Claimed by the Alpha and the Vampire Prince: Masquerading as a Man-Chapter 53: Defective Human

Reed POV:

The moment I tore open his hoodie—

I froze.

My half-shifted hand, claws mid-air, caught in the pause of pure confusion.

Wrapped chest. Bandages. Tight and purposeful.

My first thought?

He’s hurt.

But no... there was no scent of blood, no injury—just a soft, unmistakable outline beneath the fabric.

Bulges. Rounded. Firm. Pressed down but not hidden well enough now.

My eyes widened, my heart lurched like it missed a beat. My claws twitched, almost retreating.

"Boobs?"

My dumbass wolf echoed in my head, stunned stupid.

I blinked. "You have boobs?"

The words stumbled out of me, choked with disbelief.

This had to be a joke.

A hallucination.

A spell?

No... I could see them, and I sure as hell could smell the truth now that the illusion was cracking.

But still—I needed proof.

Because my brain, my pride, my wolf—none of them were processing this shit right.

So, like the fucking psycho I am—I grabbed the edge of the bandages and ripped.

Rip.

And there they were.

Two perfect, medium peaches spilling out like a punchline I didn’t ask for.

The air stilled. My mouth went dry. My claws retracted halfway as my eyes refused to look away.

"You’ve got to be kidding me..." I muttered.

How?

When?

What the actual fuck are you? I didn’t say it, but the words beat hard against my skull.

My wolf was spinning out.

Chanting like a lunatic: "Boobs...boobs...boobs..." like that solved anything.

Yeah.

We were both freaking the hell out.

Because apparently, the universe thought it would be real funny to have me—us—completely obsessed with a boy...

...who wasn’t a boy at all.

And worst of all?

We still wanted her.

Yeah. We were both bummed.

Attracted to a guy? That shit didn’t make sense.

Because just like me, my wolf had a thing for boobs. Loved them. Worshipped them.

But a guy with boobs?

That was some twisted, kinky cosmic prank.

A full-on "fuck you" from the universe.

First, it has me lusting after a human—strike one.

Then the said human turns out to be a guy—strike two against my very straight, very wolf-alpha-ass identity.

And now?

Now the guy has boobs.

Supple. Juicy. Fucking distracting.

What the hell is wrong with the cosmos?

My hand had already retreated from its beast form, trembling as it went human again.

The boy—girl—whatever the hell he was—thrashed in my grip, struggling like I was the monster he thought I was.

And maybe I was.

But how the hell was I supposed to deal with this shit?

Boobs. On a dude.

My brain kept short-circuiting.

Stupid universe.

I mean—don’t get me wrong.

I love boobs. But on a guy?

That’s some next-level psychological warfare.

The fuck am I supposed to do with this?

I let go—fast. Like touching that soft, smooth skin suddenly burned me.

He—she—scrambled back like a startled animal, arms covering her chest, face flushed and terrified.

She was trying to hide.

Hide what had already been revealed.

And all I could do was stare, heart pounding like a war drum.

How the fuck didn’t I see it?

The signs were there.

The softness. The voice. The scent—slightly sweet, yeah, but I figured that was just human shit. Maybe some cheap-ass shampoo or body wash. Whatever.

I ignored it.

I’m fucking stupid.

But now?

Now I’m looking dead at it—them.

Boobs.

Real-ass, full, soft, undeniably boobs.

On a guy.

What the actual hell?

My brain? Fried.

My wolf? Short-circuited. Still chanting "boobs" like an idiot in my head.

And me?

...I wanted to throw myself into a goddamn volcano.

Because even now—even now—some twisted, deranged part of me still wanted him.

Wanted to touch. To taste.

To claim.

What kind of messed-up, defective freak was I?

Because this was a boy. A human.

A boy with boobs.

Like some weird-ass science experiment gone wrong.

Was he sick? Mutated? Some kind of supernatural hybrid?

No—he looked terrified, confused, like he’d been hiding this forever.

And I just ripped it open.

What the fuck was going on?

I backed away. Fast.

Let go of him like he burned me.

Because maybe he did.

Maybe this whole damn thing is burning me alive from the inside out.

"WHAT ARE YOU?"

The words came out harsher than I meant—like a growl dragged straight from the pit of my chest.

He was crouched on the floor, arms crossed tight over his chest, trying to hide what was already burned into my vision.

Boobs.

He had freaking boobs.

And yet—he just stared at me. Wide-eyed. Frozen. Shell-shocked.

Like he was the one betrayed.

Like he didn’t know what he was.

"Say something!" I barked.

But nothing. Just that blank, terrified look.

It pissed me off.

"What, you gonna play mute now? You don’t get to play the victim when I’m the one looking at a goddamn human boy with tits!"

My brain refused to compute.

I wasn’t stupid. I could see what was in front of me. But that made it worse.

Because if I believed what I saw, if I said out loud what it meant—

Then it’d mean I was wrong.

That I wanted a human.

That I wanted a boy.

That I wanted a boy who had breasts.

And that made no damn sense.

There was no category in my brain for this.

"You’ve been lying to me," I muttered, more to myself than him.

"From the start. All this time. What even are you?"

And still—still—the scent of him was in the air. Under all that fear and panic, I could smell it.

Sweet.

Faint.

Addictive.

And that terrified me more than anything.

What else was this human hiding?

Did he even have a dick?

Or was he—fuck—was he made with both parts?

Like some twisted, defective creation? A mix of male and female slapped together by a universe with a fucked-up sense of humor?

Was this even natural?

My wolf was dead silent now, which was even more disturbing. He wasn’t growling.

Wasn’t howling.

Just... silent.

Like he was waiting. Watching. Processing the shock just like I was.

Or maybe he knew before I did, and just didn’t want to say it. Nah it couldn’t he too was surprised.

"Are you... are you even a guy?"

The words barely made it past my lips.

No answer.

The human—she? he? it?—was still curled up like a wounded animal. Breathing hard. Arms clutched tight over that chest.

Those breasts.

Real. Soft.

Too damn real.

I backed up, one step, two, like maybe distance could untangle the knot in my brain.

Because if this human wasn’t a guy, then that changed everything.

But if she was a guy... then I had a whole new problem.

And my wolf?

He whispered in my head.

Still want them.

That’s what scared me most.

She has to be a she.

She gotta be.

Because otherwise—

Fuck.

I’d be more than just a psycho freak.

I’d be some deranged twisted lunatic getting hard over a guy with boobs.

That’s messed up. That’s beyond messed up.

That’s... that’s not normal. Not even by supernatural standards.

I mean—

Yeah, I wasn’t exactly an expert on humans. Didn’t want to be.

They were beneath us.

Weak.

Filthy.

Entertainments at best, pets at worst.

That was the way of things. Always had been.

Until... him.

No—no, no, no. Not going there.

I can’t even fucking think about him right now.

I gotta fix this.

I gotta figure this shit out.

Because if she’s not a girl—if he’s not a girl—

Then what the fuck is he?

Was this normal for humans?

Did some of them have this shit?

Boobs and a dick?

Or was this just my human? My personal brand of cosmic fuckery?

Because of course the universe couldn’t just make it easy—

Nope. Had to toss me the one human that breaks every rule.

Every instinct.

Every boundary I had left.

And I hated it.

But also... I couldn’t fucking look away.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I’m an alpha.

Born and bred.

Top of the chain.

I’m not supposed to hesitate. I don’t flinch. I don’t get confused.

I fuck. I fight. I lead.

That’s how it’s always been.

Clean. Simple. Ruthless.

But now?

Now I’ve got this... human—who smells like sunlight and danger and everything I’m not supposed to crave—

Curled up on the floor with fucking boobs, looking at me with wide eyes like I’m the monster here.

And I am.

I know I am.

But fuck, I still want to touch her—I mean him—I mean what the fuck even is she?

She’s a guy. No—no.

Not with those tits. Not with that softness. That scent.

But also not like the girls I’ve been with.

She’s something else. Something in between.

Like the gods reached into the middle of a storm and pulled out a contradiction just to fuck with me.

Why her?

Why now?

Why the fuck do I want to bury my nose into her neck and rip apart anyone who touches her—him—whatever?

This is not how it’s supposed to be.