Claimed by the Alpha and the Vampire Prince: Masquerading as a Man Chapter 163: Worse Things Than Those Inside

LUCAS POV:

I went to the waiting room, trying to breathe. Trying to think. My thoughts were spiraling—panic scratching behind my eyes like rats in a box.

So much for my fucking escape.

But then it hit —what if I didn’t fly out? What if I could cross the border by bus, and then take a flight from the next country over? Maybe there was a crack in their perfect little trap. Maybe the bastards hadn’t locked down the land routes yet. The hope burned in like a lit match in a gas-filled room.

Hope flickered. Not a fla, but a spark. And in a place like this, even a spark was blinding.

I got up fast—too fast. My legs were still sore, my muscles tight and bruised. But I didn’t care. As long as I got out.

Out. Out. Out.

This ti, I hailed a taxi. The city was waking up around , a cold sun rising over buildings that felt too still, too quiet—like a stage set, waiting for the actors to return. It didn’t take long to find another cab. The cab that stopped was driven by a woman—slim, maybe in her mid-twenties, with dark circles under her eyes like bruises. Her skin was pale, but not unnaturally so. Still, there was sothing off. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, and she moved like her bones ached from sothing far deeper than fatigue.

"Where to, champ?" she asked, a tired smirk on her lips.

"Any bus traveler’s agency that runs cross-border," I said quickly, shoving myself into the back seat.

She snorted. "So the plane was canceled, huh?"

"Yeah. All outbound flights. Apparently." I didn’t like where this was going.

That earned a dry, mocking laugh. It wasn’t amusent—it was bitterness soaked in sothing darker. "And you still think you can get out of here, huh?"

There was sothing behind her words. Like she knew sothing I didn’t.

"Yeah..." I replied, wary.

"Well," she said, shifting into drive, "better start praying then."

Her voice was calm, almost amused—but bitter. Too bitter for soone just giving rides.

I looked at her again. Really looked. She was young, maybe twenty-five. But her eyes were older. Exhausted. Her body was thin, bones peeking where they shouldn’t. A dark patch peeked from under her shirt collar—sothing circular. A bite mark? A tattoo? Hard to tell. But she was definitely trying to hide it.

"Is this your ho country?" I asked.

She sighed. "No."

Figures. She didn’t look like the locals. Not the impossibly perfect ones with porcelain skin and unnerving smiles. She looked real. Human.

"Have you ever gone back?" I asked.

She gripped the wheel tighter. Her knuckles went pale, and for a second I thought she’d snap—tell to shut up and mind my own fucking business.

But then:

"Yes. I did. Once. To say goodbye."

I didn’t ask any more questions. I didn’t need to. The silence that followed was heavy—grief and trauma thick enough to choke on. But part of still burned to know how she’d done it. How she managed to leave at all. And even more confusing—why the hell she ca back.

But she beat to it.

"I know what you’re thinking," she said softly, eyes fixed on the road. "And the answer is: they don’t give you a choice."

My throat tightened.

"It’s either you return without saying a word to anyone, or they kill the person you tell. And not quickly." She blinked hard.

"Besides," she added, eyes glassy, "who would believe us? A country ruled by creatures of the night? Vampires, werewolves, things with no faces? They’d lock us in a psych ward before they listened. And I... I couldn’t risk my mom and little sister. I was the one who applied. I chose this place. I couldn’t let them pay for my mistake."

She paused. Her voice broke just slightly.

"It was either , or my mom and little sister. I was the one who wanted to co here. So I ca back. Quietly. Alone."

A single tear slipped from her eye, and she wiped it away before it fell to her cheek.

"And here we are," she said, pulling up to the bus station.

I stared at the building—so normal. So mundane. But dread sat in my gut like lead.

"Hey, champ," she said, turning in her seat. Her eyes were red now. "If you don’t make it out... you’ll have to learn the rules. In this place, humans are the bottom of the chain. Pets for sex. Cattle for feeding. Entertainnt. You don’t matter unless you bleed pretty or scream loud. If you want to live long enough to see photos and videos your family sends... keep your head down. Keep your mouth shut. Don’t go out after sunset."

No.

No.

NO.

I’m not going to live like a reared animal. Like I was born to be used.

But I didn’t say that. I just nodded, paid her, and got out.

She rolled the window down just before leaving and called out:

"And kid... make sure the sun doesn’t set with you still outside. There are worse things than what you saw at the university. The ones out here... they don’t play by rules. They don’t feed to survive. They feed for sport. There are worse things out here than the ones inside the university."

Then she drove off.

I stood frozen in front of the station, her words bouncing around in my skull like wasps in a jar.

Worse things? Than the university?

The university that bred monsters with human faces? That used students like chew toys and bedwarrs? That bit and broke ?

That was the safe zone?

She had to be kidding.

She had to be.

...Right?

******

I was stupid to hold on to hope. Stupid to think that maybe—just maybe—I was different. That I could slip through the cracks of whatever cursed trap moville had beco. Even after the warnings, even after both cab drivers practically spelled it out for , I still clung to the fantasy that I could escape.

Delusional. That’s what I was.

I stepped into the bus station, still praying for a miracle—that so rickety old vehicle was warming up, ready to take passengers across the border. That so loophole, so oversight, had left a backdoor open in this place’s suffocating grip.

The place was dim and almost empty, lit by flickering fluorescent lights that buzzed overhead like flies. A long, scratched-up bench sat against one wall, and an old vending machine blinked "OUT OF ORDER" in aggressive red.

But the mont I saw the woman at the front desk, I knew.

She looked at the way soone looks at a wounded animal that won’t survive the night. Her lips twitched into sothing that might’ve been a smile—or maybe an apology. Her eyes were soft, but hollow. Like she’d seen dozens just like walk in here, full of hope, and leave with nothing but the slow crushing weight of reality.

"I... I need a ticket. Cross-border. Anywhere," I said. My voice cracked halfway through, but I didn’t care. "Please," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I’ll pay in cash. I’ll pay double."

She didn’t type anything. Didn’t even glance at her computer. She just sighed.

"I’m sorry," she said, almost too gently. "All outbound routes are closed. The highways have been shut down... until further notice."

A silence stretched out between us. My pulse throbbed in my ears.

"Closed?" I repeated, hollowly. "Like—detoured? Blocked?"

Her mouth twitched, like she wanted to say yes. Like she wanted to lie.

But she didn’t.

"No, sweetheart. Closed. Like they don’t want anyone getting out. Not right now."

I took a step back, cold blooming in my gut. "What about another city? Can I—?"

She shook her head slowly. "Doesn’t matter where. No buses are running. It’s... lockdown protocol. Quiet, unofficial. Happens this ti every year."

"Why?" I choked. "Why now?"

She glanced over her shoulder, lowered her voice even more. "Freshn intake."

My blood turned to ice.

She knew.

And I wasn’t special. I wasn’t the first desperate soul to co through this station, begging for a ride out.

"I’m sorry," she whispered, and I could tell she ant it. "I really am."

Her words hit like a punch to the gut. I stood there, frozen, barely hearing the rest of her explanation—sothing about a ’security lockdown,’ ’transport embargo,’ or whatever excuse they were spinning today.

But the truth was clear: there was no escape.

The cab drivers knew better. They didn’t lie. They couldn’t lie. They just gave little slivers of truth, dressed up like rcy. Tips on how to survive. On how to be food. On how to not die too fast.

And I... I smiled. Nodded. Thanked them like their warnings were just folklore. Like I still had a choice.

I should’ve known.

I turned away from the counter, stumbling backward like I’d been shot. My chest was tight, my breath coming short and sharp. The walls of the station seed to press in around , the flickering fluorescent lights humming like an insect swarm in my ears.

This was it. The end of the line.

I wanted to scream. To punch sothing. But what would that change? I’d been warned. They told this place was a cage dressed like a castle. A pretty face hiding a monster’s grin. The cab drivers—both of them—had laid it out plainly: We don’t leave. Not really. Not unless they let us. And they never do.

The worst part? The people working here—humans, maybe, or things that used to be human—weren’t even surprised. They didn’t try to comfort or offer a solution. Because they knew. Everyone here knows.

You don’t get out of moville.

Not unless you belong to the things in charge.

I sat down on one of the cracked, plastic chairs in the waiting area. My limbs were heavy. My bag slid off my shoulder, thudding against the floor. I stared at the ceiling and thought of ho—of my mom’s cooking, of my dog’s bark, of streetlights that flickered normally, not in sync with so ancient pulse beneath the ground.

I had been trying to escape monsters. But maybe... this entire country was the monster. Alive. Sentient. And it had already swallowed whole.