Claimed by the Alpha and the Vampire Prince: Masquerading as a Man-Chapter 123: Deflecting

REED POV:

I didn’t want to lie.

Not to her.

Not now—especially when we were just starting to build something, however small or fragile it was. But I also couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

But I was supposed to answer the question... and the truth? The truth was a loaded gun pointed at everything we were starting to build.

So, I did what any cornered idiot would do.

I stalled.

"Clark?" I repeated, faking a thoughtful frown, hoping she couldn’t hear the alarm bells screaming in my head. "I think I’ve heard that name before..."

I avoided her eyes, focusing on the empty plate she’d just pushed aside. Then, casually—too casually—I added, "Who is he to you?"

Yeah. Classic deflection.

Not my proudest moment.

But her question wasn’t simple. Not for me. Not for Blaze. And definitely not for the supernatural mess we were neck-deep in.

Because the truth? The truth could break her.

And I wasn’t sure she’d ever forgive us if it came from my mouth.

Of course, I already knew he was her twin.

I wasn’t asking because I didn’t know — I was asking to see if she’d lie to me.

Testing if she’d lie to me, the way I was now lying to her.

I wasn’t proud of it, but I’d found out the truth by snooping around her closet, digging through that old box of stashed photos like a damn creep. One look at that worn picture of her and Clark—arms wrapped around each other, same smile, same eyes—and the pieces had clicked into place.

The resemblance was impossible to miss. They were like a version of one person when he is female and male. Especially now with her real hair and her face lacking make up.

But I wasn’t going to tell her that.

I wasn’t about to admit I’d invaded her privacy. I’d already crossed enough lines. So instead, I kept my expression neutral, leaned in a little, and waited to see how much she trusted me.

Let her lie or tell the truth. Either way, I’d know exactly where we stood.

"Clark," she began, saying his name like a prayer—soft, aching, full of longing.

"Clark was my other half... and yet still totally different from me." Her voice carried a quiet reverence, the kind reserved for someone irreplaceable.He was the one with manners, with genius—calm and good in ways I could never be." Her voice was soft, like she was talking to herself more than to me. "He used to joke about carrying the brains for both of us..."

She trailed off, her eyes unfocused. her eyes unfocused, a small, beautiful smile playing on her lips. She wasn’t here with me anymore, she wasn’t here in this kitchen with me anymore. She was lost in a memory—somewhere warm, somewhere safe. Somewhere I wasn’t.

And it hurt.

It hurt more than I expected—watching her remember him with so much love and softness. It hurt that she was telling me all this. That she trusted me enough to open up like this. It hurt because I already knew, and still, I asked. I wanted her to lie. Gods, I needed her to lie. It would’ve made the guilt easier to carry.

But she didn’t. Now, hearing her voice crack just a little as she said—

"Clark is..." she paused, her voice catching. It was too real. Too raw. And I couldn’t stop the storm of guilt building in my chest. Then quietly, like the truth was something fragile she could barely hold, "was my twin."

My throat tightened.

And just like that, the weight of it settled deeper in my chest—knowing what I knew. Knowing what Blaze knew. And knowing that this girl, our mate, was about to walk blindly into the past we helped bury.

And if she ever finds out the truth... she may never look at either of us the same again.

"They told us he committed suicide," she said, her voice low—strained, like each word cost her something. "I didn’t believe it. Not for a second. Clark would never... he wasn’t like that. But now..." she paused, her eyes welling up, her fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the table. "Now, after seeing all this—this madness, after living through this place—the monsters, the shadows, this horror show of a place—I... I think I’ve started to believe it."

Her voice cracked on that last word, and something in her just... broke.

Her voice cracked open like a fault line, and the grief that spilled out wasn’t loud or dramatic—it was quiet, but raw. That kind of grief that lives deep in the bones. The kind that surfaces only when you’ve run out of strength to keep it buried.

Her shoulders trembled, small at first—then shaking in waves. She covered her face with her hands, trying to hold it together, trying not to fall apart in front of me.

She looked so small, so fragile—so far from the fierce, sarcastic girl who stared down vampires and barked at werewolves to get off her bed. Her shoulders started to shake, and her head dipped low as the first sob escaped her lips.

And gods help me, I couldn’t just sit there anymore.

I moved without thinking, sliding off my chair and standing beside her. I moved before I could think—before doubt, guilt, or fear had a chance to stop me. I crossed the space between us and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close, holding her like she was something precious. Because she was.

My arms wrapped around her, pulling her into me. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t push me away. Instead, she leaned into my chest, burying her face in my shirt as the tears came harder. My wolf went silent, the kind of stillness that came when we both understood the weight of what she carried.

She wasn’t crying for attention. She wasn’t trying to make a scene. She was grieving—and I was finally seeing the depth of that grief for the first time.

She just... let herself be held.

I felt her tears soak into my shirt, her breath hitching against my chest. I pressed my hand gently to the back of her head, steadying her, grounding her.

"I’m here," I whispered, my voice barely audible, unsure if it helped but needing to say something. "I’ve got you, Clare."

And gods help me... I wished I could tell her the truth. But how do you tell someone their trust is already breaking under a lie you’re still holding?

So I just held her tighter, silently praying I’d find the courage to face it... before she found it out on her own.

I pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, my lips lingering there for a moment. My hand moved gently through her hair, trying to soothe her, slow the trembling that still ran through her.I murmured "I’m here... I’m here... I’ve got you..." again and again, like some kind of mantra—like maybe if I said it enough times, it would actually be true.

Eventually, I felt her breathing steady against me. The shakes eased, the tension in her shoulders softening as she began to calm down. Slowly, she started to shift away from me, pulling back slightly. I let her—only so I could take her face gently in both hands, guiding her to look at me.

Her skin was warm beneath my touch, her cheeks damp with tears, her lashes still wet. I tilted her face up to mine, making her look at me.

Gods, I was so close to her.

"Hey," I murmured, forcing her to meet my gaze.

Our faces were close—closer than they should’ve been—but I couldn’t pull back now. I needed her to hear this, needed her to feel it in her bones.

"I will protect you," I said, my voice low, raw with the weight of the promise. "Nothing—nothing—is going to hurt you while I’m alive. And I’m not dying anytime soon. Got it?"

She nodded, eyes wide, still glistening with tears—but full of something else now too. Trust. Vulnerability. That quiet kind of strength people only show when they let their walls down. So much trust it nearly broke me.

And gods... something inside me cracked wide open. And I don’t know what came over me—

Maybe it was the way she looked at me—like I was someone worth believing in.

Maybe it was the scent of her wrapping around me, warm and familiar now.

Maybe it was the silence. The moment. The way time seemed to hold its breath.

Maybe it was the firestorm of emotions from holding her, comforting her, aching for her.

But I leaned in.

Fuck, I leaned in.

And I kissed her.

Not hard. Not desperate. Just... honest. Soft. Like a promise sealed between lips.

Soft at first, hesitant—testing the waters, afraid to shatter the fragile thing blooming between us. But when she didn’t pull away, when I felt her lean into it—into me—the world stopped spinning. Just for a second, everything was quiet.

And for once... I didn’t feel cursed.

A moment I knew I’d never be able to take back—and wasn’t sure I ever wanted to.

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