Chapter 51: CountDown From Hell

Chapter 51: CountDown From Hell Clause/Clare POV: "You really have to learn to obey," he said again—calm this time, but laced with that chilling authority that made my skin crawl. That’s when it hit me. I hadn’t moved. He’d told me to shower. Told me I reeked of her. My body jolted into motion, and I scrambled toward the bathroom, not daring to say anything back. I knew the lock wouldn’t keep him out if he wanted in, but I still slammed the door shut and turned the knob until it clicked, like a fool trying to build a dam against a hurricane. The water was scalding, but I barely felt it. I scrubbed myself raw, as if I could erase every trace of Sara—not just her scent, but her presence, the look in Reed’s eyes, the whole damned disaster of a night. My thoughts were spiraling. My heart wouldn’t slow down. And despite the heat of the water, I was shivering. This wasn’t just about dominance anymore. There was something far more dangerous playing out beneath Reed’s fury—something I might’ve just signed myself into the center of. It was the quickest shower I’d ever taken, just a few frantic minutes before I turned the water off, stepping out onto the cold tile floor. And then reality smacked me like a slap to the face. Fuck. I forgot to bring a change of clothes. I stared at the wet towel like it could magically solve my problem, clutching it around myself tighter, my heart thundering again—not because I was naked, but because Reed was out there. And I had no idea what anything meant to him. Would he barge in if I took too long? Would he... expect something now? I hated how my hands trembled as I reached for the doorknob, every part of me screaming to stay locked away. But I couldn’t hide in here forever. Not with Reed. Not after the promise I’d just made. How the hell was I supposed to hide the fact that I was a girl? This towel—this stupid, flimsy towel—was clinging for dear life around my chest, doing the bare minimum to preserve my last shred of dignity. One wrong move, one shift in angle, and it would all be over. All of it—my cover, my safety, my life as I knew it. Oh good Lord, I need divine intervention. I pressed my back to the cool bathroom door, breathing through my nose like that was going to stop the rising wave of panic slamming against my ribs. My damp hair was sticking to my neck, my skin still steaming from the water. My heartbeat was thudding so loud I was scared Reed could hear it through the damn door. I couldn’t stay here forever, but stepping out there like this? I’d be outed in seconds. His eyes—those sharp, predatory eyes—would scan me once, twice, and that would be it. He’d know. He’d know I wasn’t a boy. And what then? Would he kill me? Claim I deceived him? Drag me off to some wolf council for lying about my identity? Or worse—would that obsession in his gaze shift into something else entirely? My stomach twisted at the thought. I couldn’t risk it. But I also couldn’t stay locked in this bathroom forever and hope the towel would sprout legs and fetch me clothes. I needed a plan. Fast. Maybe I could call out—pretend I was dizzy, or sick, or had a reaction to stress. Maybe he’d get annoyed and leave. Maybe he’d grab my clothes and toss them in without looking. Yeah, right. And maybe pigs would sprout wings and fly me to safety. I looked around in desperation. Nothing. No window. No second exit. Just me, my towel, and the ticking time bomb of a wolf waiting on the other side of the door. I whispered to no one, "Please... just give me a miracle." So much for Blaze’s brilliant warning—"Reed isn’t supposed to know." Yeah, well... too fucking late for that now, isn’t it? How the hell was I going to hide the fact that I’m a girl when I’m wrapped in nothing but a towel that’s barely hanging on by sheer desperation? The fabric felt more like a betrayal with every passing second—thin, damp, and utterly useless against a pair of wolf eyes that could probably strip me bare with a single look. I let out a shaky breath and whispered to myself, "Okay, okay. Scale of one to ten... how upset would he get?" Let’s see... One? He walks out, shrugs it off, and lets me live my life in peace. Two? He’s mildly offended but keeps his cool like a rational being. Three to five? He yells. Breaks more of my furniture. Maybe punches a wall. Six? Growling. Teeth showing. A little PTSD flare-up. Seven and above? ...Yeah, that’s the part where I’m running barefoot into the woods and praying to the moon goddess that I don’t get hunted down like a damn rabbit. And knowing Reed? He was a solid eleven on a good day. He already broke my door down just from catching me standing near Sara. What’s he going to do when he realizes I’ve been lying about something this huge—something that changes everything? And not just any lie. A life-altering, identity-shattering, betrayal-level lie. The kind of secret that would make an already possessive, borderline feral alpha go completely unhinged. "Fuck," I whispered, pressing my forehead to the bathroom door. My pulse was a war drum in my ears. "I’m dead. I’m so, so dead." Unless... unless I could somehow stall. Play it off. Avoid getting too close, too exposed. Keep my distance and act weird until I could get dressed, pull myself together, and maybe—just maybe—run. Because if Reed finds out now? This wouldn’t be just a broken door and a shattered pride. This would be war. So, yeah—I wrapped my chest up like I was about to go into a battle of genders... because honestly? That’s exactly what this was. I grabbed the makeshift binding cloth I’d been secretly using since day one—tight, itchy, and currently my only saving grace. Each time I pulled it around my chest, it felt like I was squeezing the truth out of my body, trying to crush it down until it disappeared. Flatten. Disguise. Survive. That’s the motto now. Then I grabbed the hoodie I’d been wearing earlier—yep, that hoodie. The one that reeked like a mix of fear, desperation, and Sara’s cheap-ass perfume that clung to fabric like a curse. Reed wasn’t wrong. The smell was still there. That’s why he’d told me to shower, because wolves? They smell everything—including the memories. But what was I supposed to do? Magically summon a fresh set of clothes while hiding from a pissed-off alpha who could sniff me out like a bloodhound? This was survival mode. Sweatpants—same story. Slightly damp. Smelled vaguely like sweat and girl tears. But they were my pants, and unless Reed wanted to hand me his wardrobe (not happening), they were all I had. I stared at myself in the cracked bathroom mirror. Hoodie on. Hair tucked under the beanie I kept stashed in the cabinet. Chest bound like my life depended on it. Which, let’s be honest—it literally did. "I look like a sleep-deprived delinquent," I muttered. Not ideal. But still safer than looking like a naked girl in a towel with Reed right outside the door. And for anyone judging this glorious moment of crisis, just know—until you’ve had to hide your gender from a half-shifted alpha with anger issues and possessive tendencies, don’t come for me. This was survival, not fashion week. "Okay, okay... game face, Clause. Hood up. Head down. Just... don’t die." Now to walk out there, hope he buys the act again, and maybe—just maybe—live to see the next hour. "You better be planning to get out of the fucking bathroom right about now or I will drag you out myself." I flinched. No kidding—straight up flinched at the door like it had barked at me. Reed’s voice wasn’t just harsh—it was laced with that low growl that made your bones vibrate and your instincts scream "danger." Every word hit like claws raking down the other side of the door, promising I was seconds away from being yanked out like a disobedient pup. Gods, these creatures. With their claws, their fangs, and their zero concept of boundaries. Was basic decency not part of their supernatural orientation packet? I took one last look in the mirror. Wig secure. Hoodie tight. Chest bound. Jaw clenched. Dignity... somewhere on the floor. "Please let this hold. Please let him not sniff it out. Please let me not die half-naked and exposed." I muttered a silent prayer to every deity, spirit, and guardian angel on the payroll and turned the lock with trembling fingers. The door creaked open just a crack at first—enough to peek through. His eyes met mine immediately. Dark. Impatient. Predatory. I pulled the door open wider and stepped out. Head down. Shoulders hunched. Hoodie shadowing my face. "Happy now?" I muttered under my breath, keeping my voice in that low, slightly hoarse register I’d practiced for months. He didn’t respond right away. Just stared. I could feel his gaze like heat peeling away layers of fabric. This was it. This was the test. Could I pull off being "Clause" for one more minute under that intense, all-seeing, wolf gaze? Just one minute at a time. Let’s hope today wasn’t the day I die from a wardrobe malfunction.