CHAPTER 100: BLOND HEADED

CLARE – POV

The redheaded guy left my side, just walked away like he hadn’t just saved my life—or nearly scared me to death. With eerie calm, he crossed the room to help his sister off the floor. The same sister he had thrown like a broken doll.

And you’d think, with how hard she hit that velvet sofa—any normal person would be splattered across the wall by now. But not her. Nope. She stood with inhuman grace, brushing herself off like she hadn’t just taken a body-breaking hit.

And the weirdest part?

She wasn’t mad. Not at him, anyway.

She gave him a smile. A smile. Like he hadn’t hurled her across the room with enough force to wreck furniture. Then she turned back to me—and her expression shifted.

Pure venom. Fire behind her eyes.

And then she looked to him—her twin, I guess. They looked too alike to be just siblings. Same eyes. Same bloody hair. Same predatory beauty. They shared the same brand of hatred, too. Like they were made from the same mold of spite.

"She tastes just like him," she said, low but clear.

That sentence hit me like ice water dumped down my spine.

Who?

Who the hell were they talking about?

Who did I taste like?

My heart kicked up into a frenzy, racing through every memory, every encounter. No one came to mind. No one until—

Wait.

Clark.

My brother.

My twin.

We had the same face. Same smile. Same blood type.

My breath caught. No. No.

A cold wave of nausea rolled over me.

What the hell did they mean I tasted like him?

And if they were talking about Clark—if he was the "him" they meant...

What the fuck did they do to my brother?

I took a shaky step back, my fingers tightening around the fabric of Blaze’s shirt clinging to my body like armor. My mind was racing, lungs barely keeping up.

Did they find him?

Did they hurt him?

A sickening theory began to form like rot at the edge of my thoughts, crawling deeper the more I tried to resist it. They hated me not just for existing—but because of some connection to him. Some grudge. Some vengeance twisted beyond recognition.

Clark didn’t tell me much. We were close once. Not so much lately. We both got busy. Distant. But he would’ve told me if something was wrong... right?

Wouldn’t he?

The nausea bubbled up again, stronger this time. I clutched my stomach and took another step back, eyes flicking from the redhead to his sister. Her lips were curled in something between a smirk and a snarl. She enjoyed my confusion. My fear.

"What did you do to him?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

No answer.

Just a grin.

Like she wanted me to suffer wondering.

Like watching me unravel was part of the fun.

I opened my mouth to speak again—but the door slammed open.

And suddenly the air changed.

Everything changed.

It was like someone had sucked the oxygen from the room. My lungs suddenly felt tight, my heartbeat skipping unevenly in my chest.

Standing in the doorway was a man—no, something—taller than Blaze, older-looking too, maybe late twenties. Blond hair slicked back like some 1950s villain, a face too handsome in that unnerving kind of way. His beauty had an edge, like a knife sharpened to the point of madness. But it wasn’t his looks that made my stomach churn.

It was the smile.

That cold, creepy grin. The kind you see in horror movies—right before the killer does something unspeakable.

And his eyes...

God, the glint in his eyes was pure malice. Something twisted. Unhinged.

It was like staring into the soul of someone who enjoyed breaking things just to hear the sound.

His gaze roamed over me like I was meat on a hook, and his presence alone made my stomach twist into a hundred knots.

Every cell in my body screamed one thing: RUN.

I took an involuntary step back, heart jackhammering.

"So this is the blood bag causing all this ruckus," he said, voice smooth as silk and twice as dangerous.

He tilted his head as if studying a piece of meat. No, not as if—that’s exactly what he was doing.

Sizing me up like I was already halfway flayed and served.

I froze.

He was sizing me up. Every inch of me. Like he already knew what I’d taste like. How I’d scream. How long I’d last.

I swallowed hard, fighting the rising panic. My legs were cement. My voice? Gone.

I was two seconds away from peeing myself.

"You don’t understand, Lucas," the redheaded psycho vamp said, her eyes still dancing with some sick obsession. "Not only does she look like him—she tastes like him. It’s like she’s a female version."

So now I had a name to go with the serial killer grin.

Lucas.

And with that name, my suspicion started to calcify into something sharp and cold in my gut.

They were talking about Clark.

Clark, my twin.

People had always said we were mirror images—him with a square jaw, me with a softer face, but the same eyes. Same mouth. Same smile.

Same blood.

I’d heard it all my life: how Clark and I were mirrors of each other. Male and female versions. Identical, but opposites.

And now? That similarity might’ve just signed my death sentence.

Could Clark be alive?Was he... here?Or was I just a haunting reminder of something they lost—or destroyed?

But I didn’t dare ask. Not now. Not with Lucas in the room.

His aura was suffocating. Like a storm cloud soaked in acid, pressing down with a thousand pounds of barely restrained sadism. He felt wrong. Like he didn’t just enjoy hurting people—he lived for it.

I wanted to ask. To scream.

But Lucas’s aura pressed on me like a weight. Like drowning in thick, oily water.

God help me. Blaze, where the fuck are you?

"Blaze went and found himself a little doppelgänger of his previous pet?" Lucas laughed, low and cruel, as he stepped further into the room. "Pathetic."

His eyes gleamed with a dark delight. "Why don’t we have a little fun with her before he gets here?"

Fun?

Oh hell no.

My stomach twisted. My skin went cold.

Blaze, where the hell are you?Why would you bring me here—to this palace of beautiful monsters?

"Stop it," the male twin—Marcus, apparently—finally spoke. His voice was low, hesitant. He didn’t look thrilled by my existence either, but... he was defending me?

Sort of?

"You all know how Blaze gets when we mess with his... stuff."

Stuff. Nice.But still... was that a defense?A warning?I wasn’t sure, but I clung to it like a life raft in a sea of vipers.

There was fear in his voice.

Lucas waved him off with a laugh. "Don’t worry, Marcus. I’ll dig you up again if Blaze buries you."

He grinned wider. "The hardest part is finding the exact grave."

Wait—what?

Blaze buried him?!

Again?

Wait. Again?!

I really needed a drink. Or therapy. Probably both.

The girl—twin to Marcus and clearly just as nuts—licked a slip of blood from the corner of her mouth and purred. Her eyes landed on me again, and I saw it. Bloodlust. No pretense. No hesitation. Just raw hunger. "I’m with Lucas," she said sweetly. , "I need another drink from her. The blood is just too... exquisite."

Nope. Nope nope nope.

Suddenly, the werewolf hunt seemed like a damn dark vacation compared to this vampire nightmare.

I took a step back—just one—

But that was enough.

In a blur of motion, Lucas was on me.

Too fast. Too strong.

I didn’t even have time to scream before he slung me over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

I gagged. Everything spun. I might vomit on his spine.

His grip was iron-tight, and every part of me screamed danger.

He turned to the twins, voice sing-songy and cruel:

"First one at the dinner table gets a glass full."

I was the meal.And dinner was about to be served.

And then he vanished.

Just like that.

I was gone.

Being carried off by a monster in designer clothes, a vampire with a smile like a guillotine.

Blaze, where the hell are you?

****

Lucas was moving so fast, the world blurred.

Shadows smeared across my vision like watercolors left in the rain. My stomach twisted, bile rising in my throat. The wind whipped past my ears in a high-pitched whine and I clung to the thin thread of consciousness, praying he’d stop before I vomited down his back.

The world outside blurred into meaningless streaks of dark walls, velvet shadows, and flickering candlelight. I clung to consciousness by a fraying thread, my body bouncing on his shoulder like a rag doll.

When he finally stopped, it was like slamming into a wall of unnatural stillness.

My head spun. My stomach roiled. My lungs dragged in cold, damp air that tasted like iron and decay. I staggered when he dropped me roughly onto the marble floor, my knees smacking hard against the stone. My hands trembled as I tried to steady myself, every breath shallow and panicked.

Then I looked up. And I froze.

Welcome to the table of nightmares.