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

Reed POV

There was something almost blasphemous about how carefree they were — my people. Wolves. Laughing. Drinking. Grinding their bodies together under dim amber lights like there wasn’t a girl out there somewhere, locked in a cage, screaming my name.

Her name still lingered at the edges of my mind like a bleeding wound.

Clause.

No—Clare.

I didn’t know what was worse: that I had a human for a mate, or that I hadn’t cared once I’d realized. She was mine. She is mine. And the universe had seen fit to tear her from my grasp. There was a part of me that still smelled the memory of her—scent earthen and warm like thunder before a storm—and another part that howled at its absence.

And now I had to wade through this damn wolf bar just to get answers.

It was called The Maw. Wolves-only. Neutral space for our kind to drink, to fuck, to let go. A place where dominance and scent meant more than words.

The second I stepped past the threshold, the air changed.

My presence hit the room like a dropped anvil.

Alpha aura, full and unsheathed.

The DJ flinched, missed a beat. Heads turned. Conversations died midsentence. One female shifter who was practically sitting on her mate’s lap pulled back like she’d been scalded, eyes wide.

Good.

Let them feel it.

Let them choke on the weight of me.

I walked through the crowd slowly, deliberately, my boots thudding heavy across the hardwood floor, ignoring the way space opened around me like oil in water.

A wolf bumped into me by accident — not a pup, an actual beta male — and dropped to one knee instantly, his throat bared before he even met my eyes. I didn’t spare him a word. Just kept walking.

This is what power is. Not teeth. Not claws. But knowing they’ll kneel before you even speak.

I reached the center of the main floor and stopped. Music died entirely now. Even the bartenders stood frozen.

My voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to.

"Who here’s heard of humans being taken?" I said, low and clear, laced with the sharp edge of command. "I’m not asking twice."

The silence that followed tasted like fear. No one moved.

"A very special human has disappeared. Not hunted. Taken. That’s organized. That’s business. That’s not random feeding. And if any of you are stupid enough to be involved..." My lips curled. "You better start digging your grave with your own paws."

Still, no one spoke.

Until I felt it — a spike of nervous energy from the far left corner.

I turned, eyes locking on a tall, gangly male in his early twenties. He was shifting his weight like his boots were suddenly made of fire. He froze the moment our eyes met.

"You. Come here."

He didn’t move.

So I stepped forward. One pace. Two. With each step, I let more of my Alpha dominance bleed out into the air.

It wasn’t just a presence. It was a force — thick and suffocating, like drowning in your own lungs. I watched him tremble, his knees bowing inward.

"Now."

He came. Shaking.

I could hear his heartbeat pounding like a drumline in a thunderstorm.

"What do you know?"

"I-I heard witches," he stammered. "They—they were bragging. A few days ago. In the north quarter. Said they got a new batch of humans. Twelve. For potion-making."

Potion-making. Like Clare was an ingredient.

I saw red.

"Where?"

"An old orchard. Abandoned. Past the windmill. South of the reservoir."

"And who gave them the humans?"

He swallowed hard.

"S-someone said goblins. That the witches bought them. They didn’t hunt them. Said the goblins had started... a trade. A whole ring. Like a market. Said even vamps are using it."

The room tensed.

"So the goblins are selling humans now?" I repeated.

The boy nodded quickly.

"I didn’t touch any of it, I swear. Just heard them talking."

I didn’t need to see inside his head to know he was telling the truth.

I stepped back and let the pressure drop just slightly.

"You did good."

He looked up, startled. Then collapsed backward onto a chair, panting like he’d just run for miles.

I turned to the rest of the room.

"If any of you hear another whisper, a scent trail, a price, a name — anything — you come to me. Immediately. Especially if the human in question is a female"

Not a single wolf said a word. But I saw the nods. Saw the submission in their lowered eyes.

I didn’t wait for pleasantries.

I left.

******

The orchard reeked of rot.

What should’ve smelled like wind and damp fruit instead carried the stench of old blood, sulfur, and something... sickly sweet — magic. Witch magic. A twisted, fermented scent that clung to the trees like mildew. Even the bark seemed to curl away from the taint. Nature knew better than to welcome witches.

I stood at the edge of the orchard, watching it ripple in the moonlight, black branches clawing the sky like a warning.

They didn’t know I was coming.

And they had clause or had bought her. Caged and drugged, screaming into the dark while monsters chanted over a cauldron.

I stripped off my jacket and tossed it aside, rolled my shoulders, and let the beast beneath my skin breathe. Not shift — not yet. No. I didn’t need fur and fangs to destroy them.

I just needed rage.

I walked straight through the rows of trees. The orchard was wide, the ground soft beneath my boots, the wind heavy with whispered spells and warnings carved into bone charms hanging from branches. The closer I got, the thicker the symbols became — sigils etched into the bark, dangling fetishes made of feathers and teeth.

I could feel the magic trying to brush against me.

Warding spells. Deterrents.

To anyone else, they would’ve caused disorientation, nausea, even hallucinations.

But not me.

Their magic broke against me like glass on stone.

One of the perks of being me — magic didn’t stick.

Witches still hadn’t figured that out. Most didn’t live long enough to spread the word.

I crested the rise and saw it — the orchard’s heart.

An old farmhouse squatted like a toad at the far end, barely held together by its own filth. Runes glowed faintly on the porch rails. A cauldron smoked on the front steps, thick green vapor curling into the sky. I heard laughter. A shriek. Not pain — amusement. As if someone had slipped and spilled something.

They didn’t even bother to mask their presence.

That was their mistake.

I walked straight up the path and kicked the front door off its hinges.

It exploded inward with a crack like a gunshot.

The first witch screamed.

The second raised a hand and shrieked an incantation. Fire burst from her fingers and raced toward me—

And fizzled out three feet from my chest.

She blinked, stunned.

"That won’t work on me," I said, stepping into the room.

They scattered.

Six of them. All women. All reeking of dark magic and arrogance.

I could smell the humans, too — somewhere below us, underground. Their scent was weak, layered in fear and old sweat. But none of them were her.

I saw one witch lunge for a drawer — a knife? A talisman? Didn’t matter.

I was already there.

My claws burst from my fingertips mid-motion and I sank them into her throat, ripping through flesh like wet paper.

The others screamed.

One began chanting. Another pulled a wand. A third — the boldest — tried to trap me in a circle of salt and bone. She tossed it at my feet like it would do a damn thing.

It did nothing.

I stepped forward and grabbed her by the face, slamming her head into the wall hard enough to split the wood.

Another tried to run.

I tackled her into the floorboards, claws piercing her back, spine, and ribs. She twitched. Coughed blood. Went still.

"Where are the humans?" I roared.

The final three scattered into separate rooms, hoping to divide me, slow me down.

Fools.

I hunted them like prey.

One I found in the kitchen, trying to cast a boiling spell — her mouth full of spell-dust and syllables. I crushed her throat before she finished the chant.

Another made it upstairs. I followed her, slow and deliberate, dragging my claws along the railing like a promise. When I reached her, she threw herself out the second-story window to escape me.

She broke her leg on impact.

I landed beside her.

She screamed once before I ended it.

Only one remained.

I found her in the basement.

She was standing between me and the cage — an actual iron cage, bolted to the ground. Inside it, eleven humans huddled, crying, dirty, their clothes torn and skin bruised. None of them were her.

My rage doubled.

The witch raised her hands. Her voice trembled.

"We didn’t take them," she whispered. "We—we bought them. That’s all. It was goblins. They have a market. Black market. Neutral grounds. We just needed fresh blood for potions—"

"You bought lives like livestock."

"We didn’t kill them! We were going to let some go!"

"And keep the rest for what?" I snarled, stepping forward. "Pills? Perfume? Hexes to make your skin smoother?"

She backed into the wall.

"Please—"

"You didn’t know who I was," I interrupted. "Now you do."

She paled.

"You’re Reed."

"Yes."

Then I moved.

I let the fury speak through my claws. I carved silence into her chest, made her feel the panic of prey. Blood sprayed the concrete walls. She crumpled.

Only then did I turn to the cage.

The humans were sobbing, some backing away as I approached.

I didn’t blame them.

"I’m not going to hurt you," I said quietly, voice ragged from the killing. "I’m getting you out."

I broke the lock with a twist.

They surged out like floodwater. I looked for her again even though I knew she was there.

I closed my eyes. The ache in my chest returned, sharp and brutal.

She wasn’t here.

She was still out there.

By the time I emerged from the orchard, the farmhouse was burning. No magic left to protect it.

I didn’t bother looking back.