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

Reed POV:

But her scent — light, floral, faintly cinnamon — headed west.

Smart girl. Most wolves would chase the others down the obvious trails.

She’d gone off course.

I took off again, weaving through pine and mud, scenting the air every few paces. Her fear was spiked. Her adrenaline sharp. But there was no blood yet.

Good.

The full moon was beginning to rise now. A silver glow crept across the forest floor like spilled mercury.

And with it — the first howl.

My blood chilled. That was the signal.

The Hunt had begun.

Dozens of howls echoed in reply. Wolves had shifted. The warriors were running now. Fangs bared. Hearts thudding. Tracking every step, every breath, every splash of human scent left in the dark.

They were coming.

And I was running out of time.

BLAZE — POV

I should’ve ripped Reed’s throat out when I had the chance.

When I blasted him with fire that night outside the market, it wasn’t nearly enough. Not for the betrayal. Not for the sheer audacity of him showing up at her door, pretending he hadn’t already damned her the second he walked into her life.

If he’d rejected her like he should’ve... if he’d gone ahead and chosen some highborn she-wolf for his little coronation games, Clare wouldn’t be in this fucking mess.

But no.

The mutt had to be selfish.

Now she was prey in a twisted hunt, tossed in a cage like meat while alphas salivated over who got to chase her first.

And he still had the gall to look me in the eye and say he’d "rescue her from the ceremony."

I spat on that word.

Rescue.

He wouldn’t. Not really. He’d slink around in the shadows, hiding the bond like a coward, too afraid to lose his throne. Because that’s what wolves do—cling to power like it’s the only thing that makes them worth a damn.

Wolves only respect the strong. And strength, to them, means blood, dominance, and never loving anything soft. Especially not a human.

If Reed tried to claim Clare openly, they’d turn on him. They’d tear her apart just to prove a point: that a Luna Queen can’t bleed red like prey.

But I’m not a fucking wolf.

I’m a vampire.

And she’s not prey to me. She’s my beloved.

The gods marked her as mine. My demons scream for her every time I close my eyes. She’s my fire, my curse, my weakness—and I refuse to let that stay true.

So if I can’t stop loving her, I’ll make her strong instead.

To hell with the Council. To hell with their decrees and ancient vampire laws. If they won’t approve of turning a human into one of us? Then I’ll do it anyway. Because the bond I feel for Clare? It’s older than their rules. Wilder than their fears.

They call it forbidden.

I call it fate.

But all of that would have to wait—because right now, she was still missing.

And I didn’t trust Reed to find her.

He’d be too busy covering his royal ass. Too busy trying to find a way to save his throne and her, like some perfect balance exists. It doesn’t.

You don’t balance this kind of love.

You burn for it.

Which is exactly why I’d do what he wouldn’t.

I’d go to the forest. Cross into their territory. Break the oldest law still held between our kinds—and risk death doing it.

Because that’s the price of saving her.

The Forest of Two Shadows, they call it. A place carved clean down the middle. One side belongs to the mutts: wild, ancient, full of blood and howls. The other belongs to us. A sliver of quiet land we barely use, because we don’t need trees to stalk prey.

But that small piece of vampire land? It’s her salvation.

If I can reach her—if I can drag her across that border line—the wolves can’t hunt her anymore. They’d have no right. No claim.

That land belongs to me.

The problem? Getting her there.

Because the second I cross that invisible line and step into wolf territory, I become a traitor to my kind. The law is clear: no vampire crosses into wolf land, no wolf into vampire land. And if you’re caught?

Your own people kill you.

No trial. No pardon. Not even if you’re a royal. Especially not if you’re me.

It’s how peace is kept—by spilling your own blood to avoid war.

But I’d take that risk.

Gladly.

Because whatever punishment waits for me, it’s nothing compared to the thought of Clare being hunted—my Clare, being chased like a rabbit while beasts with names and titles salivate for her scream.

No.

She is mine.

And I will tear apart any law, any king, any beast who dares say otherwise.

So tonight, I break the line.

Tonight, I trespass.

Let the gods and monsters watch.

Because I’m not going to beg them for permission—

I’m going to take back what’s mine.

*******

I didn’t plan to die tonight.

Not because I feared death—I’d danced too close to its lips too many times for that—but because she was still out there. Alone. And I had no intention of leaving Clare in this cruel world with no one to stand between her and the monsters.

So yeah. I wasn’t planning on getting caught.

And that meant I needed help.

I stepped through the fog-laced clearing, the air humming with forbidden magic. The scent hit before I saw her—sage, crushed bones, blood. The witch stood barefoot in a circle of salt, pale eyes glowing, robes billowing around her even though the wind didn’t touch the trees.

"I need a masking charm," I said, voice low, teeth clenched.

She turned slowly. "You want to cross the wolves’ border, vampire prince?" Her lips curled. "You’re insane."

"I’m desperate," I corrected, stepping into her circle. The salt hissed beneath my boot like it knew I didn’t belong. "You mask my scent. Make it so they don’t know I’ve crossed. I don’t care what you use."

She sneered. "Do you have any idea what you’re asking?"

"I do. That’s why I’m not asking."

My hand shot forward, fingers wrapping around her throat. I didn’t squeeze—not yet—but the pressure was there. Enough to remind her I was no diplomat. I was the thing other monsters feared in the dark.

"I’m not in the mood to barter, witch," I whispered. "Mask me. Or I burn this place to ash."

She studied me a moment. Saw the fire in my eyes. The madness. Then, with a trembling hand, she dipped her fingers into the bowl of blood at her feet and began to chant.

The spell coiled around me like cold mist, seeping into my clothes, my skin, the cracks in my bones. It wasn’t perfect—no magic ever was—but it would buy me time. That’s all I needed.

When she finished, her voice rasped, "It won’t hide your soul. If they sense what you are—"

"They won’t," I cut in, turning away. "Because they won’t get close enough."

I left lying lifeless in the dirt- can’t afford to leave loose ends, the spell clinging to me like borrowed skin, and vanished into the deeper woods.

The vampire side of the forest was silent. Of course it was. We had no need for rituals or games or blood sport. Our side wasn’t marked with runes or spears—it was guarded by silence and old, forgotten laws.

But I knew where the border was.

Everyone did.

And I knew what lay at the crossing point.

The cliff.

They said the gods had split the land with a sword, carving a chasm so deep and wide it could drink the sky. No bridge. No rope. Just stone and death.

I stood at its edge now, staring down into a bottomless drop, the wolf lands lying far beyond the other side.

The border line shimmered faintly in the air—magic, ancient and raw, humming with threat. No one passed it without blood being spilled. If I fell now, my body would be shattered on the rocks and no one would come for me. Not even her.

But I didn’t fall.

I jumped.

The air roared around me as I sailed over the edge, wind tearing at my clothes, at my mind, as if trying to drag me back to the world of reason. It was a long leap, longer than it should’ve been. I wasn’t going to make it.

I didn’t make it.

I slammed hard against the cliff wall just beneath the edge of wolf territory, fingers catching a jagged outcrop. Pain knifed through my arms. I dangled above the abyss for a breathless moment, heart thundering, lungs burning.

Then I started to climb.

Hand over hand. Gritting my teeth. The rock tore at my palms, sliced open skin, filled my mouth with the taste of copper and stone. Every inch I gained came with fire in my muscles and screams in my bones.

The masking spell pulsed inside me, warning that its time was short.

I couldn’t fall.

Clare was out there.

So I climbed.

Blood slicked the stones. My claws extended to dig in where flesh failed. The weight of the world, of punishment, of law and death, hung on my back—but I climbed.

And finally—finally—I pulled myself over the edge, panting, half-dead, and rolled onto wolf soil.

The second my boots touched their cursed earth, the spell shuddered.

And then I heard it.

A low, distant sound at first.

Then it rose. Dozens. Maybe hundreds.

Howls.

Echoing through the trees.

The Hunt had begun.

Panic slammed into me like a fist. No time to rest. No time to think. If they’d already released her, she was in the forest now, surrounded by predators born for this. Wolves on their land, in their element.

I was too far.

Too late.

They had the advantage.

And she had nothing.

No weapon. No scent masking. No idea I was coming.

The forest stretched wide and wild before me, and somewhere inside it, Clare was running for her life. Maybe bleeding. Maybe cornered already.

"Hold on," I whispered to the wind. "Just hold on, little flame."

Because the gods might damn me. The wolves might hunt me. The Council might kill me.

But I would cross every line—every fucking law—for her.

Even if I had to burn this whole cursed forest to the ground.