Claimed By The Alpha, Marked By The Biker-Chapter 54: The last hope

Maddox’s PoV:

I paced the length of my bedroom like a caged animal, the plush carpet doing nothing to muffle the thud of my footsteps.

It had been three days since that goddamn post exploded on the school forum—three days of whispers in the halls, sidelong glances from teachers, and my phone blowing up with "concerned" texts from so-called friends.

The videos were everywhere now, not just the forum but screenshotted and shared on group chats, even popping up on some local gossip pages.

"Maddox the bully."

"Maddox the fake."

’Maddox the mayor’s disappointing son."

And still, no clue on who was behind it.I’d checked the anonymous profile a hundred times...ShadowExpose. No bio updates, no new posts, just that one damning thread hanging there like a noose.

Views in the tens of thousands. Comments piling up: "Knew he was trash,"

"Emily deserves justice,"

"What a hypocrite."

I’d reported it to the forum mods, but they were a joke—some student-run thing with no real power. And the Boss? That shadowy prick who’d promised to trace it? Radio silence.

I’d texted him twice, called once. Nothing. "I’ll handle it," he’d said in that gravelly auto-tune voice. Yeah, right. For someone who claimed to know everything—pulling strings in the city’s underbelly, feeding me dirt on my enemies—he was suddenly playing ghost.

I stopped by the window, staring out at the manicured lawn of our estate, the security lights casting long shadows across the driveway.

Dad’s Mercedes was gone; he’d stormed out after our blowout, probably to some late-night meeting or his secretary’s place.

Good. I couldn’t deal with his bullshit lectures right now. My nose still throbbed from his punch, the bruising a mottled purple that no amount of concealer could hide.

"Fell during practice," I’d told everyone at school. They bought it, or pretended to. But inside? I was unraveling.

Who could it be? Mordred, obviously. That creepy loner had motive—jealousy over Kianna, hatred for me since day one. But how’d he get the videos? He wasn’t at the apartment that night; I’d have smelled him, sensed him.

My wolf senses weren’t fully online yet—not until the bond kicked in—but they were sharp enough for that.

Maybe one of my crew sold me out? Tyler? He’d been acting shady, avoiding my calls. Or Jake, always whining about not getting enough spotlight. Paranoia clawed at me, turning every friendship into a suspect.

And Kianna... God, Kianna. She hadn’t responded to my texts since the cinema. I’d seen her walking away with Lysander, his arm around her like he owned her. That artsy freak—always hovering, always "protecting" her.

If he thought he had a shot, I’d rip him apart. But without her, what was I? Just the mayor’s screw-up son, exposed and alone.

I raked my hands through my hair, pulling hard enough to sting. This wasn’t me. I was Maddox Bianchi—quarterback, alpha-in-waiting, the guy everyone wanted to be. Not this pacing mess. I needed to splash some water on my face and snap out of it.

The bathroom attached to my room was bigger than most kids’ bedrooms—marble counters, a walk-in shower with jets that could pummel the stress out of you, a mirror that spanned the entire wall.

I twisted the faucet, letting the cold water run until it was icy, then cupped my hands under it and doused my face.

The shock hit like a slap, dripping down my neck, soaking the collar of my shirt. I gripped the counter, head down, breathing hard.

When I looked up, water streaming from my chin, something stirred inside me.

It started as a low rumble, deep in my chest—like a growl I hadn’t summoned. My reflection stared back, eyes flashing gold for a split second.

I blinked, leaning closer. There it was again: a surge, hot and primal, uncoiling in my gut. My wolf. Stirring for the first time, not just a faint instinct but alive and aware, pushing against the edges of my control.

I froze, staring into my own eyes as they flickered again—amber flecks dancing in the hazel. The rumble grew, vibrating through my bones, a wordless hunger that whispered one name: Kianna.

Of course. Her birthday is coming...wait, what was today’s date? I grabbed my phone from the counter, ignoring the cracked screen.

Eleven days. In eleven days, she’d turn nineteen, and the fated bond would snap fully into place. My wolf knew it; that’s why it was waking now, the pull strengthening as the clock ticked down.

A grin split my face, wide and feral. Finally. This was it—the ace up my sleeve. No more begging, no more explaining. Once the bond locked in, she’d feel it too,

The undeniable draw, the heat, the need. She’d come back to me, forgive the videos, see that Mordred was the real threat.

I’d have her all to myself, bound by something stronger than words or scandals. My wolf rumbled in agreement, a satisfied purr that sent shivers down my spine.

I laughed—actual, relieved laughter echoing off the marble. Screw the post. Screw the Boss and his silence. This was fate on my side.

Everything was aligning. Dad’s influence could bury the scandal deeper, my crew would rally once I threw some parties, and Kianna... she’d be mine.

But I couldn’t leave it to chance. Rejection was possible—I’d heard the stories.

Rare, agonizing, but it happened if the mate fought hard enough. I needed to stack the deck. Make sure she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, push me away.

Uncle Silas. He was the one to call. Dad’s brother, older by a decade, the pack elder who’d stayed hidden in the human world but kept the old ways alive.

He ran a "consulting firm" downtown, code for handling supernatural disputes under the radar. He’d know the rituals, the precautions.

I dried my face with a towel, still grinning, and dialed his number. It rang twice before he picked up, his voice gruff and familiar.

"Maddox. Late for a call. Everything alright?"

"Yeah, Uncle. Better than alright." I paced back into the bedroom, energy buzzing. "It’s about Kianna. Her birthday’s coming up—nineteen in eleven days. My wolf just... stirred. First time. Looking in the mirror, it hit me."

A pause, then a low chuckle. "The awakening. Means the bond’s ripening. Good sign, boy. Means she’s the one."

"I know. But I need to make sure. Walk me through the process. All of it. And how to lock it down—no rejection, no loopholes. I want her bound tight."

Silas sighed, but there was approval in it. "Alright. Settle in; this ain’t quick. First, the basics: on her nineteenth, at moonrise—should be around 7 PM that night, check the almanac—the bond activates fully.

You’ll feel it like a hook in your chest, pulling you to her. She’ll feel it too, but weaker at first if she’s not awakened yet."

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see. "And if she’s with someone else? Like, that Mordred prick’s been sniffing around."

"Doesn’t matter. Fate overrides. But proximity helps—be near her that night. Touch amplifies it: hand on her skin, eye contact.

Say the claiming words: ’By moon and blood, I bind thee to me.’ Old tongue if you can manage it, but English works in a pinch."

I committed it to memory, mouthing the words silently. "Got it. Now, rejection—how do I prevent it?"

"That’s trickier. Rejection requires will—hers, strong enough to sever the thread. Painful for both, can leave scars. To block it: preemptive rituals.

Start with the moonstone amulet—I’ll send one over. Have her wear it before the birthday; tells the spirits you’re aligned."

"How do I get her to wear it? She’s... pissed at me right now."

"Charm her. Apologize, gift it as a peace offering. Say it’s for protection or luck. Once on, it subtly strengthens your pull, weakens her resistance."

I smirked, imagining slipping it around her neck. "Perfect. What else?"

"Herbs. Wolfsbane tincture—diluted, obviously. Slip it in her drink day of. Not enough to harm, just to dull her wolf’s defenses if it’s stirring. Makes rejection harder to initiate."

Risky, but doable. I’d done worse. "Side effects?"

"Drowsiness, maybe heightened emotions. Use sparingly."

"Got it. And if she tries anyway?"

"Backup: the binding circle. Draw it around you both at moonrise—salt mixed with your blood. Chant the ward: ’Threads unbroken, fates entwined.’ Locks it for 24 hours, gives time to solidify."

I scribbled notes on a pad by my bed, heart racing. This was gold. "Anything long-term? To keep her... compliant after?"

Silas hesitated. "Careful, Maddox. Bonds aren’t chains. But... yes. Shared hunts under the full moon reinforce it. Mark her—bite during the first mating. Permanent claim. And loyalty oaths—pack tradition. Swear her in privately."

We talked for another hour—he walked me through variations, warnings, even a contingency if lycans interfered (rare, but they’d meddle). By the end, I felt invincible. The Boss’s silence? Irrelevant. The post? Fading noise. Kianna would be mine, bound and unbreakable.

I hung up, flopping back on my bed, staring at the ceiling with a smile that wouldn’t quit. Eleven days. Everything was finally going my way.

The next morning, I woke with purpose. My wolf was quieter now, but I felt its presence—a warm hum in my core. School was a blur; I ignored the stares, flashed smiles at my crew, even joked about the videos.

"Deepfake bullshit," I said in the locker room. They laughed, relieved to follow my lead.

After practice, I swung by a jewelry shop downtown—picked up a simple moonstone pendant on a silver chain. Silas had texted a photo of what to look for. It was beautiful, iridescent, perfect for her.

Now, to get close enough to give it.

I texted her again: "Kianna, please. Meet me? Just to talk. I miss you."

No response yet. But she would. The bond was pulling her too.

Days blurred into strategy. I avoided Dad—easy, since he was campaigning. Mom called once, worried about the bruises; I brushed her off.

The Boss finally texted: "Trace ongoing. Patience." Screw patience. I had fate.

By day nine, my wolf stirred more—dreams of running with Kianna, her scent filling my lungs. I practiced the words, the rituals. No stone unturned.

And when her birthday dawned? I’d be ready. She’d be mine. Forever.