Claimed By The Alpha, Marked By The Biker-Chapter 17: His lustful Mistake

He didn’t answer right away. His helmet hung loosely at his side, his dark eyes studying me like he was trying to read every thought running through my head.

Then, finally, he said in that low, gravelly tone that always made my heart trip,

"Because, Kianna, I always know where you are."

I blinked, caught off guard. "That’s not an answer...." I muttered.

"It’s the only one that matters," he cut in. "You promised to stay inside, Kianna. Do you have any idea what could’ve happened if I hadn’t come?"

"Oh, please," I snapped, crossing my arms. "It was just dinner with a friend. Not a gunfight."

He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "A friend?" His voice was calm, but the dangerous kind of calm that sent a chill up my spine. "You mean Lysander?"

I frowned. "Yes, Lysander. What’s your problem with that?"

His jaw tightened. For a second, he looked like he was trying to hold something back, then he finally spoke.

"There’s something off about him."

I scoffed. "Off? He’s literally the only normal person left in my life."

Mordred ignored my protest, reaching into his jacket and pulling out his phone.

"My friend from campus called me this morning. Said he saw Lysander, your precious ’normal’ friend — stepping out of a black SUV in front of the boys’ dorm. Midnight."

He uttered, scrolling through his phone as if looking for an evidence to show me.

I froze. "...What?"

"Yeah," he continued, eyes burning into mine. "Not a student’s car, either. An imported one with tinted windows and private plates. The kind of car that doesn’t park anywhere near that dorm. You tell me, Kianna, what’s a broke scholarship boy doing getting dropped off in a rich man’s ride?"

I shook my head immediately. "No. No way. You’ve got the wrong person. Maybe your friend saw someone else — Lysander doesn’t even stay out late. He’s not...."

"...that kind of person?" Mordred finished for me, his tone dark. "You sure about that?"

"Yes!" I shot back, louder than I intended. "Because unlike everyone else, he’s real with me. He listens, he helps, he doesn’t keep secrets..."

I stopped myself before I could say more, but it was too late. Mordred’s expression hardened, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

He took a step closer, closing the distance between us until the air between us felt charged.

"So that’s what you think of me," he muttered. "A liar."

I sighed, softer this time. "I didn’t mean that..."

"Yes, you did." His gaze softened for a split second, then dropped to the ground. "You think I’m hiding something. And maybe I am. But at least I don’t pretend to be something I’m not."

Silence fell heavy between us. The wind rustled through the nearby trees, carrying the faint sound of city traffic.

I don’t know why but Mordred’s words about Lysander is nearly getting to me, he’s my friend and also someone who always got my back. But my mind was refusing to let what Mordred just said go.

I bit my lower lip, lowered my eyes in other to avoid eye contact with him. I didn’t want him to see the flicker of convince in my eyes as I try defending my friend.

Then finally, I spoke again, voice quieter now. "Look, I just don’t think Lysander is involved with any of this. But Maddox..." I paused, trying to find the right words before continuing.

"There’s something off about him lately. He’s been distant, the Maddox I know never accept defeat not when something he wants is with someone else. Maybe he’s the one behind Anonymous."

Mordred lifted his gaze again, brows furrowed. "Maddox? That fool barely knows how to keep his own mouth shut, let alone run a secret forum that hacks people’s lives."

"I’m serious," I said. "He’s been acting weird since the mansion incident. What if he’s trying to protect himself, or me by pretending to be Anonymous?"

He didn’t respond right away. Offcourse he wouldn’t because of how stupid I sound right now. Instead, he looked toward the street, then back at me, his voice low but firm.

"I don’t trust either of them. Lysander or Maddox. Not one bit. And until I find out who’s playing this game, you’re not stepping foot outside without me. Understood?"

My lips parted, a protest ready on my tongue—but then I saw the flicker of worry in his eyes. Beneath all the anger, there was fear. Fear for me.

I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "You really think everyone’s dangerous, don’t you?"

"Everyone is," he muttered. "You just don’t see it yet."

He turned, heading toward his bike, and for a second I thought he’d leave me standing there in the parking lot. But then he stopped and glanced over his shoulder.

"What are you waiting for? Let go Kianna. I’m taking you home with me."

The ride back was silent, tension thick enough to choke on. Mordred’s bike roared through the night, but beneath the sound of the wind and engines, there was a moment of calmness between us that felt too real.

His arm was firm around my waist, protective yet distant, like he didn’t know whether to pull me closer or let me go. And honestly, I didn’t know which one I wanted either.

Because deep down, I couldn’t stop thinking about what Mordred said.

What if he was right?

What if Lysander wasn’t who I thought he was?

And yet, something inside me refused to believe it. Because no matter how convincing Mordred’s warning sounded...

Lysander’s eyes tonight had looked too scared to be guilty.

The ride ended too soon. Mordred killed the engine outside the old brick house he called home—really just a safe-house with too many locks and not enough light.

I climbed off the bike on legs that still vibrated from the roar between them, the night air slapping cold against my flushed skin.

He didn’t speak, just jerked his chin toward the door like I was a stray he’d decided to keep for the night.

I didn’t argue. I was too tired, too tangled in my own head. All I could think of was how to get out of this mess.

Inside, the place smelled faintly of gun oil and cedar. I kicked off my shoes, muttered something about needing a shower, and disappeared down the hall before he could answer.

The bathroom door shut with a click that felt final. I exhaled sharply, letting myself relax as I finally undressed myself.

I needed a hot bath to cool down, and so I switched on the shower and put it on the hot water menu.

And goddamnit, it felt so good. The water hit like punishment. I let it scald, scrubbing at my arms as if I could wash away the argument, the doubt, the way his hand had tightened on my waist when the bike leaned into a curve.

Steam fogged the mirror. I stayed under the spray until my fingers pruned and the water started to cool.

Then almost like hitting me back to reality I heard a sharp, impatient knock cutting through the hiss of the pipes.

It was from my front door. I swore under my breath, shut off the faucet, and grabbed the only towel on the rack to cover myself.

It barely wrapped around me, clinging to my wet skin whilst the hem skimmed mid-thigh.

Then another knock came through, louder this time.

"Hold on," I snapped, yanking the door open. I rushed to my front door and opened it without hesitation.

Mordred stood there, one hand braced on the frame, the other frozen mid-knock. His eyes went wide,actually wide—like I’d caught him off guard for the first time ever.

Water dripped from my hair onto my collarbone; the towel shifted when I breathed. He forgot how to blink for a second.

"I–uh..." He swallowed, the words tangling. "About earlier. I didn’t mean to..."

He paused, then almost like an instinct... his gaze slipped to my bare shoulder, then trailed shamelessly to my neck at the hollow at my throat where a droplet slid down and vanished under the towel.

He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough that I saw the muscle jump.

"Mordred," I said, voice low, "you’re staring."

He jerked his eyes up, but they betrayed him again, flicking to my mouth. "I’m not—damn it, Kianna, I’m trying to apologize."

"Try harder, because you are failing terribly." I replied, trying to fix my towel.

I should have closed the door and told him to wait outside so I could grab something to wear but I didn’t. And I don’t know why I couldn’t.

He stepped forward, crowding the doorway. The hallway light carved sharp shadows across his face—cheekbones, jaw, the scar that cut through his left eyebrow.

His voice dropped to that gravel I felt in my spine. "I overstepped. Telling you who you can trust, dragging you here like some..." He stopped, tongue pressing against his teeth as if the next word tasted bad.

Then his gaze dipped again, lingered on the way the towel clung to the curve of my hip. "Christ." he muttered under his breath.

I should’ve stepped back. Should’ve tightened the knot at my chest or even snap at him for looking at me like that. But instead I lifted my chin and whispered.

"Say it."

"I can’t think when you look like that." The confession ripped out of him, rough and unplanned.

Then his hand lifted, hovered an inch from my wet shoulder, then curled into a fist. "I’m sorry, for the orders and For..." His eyes locked on mine, dark and frantic. "For wanting you so bad it’s making me stupid."

The air between us went molten. None of us spoke for a second, then he snapped.

One second I was standing in the doorway, dripping; the next his hands were on me—cupping my face, sliding into my wet hair, pulling me up onto my toes.

His mouth crashed into mine like he’d been starving for it. No hesitation, no gentle brush of lips. Just heat and teeth and the scrape of stubble against my skin.

I made a sound—surprise, want, I don’t know,and he swallowed it whilst deepening the kiss.

I placed both palms flat on his chest, unsure whether to push him and break the kiss or just give in to it.

But before I could make any move, his tongue found my temple and nipped it softly letting a groan escape my lips.

The towel slipped, almost falling, but his arm banded around my waist to keep it in place, palm splayed hot against the small of my back as his lips moved back on mine this time kissing me slower.

He walked me backwards until my shoulders hit the wall, the impact knocking a gasp from my lungs.

Then finally he broke the kiss only to speak against my lips, voice shredded.

" I’ve been dying to do this for so long." he rasped. " You have no idea what you do to me, Kianna."

His thumb traced my lower lip, smearing water and the taste of him. "Tell me to stop." he whispered, pressing his forehead against mine.

But I couldn’t, not when every instinct inside me was screaming for his touch. He has crossed the line I tried so hard to draw.

And now all I could think of is giving in completely even if it’s just for tonight.

My hands fisted in his shirt, dragging him closer. The towel loosened another inch; cool air kissed my skin and his groan vibrated through my chest.

"Don’t," I whispered, closing my eyes."Go on Mordred, Do it."

His answer was another kiss, deeper and hungrier—like the argument, the fear, the secrets had all funneled into this one reckless moment. And for the first time all night, none of it mattered.

Not Lysander, not Maddox and definitely not the anonymous.

Just the way Mordred’s hands shook when they slid down my sides, like touching me was the only thing keeping him steady.