CHAPTER 118: MIDNIGHT REVELATION

CLARE POV

Well, I couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever. This was my apartment, my sanctuary—not theirs. If anyone should be cowering or avoiding confrontation, it should be the two overgrown territorial idiots currently occupying my bed.

Not me.

Also... I still needed sleep. Desperately.

I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and opened the bathroom door. The air outside hit me like a wave of tension. Yep. They were still in the room, and from the heavy silence and stiff posture, I could tell they’d been bickering the whole time I was gone—at least until they heard the door creak open.

Their mumbling cut off like a wire snapped. Blaze’s gaze darted to me, sharp but unreadable. Reed’s jaw was tight, his arms crossed like some grumpy guard dog on alert.

Whatever. I wasn’t doing this right now.

I ignored them both and padded barefoot across the room, climbed back onto the bed—from the bottom, of course, like some kind of spy slipping through enemy lines—and burrowed myself under the covers without saying a word. No eye contact. No comments.

Just sleep.

At first, neither of them moved.

Good. I hoped the awkwardness stung.

Then, slowly, I felt them shift back into position—like clockwork. Blaze moved behind me, his cold presence settling at my back like a glacier with arms. Reed shifted toward my front again, radiating that stubborn warmth I had practically melted into earlier.

So here I was again.

The human burrito in the supernatural dickhead sandwich.

I sighed into my pillow.

Gods. What even was my life now?

This wasn’t romantic. This wasn’t cute. This wasn’t anything but exhausting.

But I’d made my point.

This was my bed. My apartment. And if they wanted to play this ridiculous contest-of-dominance game, they’d have to do it on my terms.

And right now, my terms were: shut up, get comfortable, and let me sleep.

Because if I didn’t get at least three more hours of unconsciousness, the next person to breathe near me was getting stabbed.

With a spoon.

Okay enough is enough they were both pulling me to their side!

"You guys..." I said, turning my head just enough to glare at the two idiots still hovering on either side of me. "I know you want to protect me or whatever, but this—" I motioned vaguely to the mattress, their bodies, and the tight little human trap I was stuck in, "—this is becoming too much. You’re invading my private space."

Neither of them moved. Typical.

"Like... who gave permission to sleep in my bed?" I added, louder now, dragging myself up to sit properly. My hair was a mess, my face probably looked like a gremlin’s, and my voice was croaky from being woken up mid-dream... again. "Seriously. Did I miss the memo where this became a supernatural cuddle-fest? Because I don’t recall saying, ’Sure, guys, make yourselves at home. My bed is your bed.’"

Reed at least had the decency to look sheepish. He rubbed the back of his neck and mumbled something about making sure I was safe.

Blaze? He didn’t even blink. Just crossed one leg over the other and leaned back on his hands like he owned the place. "You were cold," he said with a straight face, like that justified everything. "I was being practical."

"Practical

?" I repeated, incredulous. "Pretty sure wrapping your ice-cube arms around me like I’m a blood bag is not in the ’How to be Practical’ handbook."

Reed tried to stifle a laugh. Blaze glared at him.

"And you," I pointed at Reed, "were radiating heat like a human-sized furnace, which I admit was nice... until I realized I was being double spooned by two guys who can’t go five minutes without trying to rip each other’s throats out. It’s exhausting."

"I get it," I added. "Mate bond. Destiny. Beloved. Whatever you want to call this supernatural crapstorm—but newsflash: I’m still a person. A person who didn’t ask for two half-naked paranormal men to sandwich her in the middle of the night."

Reed rubbed the back of his neck, looking slightly sheepish now, while Blaze leaned back against the headboard, expression unreadable.

"I just..." I sighed, pressing my palm against my forehead. "I need space. I need time. I don’t even know how I feel about any of this, let alone either of you. So please. Stop deciding things for me."

Blaze finally spoke, his voice low but oddly calm. "Noted."

Reed nodded stiffly. "Yeah. You’re right."

I slid to the edge of the bed, tugging the blanket with me. "From now on, unless I specifically say ’sleep here,’ I expect both of you to stay in your designated corners of the universe at bedtime. Clear?"

They exchanged a look behind me. Some silent bro-telepathy.

I narrowed my eyes. "Clear?"

"Crystal," Reed said quickly.

Blaze gave a tight nod. "Fine. But I’m taking the couch."

"Great. Take the floor for all I care," I muttered as I swung my legs down. "Just don’t take my bed."

They went quiet after that, and for the first time since this whole mess started, I felt like maybe—maybe—I was reclaiming a shred of control in this supernatural circus.

Gods, I missed being normal.

Great. This was definitely the last time I was letting them sleep in my bed. Next time, I’d spray the room with garlic-scented air freshener or rub the sheets down with wolfsbane if I had to.

If this was what being someone’s "mate" meant, the gods could have kept that little cosmic joke to themselves.

I tugged the blanket around me, finally reclaiming what little peace I had left in my apartment. Both supernatural idiots had been banished—one to the couch, the other, hopefully, out of my personal bubble. I was ready to surrender to sleep again. Like actual sleep. The non-nightmare kind.

Thank the gods.

But just as sleep started to tug me into its hazy grasp, a slender little idea tiptoed into my brain—soft, cunning, and brilliant.

They say they love me—blah blah mate bond, fate, you complete me—whatever.

They also say I’m not safe here.

Okay, fine. Let’s say I accept that. Let’s pretend, for one sleepless second, that their obsession with guarding me 24/7 isn’t just their ego talking. Then...

But... what if I told them I would be safe elsewhere

?

Like home?

Back in my own country, far away from vampire politics, wolf turf wars, bloody prophecies, and twisted redheaded vampires with disturbing appetites.

Home.

The word rolled in my chest like a weight I hadn’t realized I was carrying. My real bed. My real life. My parents. The simple world where vampires and wolves only existed in late-night movies. I missed that world. I ached for it.

Would they help me return?

Would they let me?

Would they even believe me?

The thought made my pulse race a little. It was risky, sure, but if I played it right—if I made them believe I genuinely needed to go home to be safe... maybe I could buy myself a one-way ticket out of this nightmare before it swallowed me whole.

A faint smile crept onto my face.

It was a long shot. But desperate times...

Well, they call for a little manipulation, don’t they?

And besides, if they really loved me like they claimed—they’d help me get what I wanted.

Even if what I wanted... was to leave them behind.

What if they say no?

Because if they said no... then what did that mean? That I was a prisoner? That all this "you’re our mate" stuff was just sugarcoated ownership?

I blinked up at the ceiling in the dark, suddenly wide awake again.

Tomorrow, I’d ask. Or at least... test the waters.

And if their answer didn’t sit right with me?

Well. Then I’d know exactly what kind of danger I was really in.

Not from outside.

But from them.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow I’ll know just how deep this so-called mate bond goes. How much love—if any—really backs it up.

They claim they’d protect me. Claim they care. Claim I’m important. All right, then—time to test that devotion. Not just with pretty words and bedroom invasions, but with actual truth.

Because I need answers.

About Clark.

It’s easy to throw around words like fate and bond and mine, but what happens when I ask for something real? Something that matters to me?

Like... my brother.

Just the thought of him sent a cold pulse through my chest. Clark. Gods, I miss him. His stupid sarcasm, his smug know-it-all grin, the way he’d tell me I was too dumb to survive without him—joking, but not really.

They say he took his own life. That’s what they told us.

But Sara’s reaction told a very different story. The way her whole demeanor shifted when I asked about him—like I’d said something unspeakable, something cursed. Like even mentioning his name made her skin crawl.

She didn’t say, "Oh, that poor boy who passed away." No.

She said, "His name is forbidden."

Forbidden.

Like he wasn’t just dead—he was erased.

Buried under layers of secrets, and fear, and silence.

They lied to us. I’m sure of it now.

Because there’s definitely something shady about his death. The whole thing reeks. And the way that woman, Sara, acted when I brought him up?

It wasn’t just avoidance. It was terror wrapped in secrecy.

She told me his name was "forbidden"—like it was some ancient curse or sealed vault. A brother I was told had committed suicide, but whose memory made people flinch like he was Voldemort reincarnated.

You don’t say a suicide victim’s name is forbidden. That’s not how grief or trauma works. That’s how coverups work. That’s how secrets fester.

And Blaze and Reed? They’re not just some random wolves and vampires thrown into my life—they know things. They’re connected.

Blaze and Reed... they have to know something. I don’t care how wrapped up in their supernatural drama they are—if they’re as powerful and respected as they act, they must know more.

Especially Blaze.

Blaze literally told the principal—a goddamn vampire in charge of a supernatural-infested elite school—to fuck off, and the guy listened. Backed down like some whipped servant.

That kind of power doesn’t come out of nowhere.

So yeah... tomorrow, I’ll start poking.

A few gentle questions. A few carefully placed mentions of Clark. I’ll watch their eyes, their posture, every twitch of discomfort.

I won’t come out swinging—not yet.

First, I’ll test the waters.

See if they flinch.

See what they hide.

Because I’m done sitting in the dark while they argue about who gets to hold me in my sleep.

If they really want to protect me, love me—then they’re going to prove it.

By telling me the truth.

Or helping me dig it up myself.