Claimed by the Alpha and the Vampire Prince: Masquerading as a Man-Chapter 56: Snapping

Clare’s POV:

"You... you don’t have to do that. I’m... I’m a girl. Disguised as a guy," I blurted, too fast—way too fast.

The words stumbled out, barely formed, barely brave, but urgent enough to make him stop.

He froze.

One foot forward, one breath away from whatever deranged plan was forming behind those burning yellow eyes of his.

I should’ve felt relief—should’ve unclenched, breathed easy, maybe thanked the moon or whatever supernatural hotline was open for mercy at that moment.

But no.

Because instead of turning away, instead of respecting the huge, blinking sign that read SHE’S A GIRL, BACK OFF, Reed just stood there... staring at me.

Like I’d morphed into something more dangerous.

More... appetizing.

Fuck.

And then it hit me.

He wasn’t horrified.

He wasn’t disgusted.

He was still looking.

His eyes didn’t soften. They darkened.

You’d think the truth would kill whatever freakish interest he had in me.

But no—apparently, gender didn’t matter when you’re a psychotic werewolf with issues deeper than the goddamn Mariana Trench.

Was he... bisexual?

Oh God, no. Please don’t let that be another twisted layer of this nightmare.

I couldn’t deal with a sexually-fluid, rage-fueled alpha with a wolf that purred at the sight of my boobs.

The worst part?

Boobs clearly weren’t enough proof for him.

Like I had to flash the rest of my credentials just to earn my gender back.

This wasn’t just exposure.

This was stripping.

This was a predator circling the truth, not because he didn’t believe it—

But because he wanted to own it.

And I... I was running out of clothes, lies, and places to hide.

The aftershock didn’t last long.

Reed blinked once—twice—and whatever storm had been brewing behind those eyes settled into something worse.

Determination.

He straightened, rolled his shoulders like someone preparing for war, and looked at me with the kind of terrifying calm that only comes right before destruction.

"I told you to remove your pants," he said again, slow, deliberate.

Was he fucking kidding me?

Was this some twisted supernatural strip search? A wolf thing?

Like proving I had boobs wasn’t enough and now I had to show the full feminine portfolio to earn my right to not or not be torn apart?

"Do I look like a human piñata to you?" I wanted to scream.

But my voice? Yeah, it went on strike.

Instead, I stood there, frozen like prey in headlights, because I wasn’t sure if defiance would set him off or if obeying would kill whatever shred of dignity I had left.

He didn’t move closer.

Didn’t threaten.

He didn’t need to.

The way he stood there, eyes never leaving me, not even blinking—it was like he’d already decided.

The only variable left in the equation... was me.

Run? Die.

Refuse? Die slower.

Obey? Probably die anyway, but maybe with pants half-on.

God, what kind of ancient bullshit contract did I accidentally sign by being born?

And worst of all—

Part of me knew...

He wasn’t asking to humiliate me.

He wanted to know.

To see.

To confirm every piece of the reality that had been warped, stretched, and snapped in the last few minutes.

Like my gender was a puzzle, and he was down to the final piece.

And I?

I was standing there, on the edge of something I couldn’t come back from.

That’s it.

That’s fucking it.

I’ve been holding on by a thread—through the madness, through the fear, through the humiliation.

I’ve bit my tongue. I’ve played it smart. I’ve done my best to survive.

But no more.

My voice came out like a scream that had been boiling under my skin for weeks, cracked and furious:

"I fucking said NO!"

Reed froze.

Eyes wide. Chest still. Even his damn wolf quieted.

"I told you I was a girl. I showed you I was a girl. If your stupid supernatural brain can’t tell the difference between a guy and a girl, that’s not my fucking problem!"

My fists were shaking at my sides, my entire body trembling with rage and something deeper—exhaustion.

"I am tired. Tired of this godforsaken place. Tired of you. Of your pale, psychotic Dracula wannabe friend. Of all you entitled, deranged creatures who think just because you’re powerful, you own everything—even someone’s body. Even their dignity."

My chest heaved, tears blurring my vision, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

"I’m not your plaything. I’m not your experiment. And I am sure as hell not going to stand here and let you strip me like I’m some fucking offering to your ego!"

Silence.

Reed looked at me like I’d just slapped the soul out of him.

He blinked—once, twice—but said nothing.

And for the first time since he tore down my door like a demon from the pits...

He looked human.

Small. Almost guilty.

Good.

Let him sit with that.

Because I wasn’t sure what scared me more—the beast with claws... or the man who thought he had the right to own me just because I didn’t match his reality.

Just as the last shred of anger ripped from my throat and silence swallowed the room—

Pain.

A sharp, searing twist in my lower belly.

Like my insides had been caught in a vice and twisted until they screamed.

I gasped, stumbled back—my knees buckling as I clutched my abdomen.

Shit.

No.

Not now.

Not this.

A familiar warmth bloomed between my legs, wet and thick, and before I even looked down, I knew.

My fucking period.

Because why not, right? Why not bleed on top of everything else?

I crouched, teeth clenched, vision hazy with pain. My pants were ruined, already stained with dark red. And the cramps—God, they were savage. This month’s pain had come in full revenge mode because last time they were manageable. This was war. This was vengeance. My uterus was performing a damn blood sacrifice.

And then I heard it.

Low. Rough. Feral.

"Mate."

I froze.

That voice. That tone. That word.

The same one Blaze had whispered before vanishing on me like a cursed fairytale.

And now Reed—Reed, whose face was frozen somewhere between shock, realization, and something I couldn’t afford to name—was looking at me with that same wild hunger. Not lust. Not anger.

But claiming.

His pupils had dilated, eyes nearly glowing as he inhaled—slow, deep, like he was tasting the air.

The blood.

The scent of me.

No.

No no no no—

I wasn’t going to think about it.

Not about the word.

Not about the look in his eyes.

Because I had more immediate problems—like the fact that my uterus was currently reenacting the apocalypse and this room had gone from awkward tension to straight-up supernatural horror again.