Claimed By The Alpha, Marked By The Biker-Chapter 23: The One I trust

The chaos in the café blurred into a nightmare—shouts, shattered glass, blood pooling under Lysander’s arm as I knelt beside him, pressing my jacket against the wound.

"Stay with me," I whispered, my voice cracking. His face was ashen, but he managed a weak grin. "Worth it... if you’re okay."

I fumbled for my phone with blood-slick hands, dialing 911.The moments they picked, I voiced out, " Hello, we need an ambulance at Monticello high campus café, It’s a gunshot victim. Please hurry!"

Within a few minutes, the paramedics arrived in a blur of sirens and stretchers, loading him in.

I climbed into the back without thinking, ignoring the cops swarming the scene. The ride was a haze of beeping monitors and the medic’s calm questions. Lysander squeezed my hand once, eyes fluttering as he tried to tell something. "Anonymous... it’s.."

"Save it," I cut him off. "Just rest, we can talk about that later."

My heart was pounding. What will happen to Lysander? Will he die? And if that happens, then it’ll mean I’m the reason for his death. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

I held his hands tighter and closed my eyes to pray. " Just this once Lord, please I need Lysander alive."

Because I can’t continue to live anymore knowing I’m the cause of someone who showed me nothing but kindness’s death.

I already blame myself for so many things, including being abandoned by my pack, my biological parent’s death and having a cursed fate. Not Lysander, nope...not him.

I spent all the few minutes we spent on the way to the hospital praying and making wishes that I can’t guarantee its fulfillment.

Once again I’ve become vulnerable in life, the last time this happened was the day my mother died, the day I discovered how small the world could be.

When we reached the hospital, he was immediately rushed to the ER. And I was asked to give his details at the reception.

At the ER, they whisked him away for scans and surgery prep. I paced the waiting room, ignoring the stares from nurses and the cop taking my statement.

"Who was the shooter? Why me?" The watch on my wrist felt heavy now, a reminder of trust I’d almost thrown away.

My phone buzzed nonstop: Some were messages from Lesley freaking out about the news rippling through campus and others were missed calls from Mordred. I silenced it, because this isn’t the time now. Answers could wait.

A doctor emerged after what felt like hours.

"He’s stable..." he said with a shy smile.

"The bullet grazed his left arm and tore his muscle, but no artery hit. We’ve bandaged it, given pain meds. He won’t use that arm for weeks, maybe physical therapy after.

I exhaled deeply. "Oh thank goodness, thank you so much doctor."

His smile grew wider, then he gestured at his room door. " You can now go and see him." I nodded in response, then he left quietly.

Relief crashed over me. I didn’t even wait for a second, I slipped into the room, where Lysander lay propped on pillows, IV dripping with his arm swathed in white gauze.

He looked smaller and vulnerable, but his eyes brightened immediately when he saw me. "Hey. Still in one piece?" he murmured, with a smirk.

I sank into the chair beside him and placed my hand in his palm.Tears pricked my eyes. "Lysander... Thank you so much."

"Oh you don’t have to." he responded teasingly.

"I’m serious, you took a bullet for me, and what did I do ? I doubted you. I’m so sorry, for doubting you, for suspecting Trent’s crap was on you. I knew deep down you’d never hurt me, but I let Mordred’s warnings poison everything. I haven’t been a good friend. You’ve always had my back, and I...."My voice broke. Tears spilled hot down my cheeks.

Without thinking, I leaned over the bed, wrapping my arms around him carefully, mindful of the bandages and gave him a warm hug.

He hugged me back with his good arm and rested his chin on my shoulder. "Kianna, stop. We’re good. I get it— this mess has us all paranoid." He whispered.

Then suddenly the door banged open. Mordred stormed in, eyes wild with his fists clenched.

His gaze locked on us, me hugging Lysander—and something feral snapped in his expression.

"What the fuck is this?" He roared.

I pulled back immediately, wiping my face. "Mordred? How did you ...."

"Heard about the shooting on the scanner," he growled, advancing. "You went anyway. After I begged you."

Then his glare shifted to Lysander. "And you—setting her up like bait? You planned this shit, didn’t you? Lured her out so your sniper buddy could take the shot?"

Lysander’s face hardened, before replying. "Back off, man. I saved her life."

"Mordred, stop!" I jumped up, stepping between them. "He didn’t plan anything—he pushed me out of the way and took the hit for me!"

I was a fool to think saying this would do any better. Offcourse he wouldn’t buy it, he let out a loud laugh then shaked his head.

"I thought you knew better Kianna, let your brains work once in a while."

"What do you mean?" I asked, then took a step back. But he was fast, he grabbed my wrist, pulling me towards the door.

"We’re leaving...Now," he declared.

"No you can’t do this Mordred, let me go!" I protested, but his grip only tightened.

" This guy’s poison, he and his bastard friend. First, was lying at the police station and now a goddamn assassin? Wake up, Kianna. What’s next? kidnapping you?"

I yanked myself free, rubbing my skin where his grip had bitten.

"No.You leave, Mordred. Lay low, remember? Stop acting like my guardian, like you own my decisions. You’re messing with my friendships and my life—back off!"

His eyes flashed hurt, then fury. "I’m protecting you!"

"I don’t need it like this." I hit the call button on the wall before he’ll try taking me out forcefully. "Security!"

Two guards appeared in seconds, eyeing Mordred’s tense stance. "Sir, you need to go." They said, then gestured to the door.

He shot me one last look, a mixture of betrayal and pity raw in it before turning on his heel. "This isn’t over." He uttered.

The door slammed behind him and I sank back into the chair, trembling. Lysander reached for my hand and rubbed it gently.

"You okay?" He whispered.

I nodded, but inside? The conflict raged. I’d defended Lysander, but Mordred’s accusations echoed. Who was the real threat? And with a sniper out there... who was next?