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

I moved quickly, my heartbeat loud in my ears.

Room 17.

Third floor.

Sara’s room.

The hallway felt too quiet, too still, like the air itself was watching me. I knocked once, twice—then harder, impatience clawing at me.

When the door finally creaked open, I barely recognized the person standing there.

Sara.

Or at least, the shell of her.

Her face was pale, her eyes swollen and red, as if she had cried herself into oblivion. But it wasn’t just the crying.

It was the emptiness.

The way her shoulders sagged like the weight of her own existence was too much to carry.

The way her eyes looked past me, not at me.

Like she wasn’t all the way here.

Like she had been hollowed out.

And then I saw them.

The small, dark marks on her neck.

Twin punctures.

Like mine.

A fresh wave of nausea rolled through me, but I swallowed it down.

She tried to shut the door.

I stuck my foot in.

I don’t know what I expected. Maybe for her to yell, maybe to push me away. But when she looked up at me again, her gaze landed on my neck—on the same wounds she bore.

Something cracked in her expression.

Something fragile.

Without a word, she stepped back, opening the door wider.

I walked inside.

The air was heavy, suffocating.

Her room was the same layout as mine—a tiny kitchen, a cramped living space. But it felt different.

Like it had been drenched in misery.

Like the walls had soaked up every bit of pain and whispered it back.

She shut the door behind me and moved toward the small couch. I noticed it then.

The way she walked.

Each step was careful, deliberate—like her body was fighting against her, like every movement was a wound being ripped open again.

My stomach twisted.

I already knew.

I had seen what they did.

The wolves.

The sick laughter.

The way the humans screamed.

I felt something in my chest snap.

The memory of the wolves, their guttural growls, the way they laughed as they pinned their prey—

My stomach churned.

This wasn’t just happening to strangers in the dark.

It was happening to her.

To us.

And nobody was stopping it.

My nails dug deeper into my skin, and I forced myself to breathe.

Now wasn’t the time to lose it.

I wanted to ask her, but what was the point?

The answer was written in every wince, in every shaky breath she took as she lowered herself onto the couch like she was made of glass.

I clenched my fists.

My nails dug into my palms.

There were so many things I wanted to say.

To ask.

To scream.

But instead, I stayed quiet.

And I waited.

Because I could see it—

She wasn’t just hurt.

She was breaking.

She sat there, curled into herself, staring at the floor like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight, my pulse hammering.

I knew.

I knew what had happened to her.

What those...things did to her.

And I wanted to ask. I wanted to demand answers, to scream, to cry, to break something—but I didn’t.

Because the way she sat there, shoulders curled in, eyes staring at the floor like it was the only thing holding her together...

I knew she wasn’t ready to speak.

She looked...hollow.

Like she had nothing left to give.

Like she had already screamed, already begged, already cried—until there was nothing left of her.

A walking ghost.

And it made me sick.

I clenched my fists, fingernails biting into my palms, trying to keep my voice steady.

Trying not to let the rage show.

And I realized then—

She wasn’t just afraid.

She had given up.

Like there was no escape.

Like there was no point in running anymore.

A slow, festering rage burned through me.

I reached for my collar, pulling it down.

Exposing the bites.

Her eyes darted to my neck.

She flinched.

And then she broke.

A sharp, shaky breath left her lips, her hands trembling in her lap. She looked like she was about to say something—like she wanted to say something—

But then she just shook her head.

Her eyes filled with something I didn’t expect.

Guilt.

"Was it them?" I finally asked.

My voice barely held together.

She shut her eyes tight.

And then—

A small nod.

I swallowed, trying to push down the sickness, the panic, the rage.

I already knew the answer.

But hearing it—seeing it—was something else entirely.

"You knew, didn’t you?" I whispered.

Her breath hitched.

A tear slipped down her cheek.

And she nodded again.

Something inside me snapped.

I had trusted her.

She knew.

She knew about the vampires. The werewolves. The horrors that lurked in the shadows.

She knew what was happening.

What they were doing to people.

And she never told me.

She never warned me.

Anger swelled in my chest, dark and suffocating.

But then I looked at her.

Really looked at her.

At the way she sat there, barely breathing, barely existing.

And I understood.

She hadn’t just kept quiet.

She had survived.

She had done whatever it took to stay alive.

Even if it meant staying silent.

Even if it meant sacrificing others.

I let out a slow, shaky breath, forcing the anger down.

"Tell me everything," I said.

Sara lifted her head.

Her lips parted.

Her voice—when it finally came—

Sounded like it belonged to someone who had already died.

I stood there, frozen, as Sara’s words unraveled the nightmare that was Memoville.

Her voice trembled, but it carried the weight of someone who had been drowning for too long—someone who had given up trying to swim.

"I got a scholarship after finishing high school," she whispered, her eyes fixed on the floor. "Memoville was one of the top universities. It was a dream come true. I was so happy... so naïve."

She let out a humorless laugh, her fingers twisting together in her lap.

"For a while, everything was fine. The classes, the students, the professors—it all seemed normal. But then..." Her breath hitched. "The disappearances. The whispers. The way some students would suddenly come back looking... drained."

I didn’t say a word. I barely breathed.

She swallowed hard and finally looked at me, her eyes hollow.

"I didn’t know," she whispered. "I didn’t know I had signed myself up to be a blood bag for vampires and a sex slave for wolves."

My stomach dropped.

A cold, suffocating dread coiled around me like a serpent, tightening with every word she spoke.

"The first time I saw one of them... the first time I saw a vampire feed on someone, I—I tried to run," she continued, her voice breaking. "I tried to leave. The moment I realized what this place was, I packed my bags and went straight to the airport. Just like you."

She wiped at her face with shaking hands.

"They caught me before I could board. Took me back. Warned me."

A shiver ran down my spine.

"You can’t leave," she whispered, her voice barely audible now. "Not once you know. Not before they make you swear silence."

Her gaze darkened.

"And if you break that silence..." She sucked in a breath, shaking her head violently. "They kill you. And everyone you told."

A sharp chill ran through me.

Suddenly, the paranoia of the airport staff made sense.

The fear in their eyes. The way they refused to tell me who had given the order to keep me grounded.

They weren’t just following rules.

They were afraid.

Because someone was watching.

"After that first attempt," Sara continued, her voice thick with tears, "I was brought back. They let me live—but only because I swore on my life that I wouldn’t say anything. They monitor us. They watch everything. And if you break the rules—if you so much as think about exposing them..."

She didn’t finish the sentence.

She didn’t have to.

I already knew what happened to rule breakers.

I had seen the blood. The bodies.

I had seen the wolves take what they wanted.

I had felt the vampire’s teeth in my neck, draining me, pulling me toward something worse than death.

"You only get one chance," Sara whispered. "One chance to leave before they own you. And if you go back home, you can never return back. It’s like a chance to say goodbye. That’s the deal. That’s the only way they let you live in peace."

I felt the air leave my lungs.

Now I was trapped.

Just like her.

Just like all of them.

My hands curled into fists, nails digging into my palms. The room suddenly felt smaller, like the walls were pressing in, suffocating me.

No escape.

No way out.

Sara’s voice was barely a whisper now, choked with a sob.

"I should have told you sooner."

She looked at me, broken and beaten, guilt carving deep lines into her face.

"But it wouldn’t have changed anything."

Her lips trembled as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

"Because, in the end... we’re all just waiting to be claimed every day."