh-who?"

"The human girl. Mine."

My voice crackles with heat. A pulse of flame blooms along my fingertips, dancing lazily — a warning.

"I haven’t seen—swear it—nothing unusual! We don’t touch humans tonight—"

I snap my fingers.

A wall of fire erupts behind him, boxing him in. His scream dies in his throat as the heat blasts over him like a furnace door swinging open.

"Think harder," I say, stepping closer.

"I swear! She’s not here. No human has come through the blood routes tonight. No whispers, no trades, nothing!"

I feel his truth. No tremble of deception in his voice. Just fear. And confusion.

That makes it worse.

Because if they don’t have her — if the shadowed rats of our underworld haven’t even heard of her...

Then who the hell took her?

I toss him aside like ash and move on. Interrogation after interrogation. Each one more useless than the last.

By the time I climb to the roof of the old cathedral — blackened and gutted by fire long ago — my fury is a storm. Smoke pours from my skin in tendrils. My flames lick the stone beneath my boots, sizzling against the damp.

The sky looms dark and starless.

And still no sign of her.

No scent. No fear in the air. No blood. No broken heartbeat echoing somewhere below.

She didn’t just vanish. She was wiped away.

Erased.

And whoever did it was powerful. Cunning. And stupid enough to touch what’s mine.

I stare into the night, flames flickering over my knuckles.

"I don’t fucking share," I whisper to the wind, "and especially not with mutts."

The fire snarls in agreement.

They think they’ve stolen from me. Hidden her in some pit or pocket of the world beyond reach.

But I am Blaze.

And the world burns before I break.

******

I clutch her t-shirt in one hand—its fabric still stained with the coppery scent of her blood—and step into the underworld beneath the city. Here, in these narrow alleys and hollowed basements, witches, wolves, and vampires mingle in a grotesque masquerade. Humans, wild-eyed and trembling, are dragged out like cattle: entertainment, bait, food, playthings for creatures who have forgotten mercy.

Most nights, I’d leave such horrors to the others. Tonight, I bring the fire.

I am Blaze, heir to a legacy of flame. My veins burn with power older than any of these petty criminals. The elements answer me—fire, air, water—but here, I lock that power inside. They must learn terror before I reveal my full strength.

I hate coming here.

The Drip — that’s what they call it. A rot-soaked artery under the city where magic leaks and monsters play. A hidden sewer cathedral of lust and death, guarded by glamours and spells thick enough to turn most humans to soup if they stumble too close.

But I’m not most.

And I’m not here to play.

Smoke trails behind me as I descend through rusted metal grates and ancient brickwork, her worn t-shirt clutched in my hand. It’s faded — smells like cheap detergent, city grime, and that scent I can’t tear out of my lungs.

Her.

Even now, it coils around me like silk soaked in gasoline. Sweet and sharp. Impossible to forget. The memory of her blood is seared into my tongue — lightning and fire and mine.

She should never have gotten far. Not without being seen. Not without someone catching her scent.

So either this place is full of liars — or something worse has taken her.

The second I step through the final veil, the music hits me like a punch to the chest. Bass like a heartbeat, wrong and low. Lights strobe red and violet, reflecting off half-naked bodies — humans and not — dancing, feeding, writhing.

It’s a circus of damnation. Witches summon illusions for fun, wolves chain humans to their laps, and vampires drink with silver-tipped straws.

They all go still when they see me.

Good.

I don’t want to be liked.

I want answers.

I stalk across the floor, ignoring the gasps and the sudden scrambles to clear space. The scent of burnt ozone lingers behind me — fire curling up from my collarbone. My rage doesn’t hide anymore. It breathes with me.

A group of witches near the back flinch as I approach. One of them — green hair, too many rings — starts to cast.

I burn the sigil in her palm before she finishes the second syllable.

She screams, cradling her blistered hand.

"I’m not here for pleasantries," I growl, voice cold, heat rising off me like steam from boiling blood. I hold up the shirt. "This scent. Human. Female. Fragile but loud. Tell me who’s touched her."

They say nothing.

I grab the closest one — an older crone with raven feathers braided into her scalp — and dig my fingers into her jaw.

"Last chance."

Her eyes roll back as I shove the shirt under her nose.

Nothing.

She shakes her head.

Wrong answer.

My fire slips from my palm and slides into her chest like a blade. She jerks once — then goes limp. Her blood boils in her veins before she hits the floor.

The others scatter, shrieking.

Cowards.

A vampire dares to laugh from a shadowed booth. One of those sleek, arrogant types who think old blood like mine is just a bedtime story. He leans forward, baring fangs.

"You throwing tantrums now, prince?" he sneers.

I flash-step across the room. He doesn’t have time to scream before my hand clamps around his throat and my other presses into his chest. His body ignites from the inside, a column of flame snapping upward and painting the ceiling with ash.

Screams echo. Shadows scatter. Good.

Let them see.

Let them remember.

I whirl toward a cluster of wolves huddled by the back wall — junkies and dealers, the kind who trade blood for flesh and favors. One of them stinks of territory and defiance. Alpha spawn, maybe. Dumb.

He bares his teeth.

"I don’t answer to leeches," he snaps.

Oh, you poor idiot.

The room temperature drops — then spikes.

Before he can blink, I’m on him. His head slams into the wall, and the water from the ceiling pipes twists free and spears through his shoulder like ice.

He howls.

"You do now," I whisper, voice slick with murder. "Last time. Have you seen this girl?"

He sniffs the shirt.

Shakes his head.

Still lying.

So I burn him.

His screams echo as fire eats his lungs, his body contorting against the bricks. The others drop to their knees, faces pale, silent.

"Anyone else?" I shout into the blood-slick silence. "Anyone want to lie to me again?"

Nothing.

Only fear.

Only smoke.

Only emptiness.

She isn’t here.

Was never here.

Even the blood-slick gutters yield no whisper of her.

Which means...

Something has her.

Something worse than us.

I let the fire die on my skin, steam rising from the floor.

Fine.

Let the city tremble. Let the monsters run.

Because if I have to gut every witch, wolf, and vampire from the Drip to the High Houses to get her back?

Then let it burn.

I hope that mutt Reed has better luck than me.