Claimed By The Alpha, Marked By The Biker-Chapter 31: The Bad Old Days

Kianna’s Pov:

The drive back to the dorm felt like it stretched on forever, the city lights blurring into streaks through the rain-spattered windows of Lysander’s car.

Lesley sat in the back, wrapped in a borrowed jacket from one of Mordred’s guys, her head resting against the seat as she stared out into the night.

She hadn’t said much since we’d left Mordred’s place, just quiet thank-yous and shaky breaths.

I kept stealing glances at her in the rearview, my chest tight with a panic I couldn’t shake.

What if she never recovered from this? What if the nightmares stuck, turning my bubbly roommate into someone haunted?

It was my fault, my tangled life pulled her into the crossfire. How many more people would get hurt because of me?

All this thought piled up in my mind throughout the ride, I didn’t even realize how long it took to get to the dorm.

Lysander pulled into the parking lot, killing the engine with a sigh. "I’ll walk you up," he said, his voice steady despite the exhaustion lining his face.

He helped Lesley out, his good arm around her shoulders as we navigated the slick steps.

The dorm smelled like wet concrete and leftover pizza, a stark contrast to the blood and fear we’d left behind.

Our room was untouched, posters still up and my bed a mess—but it felt wrong, like the walls remembered Kylie’s betrayal.

Lesley collapsed onto her bed, kicking off her shoes with a tired kick. "I just want to sleep," she murmured, her voice small. "Forever."

I sat beside her, rubbing her back. "You’re home now, safe and sound. I’ll be right here if you need anything."

She nodded, eyes already drifting shut. "Thanks, Kianna. For... everything." But as she turned away, I saw the fear lingering in her expression.

Panic surged again—what if she woke up screaming? What if this broke her? I stayed until her breathing evened out, then slipped to my own bed, the weight of it all pressing down like a physical force.

Lysander lingered by the door as if leaving as alone meant another trouble. "You okay?" He asked finally.

I forced a nod. "Yeah. Go get some rest. Your arm..."

He waved it off. "Call if anything changes." His eyes held mine a beat too long, something unspoken flickering there. Then he was gone, the door clicking shut.

Sleep came in fits, haunted by flashes of the warehouse, Lesley’s tears, Mordred’s bloodied hands and Maddox’s weird smirks during the video call.

By morning, the panic had settled into a dull ache. Lesley was still out when I dressed for class, her face was too peaceful as he slept. I didn’t want to ruin it. And so I left a note on her dresser: "Text if you need me... Love you."

Then headed out, the campus paths slick from last night’s rain.School was a gauntlet.

Eyes followed me as usual, the whispers starting the second I stepped onto the quad.

"That’s her, the one with the biker guy."

"Heard there was a kidnapping."

"Maddox is in the hospital— what did she do?"

I kept my head down, but the stares burned. The forum had exploded again overnight: threads about the "warehouse brawl," speculation about Mordred’s "gang," photos of police tape.

My phone buzzed with alerts, but I ignored them. My concern wasn’t the gossip; it was Mordred.

He hadn’t texted since last night. No good morning and no check-in. I fired off a quick "You okay?" before class, but nothing.

In BioChem, I barely heard Professor Harlan droning on about mitosis—my mind was on him. What if Maddox’s boys had ambushed him? What if he was in real danger now?

The panic from last night resurfaced, twisting my gut. Calls went straight to voicemail, texts unread. Where was he?

Then Ciara showed up—strutting into the lecture hall like she owned it, her girl squad flanking her like bodyguards.

Ciara, with her perfect highlights and Maddox obsession, the one who’d made my life hell since freshman year. She zeroed in on me, sliding into the seat behind with a smirk that could cut glass.

"Well, if it isn’t the biker slut," she hissed, leaning forward. Her squad giggled—three clones in matching crop tops, eyes gleaming with malice.

"What did you do to Maddox? He’s in the hospital, all beat up. His dad had to fly in. Was it your thug boyfriend?"

I stiffened, ignoring the jab, but the mockery rolled on.

"Heard he got jumped because of you. Sloppy seconds much? Maddox was too good for you anyway."

The words stung, but my mind was elsewhere...Mordred’s sudden silence.

I just switched seats, not muttering a word as Ciara continued to rant about what she’ll do if Maddox doesn’t recover faster.

Thirty minutes later after I couldn’t hold in the distraction any longer, I excused myself mid-lecture, slipping out to check his class.

"He’s not here yet," his classmate said with a shrug. "Late, I guess."

Lunch at the cafeteria was a haze. I picked at a salad, phone in hand, texting again. "Where are you? I’m worried." Still there was no answer.

The panic clawed deeper, I was three seconds away from ditching school to check his home when Lysander appeared, sliding into the seat across from me with a tray of fries.

"Hey. You look like you didn’t sleep." He whispered.

I managed a smile. "Rough night."

He nodded, then grinned—a rare, boyish one that lit his face. "I have a surprise. After school? Meet me at the parking lot."

Curiosity cut through the worry. "What is it?"

"You’ll see." His eyes sparkled, but there was that undercurrent again—the one from last night.

After classes, I found him waiting by his car. We drove in comfortable silence, the radio playing soft indie tracks.

He pulled up to the campus art gallery, the one tucked away in the fine arts building. "Close your eyes," he said, leading me inside.

The space smelled like paint and canvas, quiet except for our footsteps. "Okay... Now open."

There, on an easel, was a portrait—of me. Soft lines capturing my smile, eyes alive with that spark he always said I had. He’d drawn it—hours of work, making every detail loving.

It was hauntingly real, and yet softer somehow, like he’d painted not who I was, but how he saw me.

"Lys..." I breathed, touching the frame. "It’s beautiful."

He stepped closer, nervous. " You like it?"

I nodded. "Of course, I love it. I’ll definitely hang this in my room..this is the best gift I’ve ever received Lysander. Thank you."

Then he took a step closer again, eyes searching mine. "Kianna, I... I have to say this. I like you."

The word felt like a dagger to my heart. But I didn’t waiver, I forced a smile.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I like you more than friends." he responded, then grabbed me by the wrist.

" I’ve felt it for a while but never had the chance to tell you. I know it feels weird, but it’s hard keeping it all in and seeing you hanging around with Mordred. It makes me go insane because it is not just a danger to you but also a threat.."

His words hung, sincere and pleading.For a second, my heart stuttered. I didn’t know what to say, Mordred’s face flashed in my mind — his smirk, his warmth and chaos. The way he made me feel alive even when he scared me half to death.

"Lysander..." I began, but then my phone buzzed violently in my hand. It’s a text from Mordred: "Urgent, Stop whatever you’re doing and meet me at the school entrance. Now!"

I stared at the screen, heart racing. I didn’t know what to do, leaving him here without a word would mean betrayal but I needed to speak to Mordred.

"Why are you not speaking? Did something happen?" He asked, then looked at my phone screen.

His face fell instantly. "It’s him isn’t it?"

"I have to go." I grabbed my bag and headed to the entrance.But as I hurried out, the choice loomed larger—what if knowing meant losing everything?

The art gallery door slammed behind me as I bolted out, Lysander’s voice calling my name fading into the wind. "Kianna,wait!"

But I didn’t stop, I couldn’t. The text from Mordred burned in my pocket like a live wire: "Urgent. Stop whatever you’re doing and meet me at the school entrance. Now."

My sneakers pounded the pavement, the campus blurring past in a haze of gray skies and scattered leaves. Lysander’s confession echoed in my head,

"I like you more than friends"—his hand on my wrist and the portrait staring back at me with eyes that saw too much.

I wanted to tell him that he deserves someone more stable than I am, someone whose world doesn’t feel like a curse but a blessing. But Mordred’s urgent message had pulled me away like always.

He’s going to be okay right? I hope he’ll understand the fact that I was worried for Mordred and needed to see him urgently.

The urge of something which felt like guilt clinged to my skin like goosebumps.

I never wanted to choose sides but now I feel like sooner or later I would. The love triangle wasn’t some neat geometry; it was a tangle of thorns, each pull drawing blood.

Lysander offered peace, a world of soft sketches and quiet confessions, the guy who’d drawn me like I was art and had taken a bullet without a second thought.

Mordred was the opposite, raw edges and roaring engines, kisses that tasted like danger and promises whispered in the dark.

One made me feel cherished; the other made me feel alive. And me? Stuck in the middle, heart split down the seam, wondering if loving both was possible or if it’d tear me apart.

I reached the school entrance in record time with my lungs burning, spotting Mordred immediately. He leaned against his bike, helmet dangling from one hand with his jacket zipped against the chill.

His eyes scanned the lot like always, paranoid and protective—locking on me the second I appeared. Relief flashed across his face, but it was edged with something darker.

"Kianna," he called, straightening as I skidded to a halt. No hug this time, just his hand on my arm, firmly pulling me close like the world might snatch me away. "You okay? After last night..."

"I’m fine," I panted, searching his face. Up close, he looked rough. He had dark circles under his eyes with a fresh bruise blooming on his jaw.

"But you? No texts, no calls—voicemail all day. I thought... God, Mordred, what happened? Where were you?"

He glanced around nervously then lowered his voice into something barely above a whisper.

"Had to lay low, the Vipers are cleaning up the warehouse mess and the cops are sniffing too close. But that’s not why I called."

He pulled out his phone, showing a grainy photo: Trent, buzz-cut unmistakable, haggling at a street market in some rundown slum. Crates of fruit, faded awnings, his "parents" behind a stall selling cheap knockoffs.

"One of my boys tailed him this morning. Thought he’d head to some fancy suburb—rich dad, right? Like your boy Lysander said." He muttered.

My stomach dropped. "What? What are you trying to say, Mordred?"

Mordred’s eyes hardened. "Trent’s not loaded, Kianna. His Parents are street vendors—barely scraping by in the slums. What Lysander told you about his Dad dropping him off at midnight was a lie. All of it."

"Huh? What the heck? It’s a lie?"

Then Lysander’s voice echoed in mind from the café: "That was Trent’s dad’s car." Brushing off the suspicion like it was nothing.

I shook my head, panic rising—not the warehouse kind, but deeper and colder. "No. Lysander wouldn’t... he was trying to defend Trent and make him seem normal."

"Or cover for him," Mordred said, voice gravelly but gentle, like he hated being the one to say it.

"My guys are digging into Lysander now. The shooting at the café was too perfect, he takes the hit and plays hero immediately when we began doubting him and now the SUV lie fits the pattern. What if he’s deeper than we thought?"

The world tilted. Lysander—my friend, the one who’d confessed minutes ago and drawn me like I was precious. Actually lied to me even before getting shot? But why?

So the portrait, his tears when I was in danger and his plea for a safe world, all of it was a lie too? Doubt crashed in, waves eroding the trust I’d rebuilt after the shooting.

I’d defended him then, sworn he was real. But now? The SUV, Trent’s "rich dad" facade crumbling... What else was a lie?

"I..." My voice cracked, tears pricking. "He just... he told me he likes me. More than friends. Gave me a portrait he drew and begged me to choose him—said your world’s too dangerous."

Mordred’s jaw tightened, jealousy flashing raw before he masked it. "And you? What’d you say?"

"Nothing, then your text came." I met his eyes, the triangle pulling taut.

"Mordred, I can’t... I won’t make the same mistake twice. Doubting him before, thinking he was involved—it almost cost us. He’s saved me and I’ll be cruel to start doubting him again."

He stepped closer, hand cupping my cheek, thumb brushing a tear I hadn’t realized fell. "I get it. But facts don’t lie, Kianna. Trent’s broke—Lysander fed you bullshit to kill the suspicion. My guys’ll prove it. Just... be careful with him."

The doubt festered, a poison spreading. Lysander’s confession replayed in my mind. It was sincere and vulnerable. But the lie... it cracked the foundation.

Mordred pulled me into his arms, his warmth chasing the chill, but even as questions swirled.

This love wasn’t just hearts anymore; it was trust, safety and survival. One wrong lean, and it’d all collapse.

As he kissed my forehead, murmuring promises of answers, I clung to him. But in the back of my mind, Lysander’s portrait waited—beautiful and begging. But the doubt? It whispered louder than ever.

What if the safe choice was the deadliest?