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

CLARE’S POV

By the time I dragged myself out of the river, I was shaking like a leaf. My teeth were chattering so violently, I sounded like a wet Chihuahua stuck inside a freezer with a maraca. My clothes—every soaked, clinging, freezing inch of them—dripped water in a sad, squelching trail behind me as I limped up the muddy bank. My hair was plastered to my scalp, and I’m pretty sure my socks were now classified as small aquatic ecosystems. He had dumped me into the water with my clothes on, so now I was basically taking a bath in them. Everything I was wearing was dripping wet.

"Stupid Dracula wannabe," I muttered through clenched teeth, hugging my arms tight to my chest. My soaked shirt offered zero warmth, and the icy wind made it worse. My period cramps had mostly subsided, down to a dull ache—but the cold water had brought the pain roaring back.

"You know you can’t stay in those wet clothes," Blaze said, smirking. "I suggest you undress."

God. For a minute back there—when he was saving me—I almost thought he was one of those misunderstood villains. But the second he threw me in that freezing river and followed it up with that suggestion? Yeah. Now I remember why I said: better the devil you know. And no devil ever rode in on a white horse.

I blinked. "You suggest I what?"

He arched one of his perfectly obnoxious eyebrows like I was the one being unreasonable here.

"You’re cold. Shaking. Drenched. Those clothes will freeze the warmth right out of you. Hypothermia, Clare," he said, as if I needed a science lesson right now. "Take them off. It’s for your own good."

I gawked at him. "Oh, well, when you put it like that, of course I’ll just strip down in the middle of the vampire-infested forest while you stand there looking like a medieval Calvin Klein ad and pretend this is all totally normal!"

He didn’t even blink. Just kept smirking like some smug undead cat who knocked my dignity off the counter and was waiting to see if I’d crawl after it.

"Don’t look at me like that," he said. "It’s not a suggestion. I’m being practical."

"No, you’re being gross," I snapped. "This is the exact plotline of a horror movie where the vampire ’rescues’ the girl and then she ends up naked and mysteriously dead in the woods."

He tilted his head, amused. "If I wanted you dead, Clare, I wouldn’t have climbed a cliff, risked my life, crossed forbidden territory, and carried you through half the forest. Believe me, it would’ve been easier to leave you for the mutts."

"Oh wow, what a romantic thing to say. Do you tell all your dates that?"

"Only the ones that smell like other men," he growled, low and dark and too close.

That shut me up. Just for a second.

Because holy hell, what was wrong with him?

One moment he was rescuing me like some vampire knight from a tragic ballad, and the next, he was demanding I strip in the woods after throwing me in the river because I apparently smelled too much like werewolf cologne and poor life decisions. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to slap him or... yeah, no. Slap him. Definitely slap him.

But let’s be real here—you don’t just go around slapping vampires who risked death to save you from a pack of bloodthirsty werewolves. That’s how you end up as a cautionary tale. Or a snack.

So instead of smacking him, I opted for a topic change. Deflection: the sacred art of survival.

"Since when did vampires know about hypothermia?" I said, trying to sound casual while holding my arms tightly around my freezing torso. "Aren’t you like... an ice block? Pretty sure you’re not exactly the authority on body temperature."

"Don’t change the topic, pet," he said without missing a beat, voice smooth and deadly. "It’s either you strip, or I won’t mind helping you do it. After all..." He started taking slow steps toward me, gaze dark and deliberate.

"Wait!" I blurted, holding my hand up like a traffic cop freezing a homicidal semi-truck. A sharp breeze swept through the trees and I let out a violent shiver, my teeth clattering like windchimes in a hurricane. "At least give me your shirt!"

He paused. Blinking once. Then—smirked. That damn smirk.

"Huh. Disappointing," he said in that drawl that made everything sound like both a threat and a flirt. "But okay. Can’t trust myself carrying you around while you’re naked."

I almost choked.

He started unbuttoning his shirt slowly, purposefully, his eyes locked on mine like he knew exactly what he was doing. The light from the moon caught his bare skin as he shrugged the fabric off his shoulders, and I cursed whatever cruel gods decided that this vampire had to be built like a Calvin Klein ad with a temper problem.

Gods, I know it’s not the first time I’ve seen him shirtless. But somehow this felt different. More intense. Probably because this time I wasn’t freaking , wasnt terrified, or half-conscious.

He caught me staring.

"Like what you see?" he asked, voice dipping low and sinful, snapping me right out of my stupor.

"I—shut up," I muttered, cheeks burning as I snatched the shirt from his outstretched hand

The faint sound of him chuckling. Of course he was amused. He was always amused. It was like my suffering was his personal Netflix subscription.

"You know," he said casually, "for someone who’s nearly frozen, you’re surprisingly chatty."

"Sorry," I said, shivering, "did you want me to sit quietly and let you leer at me while I strip like some gothic damsel in distress?"

"I wouldn’t say no to that," he murmured.

I groaned. Loudly. "You’re insufferable."

"And you’re wet," he said, far too pleased with himself. "And still not undressed."

I turned slightly to start undressing.

I managed to peel off my soaking hoodie and started tugging at my T-shirt when I froze. My fingers paused at the hem. My spine went stiff.

I turned my head slightly. "Turn around."

He raised an eyebrow, the picture of amused confusion. "You forget, little pet, that I’ve seen it. Tasted it."

My jaw dropped. "What the actual fuck? Just turn around!"

He grinned. That shit-eating vampire grin.

"But you watched me."

"You were shirtless, not naked. And you’re a guy—it’s just your stupid chest!" I snapped, waving his shirt like a flag of feminine indignation.

He looked like he was about to protest more, maybe give some ancient vampire logic as to why I was being unreasonable, but he finally sighed and turned his back to me.

"Okay, okay. I’m turned," he said, sounding way too pleased with himself.

"I swear, if you peek—"

He held up both hands, though one brow was still cocked in that infuriating way of his. "Scout’s honor."

"You were never a scout."

"No," he agreed, eyes gleaming, "but I’ve tasted blood from one. Does that count?"

I made a noise between a scoff and a dry heave and turned fully away. The shirt he’d given me was surprisingly warm—probably because he ran at the temperature of a microwave on low—but it didn’t do anything to make undressing in the middle of a dark, creepy forest less awkward.

Especially not while he stood right there, radiating smug vampire energy like some shirtless Calvin Klein ad with fangs.

I peeled off my soaked top with a grimace, cursing every god I could think of while sneezing great.

As I tugged his shirt over my head, it immediately fell down to my mid-thigh. Of course it did. The man was built like a Greek statue and dressed like a Victorian villain.

"You can turn around now," I muttered, arms crossed.

He did—slowly. Too slowly. And the look he gave me made me wish I’d just stayed cold and miserable in my wet clothes.

"Fits you better than I expected," he said.

He flashed me that fanged grin at me.

"Vampires," I muttered under my breath. "Stupid, smug, emotionally stunted vampires." "You keep calling me names, pet. I might start thinking you don’t like me."

I met his gaze. "You dumped me in a freezing river, insulted my smell, and threatened to strip me naked."

"And saved your life," he added casually.

I crossed my arms. "That too."

He was quiet for a moment. Then: "You’re welcome."

The silence stretched out between us like a second skin—thick, warm, prickling with unspoken things.

I didn’t say thank you.

But I didn’t have to.

He already knew.

Blaze smirked, then closed the distance between us in a blink. His expression shifted—still amused, but darker now. Something serious behind the eyes.

"You don’t trust me," he said, voice lower.

"No," I replied. "But I’m not entirely sure you want me dead either."

"Good." He leaned in just slightly, enough to make my breath catch. "Because if I wanted you dead, Clare, you’d never have felt the cold in the first place."

I swallowed. Loudly. "Wow. Comforting."

His smile widened. "Isn’t it?"