Claimed By The Alpha, Marked By The Biker-Chapter 57: Not a random attack

Kianna’s PoV:

I sat cross-legged on my bed in the dim afternoon light, the dorm room feeling smaller than usual, like the walls were inching closer with every breath I took.

Lesley was out at a study group, leaving me alone with the quiet hum of the radiator and the faint chatter of girls down the hall.

My phone lay beside me, screen dark, but my thoughts were loud—too loud.

Two days. It had been exactly two days since the hotel after-party, since Kristen Hale crashed back into my life like a memory I’d buried too shallow.

I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Not in the obsessive, heart-fluttering way I used to think about Maddox before everything turned toxic.

This was different—deeper and filled with old memories. Kristen was the boy who’d shared stolen berries with me behind the pack house, who’d held my hand during thunderstorms when the alpha’s howls made the younger pups tremble.

He’d been scrawny then, all elbows and green eyes too big for his face. Now he was tall, solid, with that same quiet intensity that used to make me feel safe.

And he’d rejected his own mate. Walked away from the bond that was supposed to be sacred and unbreakable.

He chose to Pay the price of getting into exile and the pain of starting over. He must’ve been desperate to do all this, desperate for his freedom.

He’d looked me in the eye on that balcony and said I could be free too. That the lycans he lived with knew rituals, suppressants and ways to sever or delay what was coming.

And the offer still sat in my chest like a live coal—warm and dangerous but impossible to ignore.

I hadn’t texted him yet. His number was saved, but every time I opened the chat, my fingers froze.

What if I reached out and it changed everything? What if everything is a trap? What if the bond stirred harder just because I was thinking about another path?

My gaze drifted to the black card on my nightstand—the one from the mysterious girl in red at the hotel bathroom. Freedom has a price.

I flipped it over and over in my mind, the silver number burning into my memory. Two strangers in one night offering escape routes. It felt too coincidental, too orchestrated and too good to be real.

I feel like a ghost who’s been caught between crossroads and doesn’t know the path to take.

I exhaled deeply, trying to relax my mind so I don’t get lost in my own thoughts. Just then the radiator clanked , making me jumpe a little, then laughed at myself after, my nerves frayed to threads.

I feel like I’m being watched in a certain way. Just then my phone buzzed,vibrating against the duvet. Then the name of the caller came up, it was Mordred.

The name hit me with a wave of guilt and awkwardness. I let it ring out, screen lighting up his contact photo—an old one from our dating era, both of us smiling in the library stacks. I hadn’t changed it, because I couldn’t bring myself to.

Within few seconds it stopped, giving a moment of silence. Then it rang again.

I stared at it longer this time, thumb hovering. I wasn’t mad at Mordred—not really. I was ashamed, ashamed I’d dismissed his warnings and chosed to believe Maddox’s charm over his quiet concern, let the Pearl Street lie drive a wedge between us.

Things weren’t hostile; they were just... broken. Awkward in a way that made my chest ache.

On the second ring, I swiped accept.

"Hey," I said softly.

"Kianna." Relief colored his voice, like he’d been holding his breath. "Hi. I... wasn’t sure you’d answer."

"I almost didn’t," I admitted, pulling my knees tighter to my chest. "Things have been weird between us."

"Yeah." A pause, heavy with everything unsaid. "I know. And I’m not calling to make it worse. I just... heard something. About you. About the fated-mate bond. That it locks in on your nineteenth—with Maddox."

The air left my lungs in a rush. I sat up straighter, heart suddenly pounding against my ribs. "How do you know that?"

There was silence on his end. Then: "I overheard some of Maddox’s friends talking. They were drunk at a party, bragging about how he’s counting down the days, some ’wolf ritual’ on your birthday. Said he’s got it all planned."

I frowned, mind racing. Maddox’s friends—Gerald, Tyler and the hockey guys were all humans. Loud and loyal, clueless about anything beyond touchdowns and parties.

There was no way Maddox would share pack secrets with them. He barely acknowledged the shifter world himself unless forced. The lie was thin, obvious.

But I didn’t call him on it. Not yet. Maybe he had his reasons for protecting his source. Or maybe he was protecting me from something worse.

"I’m... okay," I said finally, though it tasted like a lie. "It’s a lot... Scary but I’m handling it."

"I bet it is." His voice softened with care. "Look, I’m not trying to push or say I told you so about Maddox. I just wanted you to know I’m here. If you need to talk, vent, scream or whatever. No judgment."

The kindness in his tone cracked something open inside me. Tears pricked unexpectedly in my eye. "Thanks, Mordred. That... means a lot."

We talked a little longer—surface things at first, school, the cold snap coming. But underneath it all was the unspoken: I’d hurt him by choosing Maddox, and he was still here anyway. Loyal in a way Maddox never had been.

I was about to ask how he was really doing when the door flew open.

Lesley burst in like a whirlwind, cheeks pink from the cold, a plastic grocery bag swinging from one wrist and her phone clutched in the other hand like a lifeline.

"Ki, oh my God, have you heard?" she gasped, kicking the door shut behind her. Chips and candy spilled from the bag as she dropped it on her bed. "It’s everywhere—news alerts, group chats, everything."

I held up a finger, mouthing "hang on" to her. "Mordred, Lesley just got back. Sounds urgent."

"Yeah, no problem," he said quickly. "Just... take care of yourself, okay? Call if you need anything at anytime."

"I will." I hesitated. "Thanks for checking on me."

"Always."

I hung up, setting the phone down carefully. Lesley was already pacing our tiny room, scrolling furiously.

"Two of Maddox’s friends—Gerald Ramirez and Gabby Thompson? Found dead this morning in Millwood Park." Her voice shook a little.

"Like... torn apart. Police are saying possible animal attack, but the photos leaking online..." She shuddered. "It’s bad, Ki. Really bad."

My stomach lurched. Gerald and Gabby. I’d sat with them at lunch dozens of times—Gerald always stealing fries off my tray, Gabby teasing me about my "mysterious vibe." Yesterday they’d been alive, laughing in the cafeteria. Today...

"Animal attack?" I repeated, voice hollow. "In Millwood? At this season?"

"That’s what the news is saying—bear or something. But people online are freaking out. Saying the wounds look... wrong. Too precise in places, too savage in others."

Lesley flopped onto her bed, staring at her phone. "Maddox skipped school. His whole crew’s posting RIP stuff, black squares and crying emojis. But Maddox himself? Nothing. Not a single story. Then this morning he posted a gym selfie—shirtless, flexing with caption ’stronger every day’ with a flex emoji."

I frowned. "He posted that today?"

"Yeah. Like hours after the bodies were found." Lesley looked up, eyes wide. "I mean, everyone grieves differently, right? Shock, denial, whatever. But... it’s cold. His best friends are dead—mutilated—and he’s out here acting like it’s leg day."

Cold. The word fit Maddox perfectly in ways I hated admitting now. He’d always compartmentalized—smile for the cameras, rage in private, charm when he needed something. But this? Posting a thirst trap while his friends’ bodies were still warm?

Or maybe he was hurting in ways he couldn’t show. Maybe the bond was already twisting him, making him desperate to appear unbreakable before the 22nd.

Or maybe something darker was at play.

I thought of the red-dressed girl’s warning. Kristen’s stories of pack politics gone deadly. Mordred’s sudden knowledge of the bond—like pieces of a puzzle I couldn’t yet see the shape of.

Lesley kept scrolling. "There’s speculation it might also be either gang stuff, drugs or some serial killer. But the park? In broad daylight basically? And the mutilation..." She trailed off, shivering again. "It doesn’t feel random."

No. It didn’t.

I hugged my knees tighter, a chill settling in my bones that had nothing to do with the drafty window.

Nine days until my birthday.

And the shadows around me weren’t just growing teeth.

They were starting to bite.

I curled deeper into the corner of my bed, the blanket pulled up to my chin even though the dorm heater was cranking too high again.

The room smelled faintly of Lesley’s vanilla candle and the leftover pizza we’d demolished last night while pretending everything was normal.

My phone lay face-down beside me, screen still warm from the call with Mordred. Nine days now. Few hours had crept in while I wasn’t paying attention, and every sunrise shaved another slice off the time I had left.

Lesley had gone to shower after dropping the bomb about Gerald and Gabby, humming some pop song under her breath like the world hadn’t just tilted further off its axis.

I envied her that—the ability to compartmentalize horror, file it away, move on to the next thing. I couldn’t. My mind kept circling the same dark drain.

Maddox posting a gym selfie hours after his friends were found mutilated, Mordred’s knowledge about the bound I’ve hidden so well and Kristen’s offer of lycan rituals that might break it.

Not forgetting, that girl in red’s card burning a hole in my nightstand drawer.

And now two dead teenagers who’d sat three seats away from me in the cafeteria last week are dead.

I reached for my phone again, thumb hovering over Kristen’s contact. I’d opened it four times today alone.

Typed messages..."Hey, it’s Kianna. Still thinking about what you said." Deleted. "Thanks for the offer. I might need it." Deleted. "Do you think the bond can really be stopped?" Deleted.

Because what if I asked and the answer was no? What if the only way out was something irreversible—something that would hurt Maddox in ways I wasn’t ready to imagine, even after everything?

What if it hurt me worse?

A soft knock at the door made me flinch. "It’s open," I called, voice hoarse.

The door creaked, and Lysander slipped inside, paint-speckled hoodie zipped halfway, dark hair damp from the cold outside. He carried two paper cups from the campus café—steam curling up in the chilly room.

"Thought you could use this," he said quietly, handing me one. Chai latte with extra cinnamon just like how I want it. He still remembers.

"Thanks." I wrapped my hands around the cup, letting the heat seep into my skin. "How’d you know I was hiding in here?"

"Lucky guess." He perched on the edge of Lesley’s bed, facing me. His eyes were careful, searching. "Actually... Mordred texted me. Said you sounded off on the phone. Asked if I’d check on you."

I blinked. "You and Mordred are texting now?"

He gave a small, wry smile. "Desperate times. We had a... conversation a day ago. About you. About what’s coming on the 22nd."

My stomach dropped. "He told you everything?"

"Enough." Lysander’s voice was steady, but there was a new edge to it—something protective and sharp. "The bond. The deadline, Maddox’s plan to seal it and he thinks someone dangerous is feeding him information. Someone who might hurt you to get to Maddox—or hurt Maddox to get to you."

I set the chai down untouched. "Do you believe him? About the wolf stuff?"

Lysander exhaled slowly. "I’ve been reading the archives I told him about. Old texts—handwritten journals from the 1800s, translated pack laws. The rituals match what he described. Moonrise activation. Proximity sealing. Rejection possible but agonizing. It’s... real, Kianna."

The words landed like stones in still water, rippling through me. Real. Not a nightmare I could wake up from.

"I met someone," I said quietly. "At the hotel party. A woman in red. She knew my name. Knew about the bond. Gave me a card with a number. Said to call when I was ready to stop letting other people write my story."

Lysander’s brow furrowed. "Did she give a name?"

"No. Just... freedom has a price."

He went very still. "That phrase—it’s in one of the journals. A warning about deals with rogue lycans or unbound shifters. They offer escape from bonds, but the cost is always blood. Sometimes literal."

My skin prickled. "And Kristen, my old pack friend—he said the lycans he lives with now know ways to suppress or sever it. Rituals, herbs. He offered to introduce me."

Lysander leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Kristen Hale? a college football player from Dalton’s"

"Yeah." I hesitated. "He seems... genuine. But everyone seems genuine until they’re not."

He nodded slowly. "We can’t trust anyone blindly. Not Kristen. Not this woman in red. Not Mordred’s mystery source. And definitely not Maddox."

The silence stretched, heavy with everything unsaid.

Finally he spoke again, voice low. "Whatever you decide—reject it, suppress it, run or fight. And remember I’m always with you. All the way. You’re not doing this alone."

Tears welled up without warning. I swiped at them angrily. "Why? Why are you doing this? You could walk away to stay safe."

Lysander looked at me for a long moment, something raw flickering across his face. "Because I’ve watched you carry this alone for too long. Because you deserve to choose your own life. And because..." He stopped, jaw tightening like he’d said too much.

"Because what?"

He shook his head. "Not the time. Just know I’m not going anywhere."

The door opened again—Lesley this time, towel around her hair, singing off-key. She stopped when she saw Lysander. "Oh! Hey, didn’t know we had company. I’ll... give you two space?"

"No, it’s fine," I said quickly. "We were just talking."

She eyed us both, then shrugged and flopped onto her bed with her phone. The normalcy of it—the everyday chaos of dorm life—felt surreal against the storm inside me.

Lysander stood. "I’ll let you rest. But text me if you need anything. Anytime."

He paused at the door, glancing back. "And Kianna? Whatever happens on the 22nd, we’ll be ready."

After he left, Lesley raised an eyebrow. "So... you and Lysander? There’s a vibe."

I managed a weak laugh. "It’s complicated."

"Everything with you is complicated lately." She softened. "But he looks at you like you’re the only person in the room. Just saying."

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because as the door clicked shut behind him, my phone buzzed again.

It was a message from an unknown number, it says: "The moon is almost full, little wolf.

Time to choose your cage—or your freedom. Call when you’re ready to pay the price."

My blood ran cold....Nine days.

And the shadows were closing in.