Chapter 54: He, She or What?

Chapter 54: He, She or What? Reed POV: I haven’t claimed him. Haven’t even kissed him. But he’s under my skin like poison. My senses are wired to his—every breath, every twitch, every goddamn heartbeat. I hear it. Too loud. Too alive. Too his. And yet—my wolf, that ancient beast that never shuts the fuck up—he’s gone quiet. Still. Watching. Waiting. Not for a fight. But for him. What the hell does that even mean? I’ve never felt this before. Not with the girls I’ve fucked. Not with the she-wolves thrown at me like offerings. Not even with the ones who begged me to claim them. It was all noise. All blood and sweat and skin. But this... this thing with him... it’s quiet. Unnerving. Crawling under my skin like truth I’m not ready to hear. He isn’t supposed to be it. Not him. Not this. Because if he is—if the gods made this human with boobs and secrets and lies just for me— Then I am so royally fucked. Clare/Clause POV: So here I am. Crouched on the floor. Clutching my boobs like they’re national treasures. Reed’s standing there like he just witnessed the second coming—except instead of divine light, it was my chest. Yeah. Welcome to hell, Reed. Population: You and your sexual identity crisis. I don’t know whether to scream, cry, or ask him if he wants a selfie with them. He keeps pacing. Muttering to himself. Running his hands through his hair like I’m the one who just sprouted wings and sang opera in Latin. Like I ruined his whole week. Excuse me, sir. I was doing just fine being a "defective human boy," thank you very much. I didn’t ask to be cornered, stripped, and groped like some weird science experiment. If anyone gets to spiral here, it’s me. But no. He’s the main character in this emotional meltdown. Of course he is. Wolves and their drama. And I get to sit here, topless, trying to not breathe too loudly in case he snaps out of his gay-panic-trance and remembers he can snap my neck like a twig. So yeah. Normal Tuesday. The moment it hit me—that he still doesn’t know I’m a girl—I nearly choked on my own breath. What the actual hell does he think I am? A boy with boobs? Is that even a category in their supernatural world? Did the goddess mess up my character sheet and hit "randomize" for gender? He stared at me like I’d just peeled my face off and revealed a whole other species underneath. "What are you?" he’d asked. Not "who." Not "why." Nope. "What." Like I’m some kind of anomaly or cursed artifact he stumbled on during a full moon sale. And the worst part? I didn’t know how to answer. Because, really—what was safer? Letting him keep believing I’m a defective boy with surprise boobs? Or confessing that I’ve been hiding the truth the whole time, that I’m a girl who disguised herself as a guy and somehow became his weird obsession? One wrong word and I could be dinner. Or worse—whatever weird, twisted punishment wolves give for "gender fraud." Do they have a council for this kind of thing? Is there a supernatural HR department I should be reporting to? So yeah, I stayed quiet. Crouched like a gremlin in my own shame and fear. Because I didn’t know what answer would keep me alive longer. And because maybe... just maybe... I didn’t want him to hate me more than he already did. From the way his jaw was clenched, teeth grinding like he was chewing gravel, I could tell—he was furious. Not just pissed. Not just "you wore the wrong hoodie again" mad. This was nuclear, I’m-gonna-burn-this-entire-room-down level rage. And all because he saw boobs. My boobs. Which makes zero sense, right? I mean, boobs are supposed to be liked. Worshipped, even. People write songs and poems about them. There’s entire religions based around boob energy. Probably. Somewhere. But noooo, this one? This ancient, half-wolf, emotionally stunted, rage-filled lunatic? He sees boobs and looks like he wants to go drown himself in holy water. And that’s when it hits me. He’s gay. Like... really, really gay. The kind who probably breaks out in hives if he walks past a Victoria’s Secret. Which means... if he’s already this mad seeing me with boobs... What the hell is he going to do if—when—he realizes I’m not a boy at all? Not defective. Not cursed. Just plain old female. He’ll lose his mind. He’ll probably feel tricked. Betrayed. Like I shoved his entire sexual identity into a blender and hit purée. And then what? Will he kill me? Will he run? Or worse—will he decide I’m his, anyway? Because the way he’s staring at me now... It’s not just rage in his eyes. It’s something darker. Something twisted. And it terrifies me more than any monster ever could. "What else are you hiding?" His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It slithered through the air like smoke, curling around my neck, wrapping around my ribs and squeezing—tight. He took a step forward. Slow. Controlled. Predator. And I... I couldn’t breathe. His eyes weren’t glowing anymore, but somehow that made it worse. There was no wild beast snarling through them. Just... him. Reed. The ancient. The unhinged. The wolf that didn’t need claws or fangs to tear me apart. He smiled—but there was nothing kind in it. It was the kind of smile that belonged to the devil in confession. Wicked. Knowing. Cruel. My skin prickled. My heartbeat pounded like it wanted to rip through my chest and run for the hills without me. I didn’t want to know what was coming. I didn’t want to find out what he did to people who lied to him. But I could see it—this wasn’t anger anymore. This was fascination. A sick, unraveling curiosity that twisted the corners of his mouth and burned in his eyes like fire beneath ice. "You tricked me," he whispered, voice dipped in something like amusement, like pain—like he didn’t know which one he liked better. Another step. The floor creaked beneath his feet like it was trying to warn me. I backed away, barely breathing, barely thinking. Just moving. "Are you even real?" he murmured, tilting his head. "Are you flesh or shadow? Girl or ghost?" He chuckled, low and wrong and too close to unhinged. "My wolf chose you. And I don’t know if that means I’m cursed... or if you are." There was nowhere to run. Not from someone like him. Not when his presence filled every inch of the room, soaked into the walls, into the air, into me. He took another step. And this time, I couldn’t move. Rooted. Frozen. Like prey too close to death to scream. He stood just a step from me. Close enough that I could hear the whisper of his breath, feel the weight of his presence pressing down on me like a storm about to break. "Remove your pants," he said— Softly. Too softly. As if the gentleness of it made it less terrifying. But it didn’t. It was the softness that made my skin crawl. Because it wasn’t a request. It wasn’t even a command. It was a sentence. His eyes—no longer glowing, but far from human—held something wrong. Like he was watching something unravel and couldn’t decide whether to mourn it... or laugh. "What...?" I croaked, barely above a whisper. My voice didn’t sound like mine. It was thin. Trembling. Like a string pulled too tight. "I want to see," he said, tilting his head like a curious child examining something he didn’t understand—and might break just to figure it out. "All of it." No rage now. No yelling. Just the quiet madness of someone who’s decided they deserve the truth, no matter what they have to tear apart to get it. His hand reached out—not touching, just hovering—waiting. Daring. And that sick fascination in his gaze didn’t waver. "Are you a girl? A boy? A lie? A thing the universe shoved in my path as a joke?" I couldn’t move. My back hit the wall. The cold of it did nothing to ground me. Because I wasn’t afraid of being discovered anymore. I was afraid of what he’d do after. ********* Reed POV I needed to know. Where the madness ended. Where the truth began. Where she began. Or he. Or it. Or whatever cursed mix of deception and temptation the universe vomited into my life. "Remove your pants," I said. Not loud. Not angry. Just... done. My voice sounded hollow even to me, like it came from some place deeper than flesh. A place raw and ancient, carved in the marrow of beasts. Because I had to know. Were they a man with stolen softness? A boy cursed with both secrets? Or—Gods help me—was I just lucky enough, damned enough, that this defiance wrapped in sweat and lies was actually... woman? I stepped forward, slow, deliberate. My wolf pressed behind my eyes, pacing, panting, whispering things I didn’t want to understand. Things like mine. No. Not yet. Not until I knew. He—she—backed up, spine kissing the wall. Eyes wide. Breathing shallow. Trembling like prey too smart to bolt. Smart. Because prey doesn’t run from a predator who’s not chasing— It runs from the one watching. "I’m not going to ask again," I said. My fingers twitched. Not with threat—but with that feral itch. To touch. To confirm. To end the question that was eating me alive. Was this creature my punishment? My gift? Or some twisted riddle I was meant to solve with claws and breath? Because I could take the lie. I could take the betrayal. But what I couldn’t take... Was the wanting. Not if it was for something I couldn’t understand. "Show me what you are," I said, one step closer now. Voice lower. Darker. "Let me see where the lie ends."