Chapter 47: Mixed Feelings

Chapter 47: Mixed Feelings Clare POV: One minute, I was soaring—lost in the crashing waves of pleasure, my body trembling from the intensity. The next, I was screaming his name, the sound ripping from my throat as bliss exploded through me in shattering, uncontrollable pulses. If someone had asked my name in that moment, I swear I wouldn’t have been able to answer. My thoughts were completely scrambled—my mind a haze of euphoria and fog. Then I looked up... and everything changed. Blaze’s eyes—usually dark, haunting, magnetic— shifted. No. They transformed. Pools of pure, bottomless black. No whites. No pupils. Just... darkness. Swallowing. Consuming. Otherworldly. Something primal and ancient curled cold fingers down my spine. Then, in a voice not entirely his—darker, deeper, laced with something else—he said: "Mate. Mine." The words echoed. Like a promise. Like a curse. And suddenly, the air around us thickened—his aura slamming into me like a violent wave. It wasn’t just dominant. It was feral. Possessive. Unhinged. I’d seen Blaze angry. I’d seen him hungry. But this? This wasn’t just Blaze. His expression twisted—dark delight, hunger, ownership. Like he wanted to devour me whole. Like he already had. I couldn’t move. My limbs refused. My breath locked in my chest. Just as I started to panic—fuck, did I just sleep with a possessed vampire?—he was gone. One moment, he stood there in all his terrifying, god-like glory—naked, magnificent, corrupted beauty carved by shadows. The next? Gone. Vanished. Not even a flicker of movement. Poof. The room went still. But the weight of his presence lingered—heavy, oppressive, like the air was still charged with his dark power. I sat frozen, naked beneath the sheet, my body buzzing, my mind spiraling. Blaze. Possessed. Said I was his mate. Claimed me like a demon snarling through his throat. What the actual hell just happened? And—more importantly—do vampires... get possessed? I was scared out of my wits—naked, thoroughly fucked, and completely alone. A deadly combination, if you ask me. That stupid, rotting fossil of a vampire dragged me here, screwed the sanity right out of me, scared the absolute shit out of my soul, and then disappeared like some ghost from a gothic soap opera. No note. No apology. No "Be right back, Don’t move." A girl can only take so much. Right now? My life? Fully gone loco psycho. And I think I’m going full-blown delulu. Like, what if this is all some coma dream? What if I’m actually in a hospital bed somewhere, hooked up to a bunch of machines, and this twisted supernatural porn-horror-romcom is just my messed-up subconscious trying to cope with trauma? What are the odds? I scanned the room, looking for my clothes, and there—lying like a piece of evidence from a crime scene—were my ripped panties. Perfect. Just fucking perfect. And then my brain—my very stupid, broken brain—decided to play a little twisted reel: Naked Blaze. Running. Full vampire speed. Dick out. No shame. Just—zoom. I snorted. Then chuckled. And then I was laughing. Like... actually laughing. Bent over, arms wrapped around myself, tears stinging my eyes. No, I’m not mentally unwell. I’m just... creatively losing my goddamn mind. Because who wouldn’t, after being possessed-fucked by a vampire who growled "mate" in a demon voice and vanished mid-afterglow like Batman with a boner? God, my stomach hurt. But honestly? If I didn’t laugh, I’d probably cry. Or explode. Or set the whole place on fire. So yeah, I’ll take the giggles over a breakdown. For now. Fuck. I need therapy. Not the casual once-a-week kind. I’m talking deep cleansing, spiritual-exorcism-level therapy. Like, bathe-in-holy-water, confession-to-seven-priests type of salvation. Because I’m pretty sure I’ve just committed some form of sacrilege. Unholy. Blasphemous. Full-on "I made out with the devil’s bloodsucking son" level of damnation. And whatever possessed that Dracula offspring? I hope it stays possessing him and keeps him the hell away from me—at least long enough for me to get my shit together. Figure out what the actual fuck he does to make me go all sexy-siren-slut mode every time he’s within six feet of me. Then maybe—just maybe—I can find a way to survive this dark, twisted, horny purgatory I’m apparently trapped in. Or better yet—smuggle myself the hell out of here, fake my death, and start a new life as a nun in the Alps. But first? Step One: Get dressed. Step Two: Escape this haunted-ass building. Step Three: GTFO of campus before a certain cold-handed, sexy nightmare finds me again. Or was a possessive beast man. Because if I, a human, can smell the full-on sex perfume clinging to me like sin itself—there’s no way a werewolf, especially one of the possessive, rage-prone, alpha-coded variety, isn’t gonna catch the scent from a mile away. And the stupid culprit? Yeah, he bailed. Vanished. Gone. Poof. Left me here like a broken toy. Thanks for the trauma and the torn panties, Blaze. Truly. Iconic. I yanked my hoodie on with trembling hands, jammed the wig over my head like I was preparing for war, and forced my legs into my sweatpants. No panties. Just skin, soreness, and a lingering vampire-induced orgasm. "Fucking great," I muttered under my breath, my voice cracking like a broken record. I double-checked the mirror—guy Clause was back. Hoodie on. Wig in place. Face vaguely pissed and tired enough to pass for a moody teenage boy. Good enough. I threw open the door of that godforsaken ex-infirmary and sprinted. No actual speed. No dignity. Just pure rat-scattering-in-daylight energy. I didn’t care who saw me. Didn’t care that my thighs were sticking together from the lack of underwear or that Blaze’s scent still clung to me like cursed perfume. Every shadow in the hallway looked like it was about to whisper, "He’s coming." Every flickering light screamed, "Possessed vampire lover!" By the time I reached the outer gates of that abandoned wing, I was full-on delulu on the run. I bee-lined across campus, dodging eye contact like it was a weapon. Because I knew it. I could feel it. One werewolf passed by me, they’d sniff once, tilt their head, and say: "Smells like vampire dick and sin." Stupid asshole. I reached the boarding house looking like I’d just escaped an exorcism. Managed to get inside without anyone stopping me—thank god. The moment I shut the door to my room, I dropped to my knees. Finally. Safety. Sort of. I stayed kneeling there for a long second, breathing hard, sweating, shaking, my wig tilted half off my head and my hoodie soaked through with sweat. I might be losing my mind. Correction: I’ve lost it. Gone. Out the window. Vanished just like Blaze-the-bastard. And to top it all off? My panties—my favorite comfy ones—were probably still shredded on the infirmary floor like some kind of unholy offering. I went straight to the bathroom. No detours. No hesitation. Just a singular mission: scrub myself clean. My steps were stiff—soreness blooming in every movement, a brutal reminder of him. Of what happened. Of how it happened. I slammed the door shut behind me, locked it like Blaze might materialize out of the mirror and say "Round two, pet." Fuck no. The light buzzed overhead, too bright, too sharp. I didn’t look at my reflection. I couldn’t. Instead, I turned the water on full blast. Scalding. I stripped down like I was peeling off evidence—skin tight with tension, thighs aching, chest burning, the sting between my legs a brutal pulse of memory. The moment the water hit me, I gasped. It hurt. Not just physically. Everything hurt. I grabbed the soap, scrubbing hard—shoulders, arms, neck—like maybe I could erase the scent of him, the taste of him, the phantom weight of his body pressed against mine. His voice still echoed in my skull. That eerie, possessed whisper. "Mate. Mine." I sank to the floor of the shower. Let the water pour over me. And I cried. Silent, bitter tears that burned hotter than the water ever could. I could wash, but I couldn’t forget. No matter how raw my skin got, no matter how clean I tried to make myself— I couldn’t un-feel him. Couldn’t unlive the moment my body betrayed me, wanted him, ached for him. Couldn’t unsee the way his eyes turned into pure void, or how he disappeared like a shadow slipping out of reality. So I sat there. Soaked. Broken. Possessed by something I didn’t understand. And deep down, I hated the truth crawling up my spine. Part of me still craved him. What the fuck has this place turned me into? I stared at my reflection as I dried my hair—eyes bloodshot, lips swollen, neck marked. I looked like the poster girl for "I made terrible life choices at vampire boarding school." This wasn’t me. This wasn’t supposed to be me. I was supposed to lie low, blend in, keep my cover. Not get... ravished by a half-demon, half-dracula cryptid who claimed me like I was his fucking property. I didn’t even finish drying the rest of my hair when— Knock. Knock. My stomach dropped. Fuck. Now what? My heart jumped into my throat. No one knocked on my door. I froze. Maybe if I stayed quiet, they’d go away. Knock. Knock. Knock. Louder this time. More deliberate. Shit. My brain went into overdrive—had I locked the front door? Did I leave something outside? Could they smell me? I looked down at myself: damp towel, hair dripping down my back, skin still too warm, too raw. No time for the wig. No time for a disguise. I grabbed the nearest clothes—a hoodie, wore it inside-out because who cared at this point—and tiptoed to the door. Held my breath. "Clause?" The voice was muffled, uncertain.