BLAZE POV
Great.
Fucking great.
The stupid mutt got us banished from her bed.
I was the one who followed her in first—I was the one who stayed quiet, who was just trying to keep her safe. Then he had to come in, trailing behind me like a shadow with a superiority complex, and act like I’d laid claim to something he wanted.
So now?
Now we’re both out.
Exiled from the warm sanctuary of her room because Reed couldn’t stand losing even while she was asleep. What the hell did he think was going to happen—she’d wake up and throw a fucking rose at whoever she was curled up next to?
Gods. What a joke.
And now this is it.
If he hadn’t copied me—if he’d just let me go in alone like I planned—none of this would’ve happened. I would’ve held her, kept her warm, maybe even gained some of that fragile trust she’s barely beginning to offer. But no, Reed had to stomp in right after me like a territorial dog peeing on everything I touch.
And now?
Now we’re banned.Off the bed. Off her space.Just like that.
I don’t even blame her, honestly. She’s right. We are invading her personal space. But dammit, I was this close to building something with her last night. That sleep... it was the best rest I’ve had in decades. I forgot what peace felt like until I had her in my arms—even if it was only for a few hours before she rolled over to that furball and left me spooning him like some goddamn nightmare.
I still haven’t forgiven the universe for that.
And now?Now I’ve lost that moment.Because of him.Because of us.
This was the last time I got to hold her in bed, wasn’t it?Unless something changes. Unless she lets me back in.
This is last time I get to hold her in bed. The last time I get to breathe in her scent without walls or guards between us. The last time I get to feel her warmth seep into my cold, cursed bones and pretend—even for a second—that I’m not the monster everyone thinks I am.
Because truth be told...
She makes me feel.
She made me sleep.
I hadn’t truly slept in years—centuries, maybe. Rested? Sure. Closed my eyes and pretended long enough to get by? Of course. But last night?
Last night I slept.
And I dreamt.
Of her. Of a life that never existed but that I suddenly wanted. A life where she smiled at me and it wasn’t just in pity or awkwardness, but because she chose me. Gods, even dreaming it felt like blasphemy.
Now it’s all gone.
Because Reed had to puff his chest and play alpha. Because I let my guard down and fell asleep next to him like some damn domestic idiot. Because now she’s decided we’ve crossed a line—her "private space" was invaded, and we’re just two dumb dogs fighting for a bone.
And she’s not wrong.
But that doesn’t mean it hurts any less.
I’m not letting Reed win.
Not again.
Not like with Clark.
Because if this mate bond means anything—if there’s even a chance she’s mine—then I’ll fight every last werewolf in the damned woods and bleed for it.
Even if it means playing nice.
Even if it means pretending to be patient.
But I swear to the blood gods, if that mutt so much as breathes near her door tonight—he’s getting fanged.
And no. No fucking way in hell will that incident ever leave the four corners of that room. Not now. Not ever.
Me and Reed? In the same bed?
Cuddling?
Absolutely not.
The fact that I woke up practically spooning a wolf?Disgusting. Unholy. Blasphemous.
If anyone in the kingdom or worse the whole of supernatural world—got wind of that, I’d never hear the end of it. The idea alone is already a taboo. Vampires and werewolves sharing a bed is borderline sacrilegious as it is. But spooning? No. That’s where I draw the goddamn line.
Our kinds don’t touch unless it ends in blood.
I don’t care if we were unconscious. I don’t care if it was an accident, some cosmic joke at our expense. That moment never happened. I will personally erase it from existence, burn it from memory, and if Reed ever opens his mutt mouth about it, I’ll make sure he can’t talk for a week.
Burn that memory. Bury it. Drown it in holy water.If anyone dares find out, I’ll personally incinerate the poor bastard who breathes a word.
I don’t even know how it happened. One second, Clare was curled between us—where she should be—and the next, she was wriggling her way off the bed like a damn caterpillar, leaving me and Reed to wake up holding each other like lovers from a forbidden play.
The horror on his face mirrored mine, which, for once, I appreciated. It meant we were on the same page: this. never. happened.
Fuck. My pride still hurts.
And the worst part? I still remember the warmth of her pressed between us. Her scent clinging to me. That peace.
Even if it came with a side of trauma and unexpected fur.
Still worth it.
But no one’s ever going to know.
That moment dies with us.
After she came back to bed, not a single bone in me wanted to sleep again.
Not because I wasn’t tired—gods, I could’ve sunk into her warmth and slipped into another dream. But I didn’t want a repeat of that disgraceful incident. Waking up with Reed’s scruffy mutt arms around me once was enough trauma for a century.
I just lay there, still as a corpse — well, deader than usual — staring at her.
She didn’t say much. Just climbed into bed from the foot like she was sneaking into a warzone, tossed the blanket over herself like it could shield her from awkwardness, and turned her back to us. The message was clear: "Don’t push your luck."
So I didn’t.
So I stayed awake.
Not just to protect my pride, but because... I didn’t want to miss a second of her.
And most importantly, I stayed awake. Because the last time I dozed off, I woke up wrapped around a damn werewolf like we were lovers in a romance novel.
Never. Again.
Clare, lying there between us, breathing softly. The subtle rise and fall of her chest. Her scent—earthy, wild, distinctly hers—soothing and maddening all at once. It did something to me. Calmed the storm in my head. Anchored something in my chest I hadn’t even known was adrift.
Her hair spilled over the pillow like dark ink. She mumbled once in her sleep and shifted, unconsciously curling just a little closer to my side, her fingers twitching against the sheets.
I didn’t move. I barely breathed. I just watched her. Listened.
I memorized every curve of her face, the little scar above her eyebrow, the freckle on her collarbone that only showed when her shirt slipped slightly. I memorized the way her lashes fluttered when she dreamed. The way her lips moved when she murmured something I couldn’t hear. The way her whole body relaxed only when she was truly safe.
Safe. With us. With me.
She twitched a little in her sleep. Whimpered. Her brows drew together like she was fighting off the ghosts of her dreams again. I wanted to reach out, soothe her, pull her close, but I didn’t.
I just watched.
Not like a creep. Not like a predator.
But like a man who had nearly lost the only thing in this world that ever made him feel alive again.
I knew I didn’t deserve this moment. Not really.
Not after what happened to her brother.
Not with what I’ve been hiding.
But still... for now, I let myself pretend. Pretend I could protect her. That I could somehow undo the past and keep her untouched by the dark truths slithering just beneath the surface.
She’d ask soon. About him. About Clark.
I could see the questions burning in her eyes earlier. The hesitation. The fear.
And when she does ask...
Lying won’t save me.
But the truth? That might break her.
So I stayed awake. Not just to avoid another vampire-wolf cuddling fiasco, but because I owed her this:
My presence. My promise.
If I couldn’t give her the truth yet, I could at least give her this silence. This stillness.
She didn’t stir again. She didn’t scream this time.
No more nightmares.
Just peace.
And gods... even if it’s just for tonight, I’ll take it.
*******
I needed to up my game.
Because the truth? It wasn’t going to stay buried much longer. Clare was sharp — sharper than any human had the right to be. And even if she weren’t, fate had a cruel habit of unraveling secrets when you least wanted them to come out.
And gods help me... when she finds out what happened to her twin, I’ll need something stronger than words to keep her from tearing me apart- from hating me.
Maybe if she loves me — really loves me — she’ll forgive me.
Maybe.
That’s the only damn shot I’ve got.
I turned my eyes back to her sleeping form. Her body had relaxed, the stress and trauma of the last few days melting away in the safety of her own space. And though she hadn’t chosen me — not yet — I had something Reed didn’t: I understood what loss does to a soul. I knew what it meant to carry guilt.
So yeah, I’d fight for her.
But not like before — not just clawing at the bond because fate said she was mine.
This time, I’d make her choose me. Not because of instinct. Not because of magic.
But because I earned her trust. Her affection. Her heart.
If I had to show up every damn day, prove to her she was safe with me — I would.
If I had to hold back the bloodlust that her scent stirred in me and let her come to me on her terms — I’d do it.
If I had to go against my own kind, my own people — again — just to keep her from the nightmares that chased her into the dark — I would. Gladly.
Because if love was the only shield strong enough to withstand the truth...
Then I was going to build it. Brick by brick.
And when the moment came — when she looked me in the eye and asked the question I knew was coming — about him... about Clark...
I wouldn’t lie.
But I’d pray to every forgotten god that the look in her eyes would be mercy. Not hatred.
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