CHAPTER 109: BLOODY HORROR

Clare’s POV:

I gasped, a scream tearing from my throat. Someone rushed in through the door.

But it wasn’t Blaze.

It was Clark.

"What’s wrong, sis?" he asked, concern etched on his face.

"Vampires... blood... fire," I whispered, my voice trembling.

He burst into laughter, pinching my cheeks. "I knew you had a wild imagination, but this is another level."

I slapped his hands away. "I’m serious."

"Then tell me, this Blaze guy—is he a hunky vampire who wants to drink your precious blood?" he teased, chuckling.

"Fuck off!" I yelled, kicking him off my bed. He fell with a groan.

"Evil twin," he muttered.

Wait a minute.

"This is my room? This is my room!" I exclaimed, leaping up and running around to check.

"Congratulations, stupid. Yes, it is your room," Clark said from the floor. He always called me dense, stupid, an idiot, claiming I was fortunate he carried enough genius for both of us so he could afford to share. But even him reminding me now didn’t dampen my mood. Instead, I leaped at him and hugged him.

"You’re alive," I said, clinging to him.

"Why are you dumber than normal?" he questioned with that sly grin and the glint in his eyes I always told him made him look like an evil scientist, especially with his stupid specs on.

"Come on, let’s go eat breakfast before your whole brain turns to mush," he said, gripping my hand and leading me downstairs.

But the environment shimmered, and suddenly, I was back at the feast of the damned. A long obsidian table stretched before me, naked humans laid out as vampires feasted on them. At the high table, the red-headed vampire, Thelia, was feasting on Clark. Her eyes locked onto mine.

I looked at the person holding my hand—Blaze. He opened his mouth, pointed fangs glaring at me.

I snatched my hand away.

Clark screamed, "Run!"

I ran, not knowing where, just running down a long corridor. I felt footsteps behind me, my eyes streaming with tears. I was sobbing, running, having left him—I left him in that awful place, left him to be a meal to a fucking monster.

The hallway ended, and I was back in the woods. The steps following me vanished. Then Clark, clothes torn, specs broken, face covered with dirt, rushed from among the trees.

"We need to hide," he told me urgently. Howls echoed from where he had emerged. He took my hand again, rushing to a tree.

"Climb now," he said urgently. "Hurry, before they come."

He pushed my feet up just as a huge black wolf emerged, and it wasn’t alone. Behind it stood more beasts—red, grey, brown—as they glared at my brother.

"Quick, Clark, climb up!" I told him, stretching my hands to help him climb.

He turned to me. "You shouldn’t have come," he said before the wolves launched themselves at him, tearing him apart.

I screamed, opening my eyes. I was sweating and sobbing, and a figure was before me, rubbing my head, murmuring words I couldn’t grasp. I turned to look at him and flinched away, scrambling to the other side of the bed.

"It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you," he said, arms lifted in surrender, but his fangs still visible.

Blaze.

"It’s just a nightmare," he cooed, as if talking to a frightened kitten.

Fuck.

If that was the nightmare, then reality wasn’t good either.

BLAZE - POV

She screamed like the hounds of hell were chasing her.

A sound so raw, so terrified, it nearly stopped my dead heart.

The sound tore through the room, sharp and panicked. Her body twisted under the sheets, breath ragged, sweat coating her skin like a fever breaking. She looked like prey caught in a nightmare hunt—cornered, helpless, terrified.

I shot up from the chair beside her bed, instinct already kicking in, eyes scanning the darkened room for any threat. But there was no enemy in sight—only her. Drenched in sweat, shaking, eyes wide and unfocused like she was still trapped somewhere between this world and a nightmare.

And I didn’t blame her. Not one bit.

After what she’d been through... after just one twisted dinner with those unhinged monsters I call kin, of course her mind turned traitor while she slept. Of course, her dreams became something to fear. A minute in that dining hall was enough to scar a mortal for life. A minute with those depraved, blood-hungry psychos and their sick rituals.

If anything, I should’ve burned the entire fucking table down along with the house. Incinerated every one of them—Thelia, Lucas, even Marcus for not stopping it sooner. No ashes left, not even dust. Just smoke and screams.

But what broke me—what truly cracked something ancient and buried deep inside me—was her eyes when they met mine.

The moment she saw me... she flinched.

Like I was the nightmare chasing her.

What the actual fuck?

My chest tightened, rage swelling so fast it drowned out reason. I wanted to break something. No—someone. I wanted to tear Lucas limb by limb and burn Thelia again until she begged for ash to be her mercy. How dare they make her see me as part of their nightmare?

I was the one who saved her.

I took a step back, my chest twisting with something I didn’t want to name. My fists clenched and unclenched as she scrambled away from me like I was about to sink my teeth into her. Her fear wasn’t general. It was focused. On me.

She looked at me like I was the monster.

Fuck.

Do you have any idea how that feels? To be feared by the one thing you would burn the world for?

I raised my arms slowly, deliberately, like you would with a frightened animal. I showed her my empty hands, my open palms—nonthreatening. I softened my stance, even though my rage was bubbling like molten lava beneath the surface.

"It’s okay," I said, voice low and careful, as if volume alone might shatter her. "I’m not going to hurt you."

Her eyes didn’t believe me at first. They were wide, bloodshot, shimmering with unshed tears. Her breathing was erratic, chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. She looked... broken.

A fragile kitten—no, a kitten drenched in gasoline and dropped in a firepit. Burned. Scorched. And now terrified of the one person who wanted to protect her from the flames.

I fucking hate this.

But she was still pressed against the headboard like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, breathing like she’d just run for miles, pupils blown wide.

My fangs were out. Shit.

I turned slightly, biting my own lip to retract them. I hadn’t even noticed they were still showing—hadn’t realized I was still this on edge.

She looked so small, curled up in that bed. So fucking vulnerable.

And all I could think was how just a few hours ago, she was bickering with me in the bathroom, fire in her eyes, that sharp tongue aimed straight for my ego. I’d liked it—her spark, her mouth, the way she didn’t tremble at my presence like the others. She’d faced me like a storm with nothing to lose.

She wasn’t scared then. She wasn’t shaking. And she definitely didn’t look at me like I was something she needed to escape from.

Now?

Now, she looked at me like I was one of them.

I swallowed the growl rising in my throat.

Now she was reduced to this—this terrified, trembling creature—because of them.

Because I left her alone in this den of predators.

My little pet, afraid of me.

And gods help me, it made me want to break something.

Rip through walls. Shatter bone. Bathe in blood if it meant her fear would vanish.

Because this—this fear—was something I couldn’t fucking stand. Not from her. Not toward me.

She sat there, curled up against the headboard, breathing hard, shaking like a leaf in a storm. Her shirt clung to her skin, soaked from the nightmare sweat. Her hair was a mess—tangled and wild—but still, even now, she was so painfully, unfairly beautiful.

I should’ve never left her. That’s on me.

I swallowed the rage back down. Forced my voice soft again. "You’re safe. I’m here. They can’t touch you again."

Not unless they wanted to lose more than their fucking hands this time.

I took a step forward, slowly. "It was just a nightmare."

But her eyes didn’t believe me yet. And that made it worse.

I had to earn her trust again. Not as a vampire. Not as a monster.

As Blaze.

Her mate.

And I would.

Even if it killed me.

"Do you want water?" I asked, my voice rougher than I intended.

She shook her head, arms tightening around her knees. Still silent. Still trembling.

I sat down on the far edge of the bed—gave her space. Didn’t push. Didn’t touch.

But gods, I wanted to.

I wanted to hold her. Wrap her in warmth. Let her bury her face into my chest and cry if she needed to. Not because I thought she was weak. She wasn’t. She was braver than most of the fools who cowered before me. But because she deserved peace. She deserved someone who would carry the weight of her pain and throw it into the fire.

I was that someone.

Whether she knew it or not yet, I was hers. And she was mine.

"You’re not alone anymore, Clare," I murmured, watching her from the corner of my eye. "I swear to you, no one will ever hurt you again."

She blinked. Looked at me.

And for just a moment, her gaze softened. It was brief. A flicker. But it was there.

Hope.

It wrapped around my dead heart and squeezed.