Claimed By The Alpha, Marked By The Biker-Chapter 21: who really is Lysander

The dorm lobby smelled like stale pizza and desperation—familiar and almost comforting after the sterile chill of the police station.

I hauled my duffel up the stairs, the strap digging into my shoulder as Mordred’s warnings kept echoing in my head.

He’d insisted on tailing me to the building entrance, his bike idling like a watchful beast until I waved him off.

"Stay safe," he’d texted as I climbed the steps. "And call if anything’s off."

My key stuck in the lock, and I shouldered the door open, expecting the usual chaos of Lesley’s K-pop posters and scattered makeup. Instead, I froze.

A girl I didn’t know was curled up on my bed, fast asleep under my faded blue comforter with her dark hair fanned across my pillow, one arm dangling off the edge.

Lesley sat cross-legged on her own bed, scrolling her phone, but she looked up and squealed like I’d risen from the dead.

"Kianna! Oh my God, you’re back!" She launched herself at me, wrapping me in a bone-crushing hug that smelled like vanilla body spray and energy drinks.

"I missed you so much! The room’s been dead without you. Like, literally silent. I almost adopted a cat just for company." She muttered, cheerfully.

I laughed despite myself, dropping the duffel and hugging back. "Missed you too, Les. But, uh... who’s that?" I nodded toward the intruder on my mattress.

Lesley pulled away, eyes wide and innocent.

"Oh! That’s Kylie. She’s new—transferred mid-semester or something. Her roommate’s situation fell through, and she needed a place to crash for a bit. I figured since you weren’t using your bed... you know, with the whole mysterious disappearance act."

She waggled her eyebrows and added, "Don’t worry, she’s super shy. Barely talks. I told her you’d be cool with it."

Then almost like a prompt Kylie stirred at the noise, blinking awake. She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes, and offered a small, tentative smile. "Hi. Sorry about the bed. I can move..."

Her voice was soft, almost too soft, but something in her tone pinged off-key. A flatness under the shyness, like she was reading from a script.

Or maybe I was just paranoid after the day’s dumpster fire. I brushed it off—Lesley’s hyper energy was already pulling me in another direction.

"No, it’s fine," I said, forcing a smile. "I’m Kianna. Nice to meet you."

"Kylie," she murmured, sliding off the bed and smoothing the comforter like she’d never been there. She grabbed a backpack from the floor and slipped into the bathroom without another word.

Lesley plopped back onto her bed, patting the spot beside her. "So spill! Where have you been? You’ve been ghosting my texts, and everyone’s talking about you and that hot biker guy. Is he, like, your bodyguard or something? Or... more?" She leaned in, eyes sparkling with gossip hunger.

I sat, stalling by unzipping my bag and pretending to unpack. "Nothing exciting. Just... dealing with family stuff." The lie tasted bitter.

No way was I diving into the arrest, Trent’s betrayal, or Anonymous’s creepy photo.

"What about you? How’s that boyfriend of yours? The one you wouldn’t shut up about last month?" I chipped in, trying to change the topic.

Lesley’s face crumpled like wet paper. She flopped back against her pillows with a dramatic sigh. "Ugh, don’t even. He dumped me. Over text. Said I was ’too much.’ Can you believe that? Me? Too much?"

I couldn’t help it but smile. "The guy you bragged about nonstop? The one who was supposedly ’perfect’ and ’totally obsessed’ with you? Karma, Les." I teased.

She swatted my arm, but laughed. "Shut up! I was manifesting, okay? Now I’m single and ready to mingle. Or cry into ice cream. Whichever comes first."

We bantered back and forth—her venting about the ex’s lame excuses, me teasing her about her endless stream of "perfect" guys that always fizzled.

Kylie emerged from the bathroom at some point, mumbling something about heading to the library, and slipped out quietly. That off vibe lingered, but Lesley’s chatter drowned it out.

My phone buzzed midway through Les mocking her ex’s bad taste in sneakers. I glanced at the screen, It was Mordred.

Mordred: "You good? Settled in?"

I typed back quickly: "Yeah. My roommate’s thrilled. A new temp roomie crashed on my bed while I was gone. All good."

Three dots danced, then:

Mordred: "My family called, My lawyer filled my dad in on the station bullshit. You know how he is—eyes everywhere, informants on speed dial. He’s pissed, wants me to lay low around campus. No more public pickups or shadows. But I’m still watching out for you, Kianna.I promise.

A pause, then another text:

Mordred: And please—don’t meet Lysander tomorrow. Ignore the text. I’m begging you.

I stared at the words, thumb hovering over the reply. Lesley was mid-rant about swiping right on revenge dates, oblivious.

But my mind raced back to Lysander’s message: I think I know who Anonymous is." No mention of Trent or the cops. Like he was clueless—or counting on my curiosity.

I wanted to know, I really needed to. What if he had real answers? What if ignoring him meant missing the key to this whole mess?

Should I take the risk? I mean, I would feel more guilty if I didn’t. Atleast, I should give him the chance to prove me wrong.

Before I could drown in my thoughts Lesley nudged me playfully. "Earth to Kianna. Who’s got you smiling like that?"

I locked the screen, shoving the phone under my thigh. "No one. Just... family stuff again." I lied.

But as I forced a laugh and dove back into her breakup drama, the curiosity burned hotter. Mordred’s plea echoed, but so did the questions.

What was Lysander hiding? And was I really going to walk into it alone?

A few moments later,

The laughter died down eventually, Lesley’s exaggerated sobs over her ex turning into giggles as she scrolled through dating apps, swiping left on "losers" with bad bios.

Kylie had slipped back in at some point, murmuring a quiet goodnight before burrowing under a blanket on the floor pallet Lesley had set up.

The room settled into that awkward dorm hush: distant hallway chatter, the hum of the mini-fridge, Lesley’s soft snores kicking in almost immediately.

I lay on my bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars peeling from the ceiling—relics from the previous occupant. My phone screen lit up the dark, Mordred’s last text glaring back at me like an accusation.

"Don’t meet Lysander tomorrow. Ignore the text. It’s a setup. Begging you."

Begging? Mordred never begged. He orders, he protects, he crashes through walls—literally and figuratively.

But here he was, pleading from behind a screen, because of me. Because he cared? Or because whatever mess I was in threatened his world too?

The thought twisted in my gut. Last night in his bed, his hands on me, his voice ragged with want—it felt real. Safe, even.

But now, in the cold quiet of the dorm, doubts crept in like shadows. What if he was hiding more than he let on? His family, his "contacts," the way he always knew where I was... was that protection, or control? 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

I flipped onto my side, pulling the comforter over my head. Memories of Lysander and I flooded back unbidden:

Taking me on dinner dates,the flowers he gave me before asking to be my Prom date, how he saved me from killing myself on the school rooftop and even the sobs when he was able to save me.

The way his eyes had softened at dinner, scared but sincere.But Trent’s lies at the station shredded that. Friends for a while? Bull.

Trent was Lysander’s shadow, and if he was feeding info to my stepparents, what else was he or Lysander capable of? A trap to isolate me from Mordred?

My thumb hovered over Lysander’s contact. Delete? Block? Or reply?Curiosity clawed at me, sharp and insistent.

Ignoring him could mean staying blind, stumbling through the dark while someone pulled strings from the shadows. But going... that could be walking into a cage.

I sat up, heart racing, the room suddenly felt too small. Lesley mumbled in her sleep; Kylie shifted on the floor, her breathing even, too even, like she was listening.

Paranoia? Or that off vibe from earlier sharpening into suspicion? I grabbed my phone and slipped into the bathroom, locking the door. The mirror fogged from my ragged breaths.

"Tomorrow at the Cafe I’ll meet you." I texted Lysander back finally.

But I hesitated for a second, my thumb hovering on my screen before hitting send.

The conflict tore at me—loyalty to Mordred’s warnings versus the desperate pull of truth. One wrong choice, and everything could shatter.

I splashed water on my face, avoiding my reflection. Sleep wasn’t coming tonight.Not after everything I’ve been through, no matter how had I tried I couldn’t.

I just went back to lay on my bed, facing the ceilings and counting the sticker stars on it.